Page 44 of Cruel When He Smiles

But right now, held in his arms, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

His thumb grazes my cheek again, softer this time, like he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. His hand moves, cupping my face in his palm, fingers curling along the edge of my jaw.

The warmth of his skin makes my chest seize up, trapped between want and fear, between the need to run and the ache to stay rooted in the moment.

I don’t move or even breathe. I just stand there, heart pounding in my throat, tears still clinging to the edges of my lashes, and let him hold my face as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Nate,” he says again, quieter this time. Just my name, nothing else. But it hits deeper than anything else has today.

I meet his gaze, and I realize it’s not only me shaking anymore. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, leaning in slowly. “And I don’t even think you realize how loud you are when you’re silent.”

His lips are barely a breath from mine when I finally exhale.

And then his mouth finds mine with a purpose that I don’t understand but can’t turn away from. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t demand. He just takes—steadily, thoroughly—and I let him.

His hand cradles my jaw, tilting my face up as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against mine, and I melt. I don’t mean to, it just happens. My fingers grip the front of his sweatshirt again, holding onto him the way you hold onto something when the ground falls out from under you.

And maybe that’s exactly what this is. Maybe I’ve been falling for a while, and I didn’t notice until his mouth was on mine again.

I gasp when his teeth catch my lower lip, not sharp enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. He pulls back to look at me, his breathing uneven, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“You still think I don’t care?”

I shake my head, jaw tight and nerves shredded. “I don’t know what to think.”

His thumb traces the edge of my lip again. “That’s okay,” he whispers. “I’ll show you.”

His forehead touches mine for a moment, and I feel the warmth of him, the steadiness in his breathing, the calm control he’s trying to lend me. Then his hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck again, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt.

But I don’t.

For the first time, I don’t feel the need to run.

Liam

Hislipsarestillwarm and barely parted. Still close enough that I could pull him right back in if I wanted to—and god, part of me does. But I make myself ease off slowly, letting the air settle between us again as I pull back to look at him again.

His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes still clumped from tears. His mouth is soft now, not clenched like before, and he looks both disoriented and thrown. Fragile in a way I know he hates, and that’s exactly why I tread carefully, even now.

I keep one hand against the back of his neck, steadying him, thumb dragging lightly across the skin. It’s a grounding touch, not a demanding one. I lean in so that my voice doesn’t have to travel.

“You okay?” I ask again, keeping my voice low.

He looks down, swallows once, and gives the barest shake of his head. It’s not dramatic since he’s not falling apart anymore, but he’s still cracked open in places he’s not used to showing.

“Alright,” I say, nodding once, my voice a notch softer now. The tone I’ve been saving. The one I used in that hotel room when I grounded him with nothing more than calm authority.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Pup,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along the side of his throat, over skin that’s still flushed. “You’re going to go home. Straight back to Sigma House. No detours.”

He’s still breathing hard, still locked in his head, so I tilt my head and drop my voice again.

“You’re going to take a long shower. Not the quick kind, not just to rinse off the day. I want steam. I want heat. I want you to feel your muscles loosen, feel the tension bleed out of you until there’s nothing left to hold onto.”

His eyes flick to mine at that, quick and uncertain. I don’t give him room to question it.

“Then you’re going to eat something. Real food. Not a protein bar, not leftover takeout. I want you to eat something warm, something that reminds you your body exists for more than punishment.”