Page 179 of Cruel When He Smiles

“You will,” he promises, eyes never leaving mine. “You already do.”

“And if we crash and burn—”

“Then we do it together.”

I exhale hard, and when I step closer, the sound of our boots grinding against the dock wood fills the space between us. He reaches back into his coat and opens the box again, slipping the ring out and holding it up between us.

“No vows,” he says. “No promises I don’t intend to keep. Just this—wear it, and the next time someone so much as looks at you like you’re not already spoken for, I’ll make them watch their own blood spill.”

I stare at the ring, then I look at him. And I want to laugh, scream, cry—all of it. I want to lean forward and tear my fucking chest open to show him what he’s done to me. What he is to me.

Instead, I offer him my hand.

His fingers tremble as he slides the ring onto mine, and I lean in, breath brushing his lips. “Does this mean I get to ruin you forever?”

He smirks. “You already have, Pup.”

His lips crash into mine before the last syllable even finishes leaving his mouth. It’s not a soft kiss. It’s punishing. It’s Liam, all teeth and possession, the kind of kiss that tells me I’m not allowed to look at anyone else, breathe for anyone else, exist for anyone else.

And I kiss him back like I fucking agree.

When we finally pull apart, I don’t say thank you. I don’t cry. I don’t give him some teary-eyed ‘yes’ like we’re in a fucking movie.

I say, “I love you,” grip his coat, haul him back in, and kiss him harder than before, leaving teeth in it.

And that?

That is my yes.