Page 97 of Cruel When He Smiles

His breath hitches, and I move even closer. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know that, right?”

His throat moves as he swallows, his lips pressing into a thin line. His body is still too tense, too closed off, but he doesn’t pull away from my touch.

Progress.

“Who called you?” My voice is lower now, coaxing, the same one I use when I know he’s already on the edge of breaking. “Who made you look like you wanted to disappear?”

Fear and revulsion flicker in his eyes and I watch as his walls slam up. My fingers tighten around his wrist. “Tell me.”

Nate’s jaw clenches. “It’s none of your business.”

Wrong answer.

I press in closer, dropping my voice even lower. “Everything about you is my business.”

His breath shudders, and fuck, I love it. He knows I’m right. He wants me to take this from him, to handle it for him, to pull it out of him so he doesn’t have to hold it anymore.

I drag my fingers up the column of his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath his skin. “Tell me, Pup.”

His pulse is racing beneath my fingers, his breath uneven, his entire body coiled tight like a spring about to snap. But he still doesn’t pull away. If he really wanted me to stop, if he really wanted to keep this thing buried deep inside of him, he would have left the second I asked him who called. He wouldn’t be standing in my room, wouldn’t be watching me with that look, wouldn’t be breathing so fucking hard while I wait for him to give it up.

He wants to, but he’s still fighting it.

Still fighting me.

He glares, but his pulse tells me a different story.

“I know it’s eating at you.” My voice is soft, almost sympathetic, but we both know it’s just another fucking weapon. “I know the second you close your eyes, you’re going to hear their voice again, feel that sickness crawling under your skin, tearing you apart from the inside.”

He shudders.

“But you don’t have to hold it anymore.” My fingers slide up to his chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing him to look at me, forcing him to see what I mean when I say he belongs to me now. “You can give it to me, Pup. Let me take it.”

For a second—just a second—I think he’s going to. His breath catches, his throat works around a swallow, his lashes flutter like he’s on the edge of giving in. And then he snaps back. His body stiffens, his mouth pressing into a thin line, his hands shoving at my chest as he finally steps away, putting space between us like he needs it to breathe.

“You don’t own me, Callahan.” His voice is rough, but it wavers. “You don’t get to fucking dig around in my head like you own the place.”

I don’t react. We both know what just happened. We both know he was one second away from handing himself over to me, from letting me take it, from giving me that last piece of him that isn’t mine yet.

So, I don’t push. I just smile.

“Not yet.”

Nate breathes out, his jaw tightening again, but I can see it—he’s still thinking about my words, still feeling them wrap around his ribs, still carrying the weight of them everywhere.

Nate

I’mfrustrated.

Not annoyed, impatient, or tired of this game we keep playing on loop. I’m just… frustrated. My jaw’s locked so tight it hurts, my arms are crossed over my chest to keep from doing something stupid, and my whole body feels wired like it’s holding tension it doesn’t know how to let go of. I don’t even know why I’m still standing here.

But I haven’t left. I haven’t told him to fuck off, even though I probably should’ve. Even though he’s standing too close again. I tell myself I don’t care what he thinks, but part of me wants him to know what it costs me to stay.

He moves toward me again, and I feel it in my spine before he even reaches me. My muscles go tight and I’m expecting him to start something, to push, to yank whatever’s left of my self-control out from under me—but he doesn’t.

Not this time.

“Okay, I understand. But you did good, Pup.” His voice is soft and coaxing again, low enough that it sinks straight into my chest. “I told you to come, and you listened.”