Page 151 of Cruel When He Smiles

“I want toshatteryou,” I tell him, watching his face for any sign of hesitation. “I want to crawl inside your head and twist you so tight you can’t tell where you end and I begin.”

His eyes get darker, and I take his chin in my forefinger and thumb, making him look straight at me. “I want to own you in a way no one else ever could. I want to be the only thing you think about, the only person you need. I want you so wrapped up in me that even when I’m not touching you, you still feel me.”

His breath shudders, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“I don’t do love the way other people do,” I whisper, running my thumb over his bottom lip. “It’s not soft or kind, and it’s not gentle.”

I lean in, brushing my mouth over his. “My love has teeth, Pup,” I whisper. “And I want to devour you.”

A shiver runs through his body, and then he smiles.

It’s not wide or smug, but slow and knowing while his eyes light up with glee. “Good,” he says, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s sliding under my skin. “Because I don’t want gentle. I don’t want a love that makes me feel safe in a soft way, Liam.”

My grip on his jaw tightens without me meaning to.

“I want you to break me,” he goes on, licking his lips. “I want you to ruin me. I want you to be the only thing I need, the only thing I breathe.”

The sound that leaves me is half a groan, half something I can’t name. He feels it, and I think—hell, I know—he understands.

“I want you to turn me into something that belongs to you,” he whispers, his eyes locked on mine and burning. “And I want to do the same to you.”

“You said your love has teeth? So does mine, Liam. And I want to sink them into every part of you until you can’t move without feeling me.”

My heart is thudding painfully in my chest, and my cock has hardened to steel. I’ve never been on the other end of devotion like this before. It’s never felt dangerous in a way that made me want to give in to it.

“I want to be the one who breaks you,” he goes on, his voice steady but darker. “Not to hurt you, but to remake you. To make sure no one else ever gets this. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure the whole fucking world knows it without you saying a word.”

It’s the exact thing I’ve always wanted to hear but never thought I’d let myself believe. And the worst—or best—part? I want it. Every twisted, consuming piece of it.

My hand slips to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until our foreheads are pressed together. “Then take it,” I breathe. “Take every part. But you’d better keep it, Nate. Because once it’s yours, you don’t get to give it back.”

His answering grin is sharp, his fingers digging into my sides like he’s already staking his claim. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” he says, his fingers tracing another line along my stomach, pausing on a scar just under my ribs. His touch lingers there, as if he’s memorizing the exact shape of it, the way the skin dips unevenly before smoothing out again.

“Are they all from your parents?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge under it.

The question doesn’t catch me off guard the way it should. I’ve been waiting for him to ask since the second I let him see me. I meet his eyes, and don’t look away when I tell him the truth.“No. Some are self-inflicted,” I say finally, watching his jaw tighten. I don’t rush to fill the silence. I let him sit with it.

His gaze drops back to the one beneath my ribs. “This one looks recent.”

I drag in a breath through my nose. “I did that the day you cornered me in the parking lot after our first game of the season.”

He looks up, eyes widening. “Liam—”

“I didn’t know what to do with what you put in me,” I cut in. “That… anger, whatever the fuck it was. I couldn’t put it anywhere, and I couldn’t let it sit, so I bled it out.” I let the words settle because they’re ugly, and I’m not going to dress them up to make them easier to take.

Nate swallows hard, his expression unreadable now. “Has it always been like that for you?”

“Bleeding?”

He nods.

“Yes.” My answer is immediate, because it’s not a question I have to think about. “Always. Every mark you see on me is from pain; sometimes theirs, sometimes mine. But it’s all the same in the end.”

He keeps looking at me, but there’s a different look in his eyes now. He’s too quiet, and I’m about to ask what the hell is going through his head when he says, “Do you still have a blade?”

I blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden change. “Why?”

“Answer me, Liam.”