Page 22 of Cruel When He Smiles

Because I am undone. Completely fucking undone by this brat,and that terrifies me. I never let anyone touch me. When I fuck, it’s always from behind, always them on their knees for me.

And now he’s here, trembling in lace, moaning into my mouth, and I—

I want him.

Not just in theory, not just in power.I want this.His heat, his shiver, and his surrender. But that’s not who I am. That’s not the game I was taught to play. This isn’t in my control anymore. This isn’t me pulling strings and watching him fall… this is me falling with him.

And I can’t.I won’t.

I pull back suddenly, the move jerky and too fast. His head chases the kiss, eyes dazed and lips kiss-swollen, mouth parted like he doesn’t understand why I stopped. My touch still clings to his body while his taste still drips from my mouth. And for the first time, I don’t want it.

I want to erase it.

I want to hurt.

“You think you won something tonight, Pup?” I say, my tone cold, lashing out with the only thing I have left—cruelty. “You think because I made you whimper, that you’respecial?”

Nate’s eyes snap into focus, and I see the way my words slap across his face. I see how he straightens his spine and swallows the wreck I left in his throat.

“You’re just another desperate little slut in a crowd full of bodies hoping someone gives a fuck.”

His entire face changes. The breath leaves him as if I punched it out of his lungs, and I hate how my stomach lurches at the look he gives me. As if I stepped on something fragile he didn’t mean to show me.

I force myself to keep going.

“You didn’t wear them for me,” I sneer. “You wore them because you’re easy. Because you’re lonely. Because you want anyone to see you.”

Nate’s jaw clenches. That smug fire’s gone now, but in its place is indifference. He wraps it around himself like armor as he steps away from me. I want to stop, fuck me,I want to stop,but I have to end it now before I fall and shatter. Before I do something worse, like stay.

My hands are still shaking. I shove them in my pockets so he won’t see. “Go back to your frat,” I say, my voice devoid of the fire he’s stoked in me, “before someone else realizes how easy you are.”

He still doesn’t respond; he merely looks at me like I’ve proved every single fear he’s ever had about being wanted. Then he turns away and disappears down the driveway, and I bolt.

I ignore Thorn calling after me from the kitchen. I ignore the music, the noise, the fake laughter. I slam my bedroom door and press my back against it.

My hands are shaking.

Shaking.

I stare at them as if they belong to someone else. Pale fingers, clean nails, and a tremble that doesn’t fucking stop.

No one’s ever done this to me before. I’ve controlled every interaction, every kiss, every moment of breathless silence since I figured out how people worked. I was trained to be a manipulator, raised to be a puppet master, and taught that feelings make you weak.

But now there’s a boy outside in lace and a crop top who doesn’t follow the rules I wrote. Who doesn’t break under pressure—he bends and grins and fucking moans like he wants to be shattered.

And the worst part is, I do want to ruin him, but not how I usually ruin people. Not just to prove I can. I want to tear him down and build him into something that needs me in the way I’m starting to need him.

I can’t do any of that, because if I touch him again, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop. That’s not power, that’s loss.

I move to the mirror above the dresser, catching my reflection, and I see a stranger. Face flushed, pupils blown, hair mussed from his fingers. I close my eyes, press my fists against the dresser, and try to breathe through the ache in my chest.

Outside, the music thumps on.

I can still feel the lace against my palm, and the sound of him sayingI wore them for youwon’t stop echoing in my skull.

Fuck.

Nate