Page 38 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

Everything stops when his lips meet mine.

The confusion, the frustration, the gnawing sense of something wrong inside my head—it all fucking stops.

This kiss is a claim, a command, and a fucking sentence passed down and delivered without mercy. Every inch of tension between us, all the snarling, biting, back-and-forth bullshit we’ve been playing at—it breaks open beneath that kiss like a dam cracking wide.

Nate gasps into my mouth, his hands in my hair, dragging me closer, grinding against me, and fuck, it sets my blood alight.

When I finally rip my lips from his, his breathing’s wrecked, but the fight’s still there in his eyes, that stubborn fucking spark that makes me want to ruin him even more. “Take me to your room, Pup.”

His smirk widens for half a second like he’s about to challenge me, but then his throat bobs as he swallows, his pupils still blown wide, his hands gripping me like he needs something to hold on to. “You giving orders now?”

I chuckle before gripping his chin between my fingers, forcing his gaze to stay locked on mine. “No, baby,” I correct, my tone condescending. “I’m giving you the opportunity to listen. Otherwise, I’ll make you regret it.”

His throat bobs again, but he pushes me away, dragging in a shaky breath before turning on his heel. “Fine,” he mutters, like he’s doing me a favor. “Follow me, Lover.”

I let that slide for now and follow close behind as he leads me through the frat house, past the partygoers, past the rooms where his brothers are still drunk and laughing. His fingers tremble as he shoves open his bedroom door.

He steps inside first, but before he can turn around, I’m on him, pressing him against the door, and ripping his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. My hand slides to his throat. “On your knees. Now.”

He scoffs, defiant to the end, but his knees bend anyway. He doesn’t drop easily, and he doesn’t drop softly. He drops like he’s ready to spit in my face, and god, I love that about him.

I take my time unbuckling my belt, watching him glare up at me with heat in his eyes and rebellion in every breath. But he stays on his knees, licking his lips as he stares up at me.

Good fucking boy.

I grab the back of his head, twist my fingers in his hair, and tilt his face up. “Look at my pretty little slut,” I murmur. “So obedient.”

Fuck me, I could come from that glare alone. “I hate you.”

“You’ll come on my cock and still say that.” I smirk. “But your body knows better, doesn’t it, baby?”

He opens his mouth to snap something back, but I shove two fingers past his lips before he can speak, pressing them to his tongue.

He gags slightly, lips parting wider, breath catching—and that is what makes me groan.

The way he stares up at me, eyes watering, pupils blown, cheeks flushed from the sheer audacity of letting me take him like this.

I push down hard enough to remind him whose name he fucking moaned the last time I broke him open.

I tilt my head, watching him like he’s art I already own.

“You gag like a virgin, Pup,” I say, dragging my wet fingers out slowly, watching the trail of spit stretch between us. “That mouth’s smarter than it is useful, but we’ll fix that.”

He gasps for air the second I pull out, spit smeared down his chin, and still finds the strength to glare up at me like I haven’t just pulled the breath from his lungs. “Go fuck yourself.”

My cock twitches behind the zipper of my slacks, already aching. “You gonna be a brat while you’re on your knees?”

Nate growls and tilts his chin up, defiant even as he leans in closer. “I hope you choke on your own ego,” he spits.

I can’t help but grin. Fuck, he drives me crazy. “No, baby. You’re the one choking tonight.”

His glare sharpens, but he doesn’t move.

He sits like an obedient little pet, waiting for his master to give him his next order.

I slowly reach for my belt again, letting the tension build as I pull the leather free from the loops with a satisfying snap.

He watches every motion, lips parted, chest rising too fast for someone pretending not to care.

I fist my cock and stroke it twice, eyes on him, watching how he tracks the motion like he’s starved for it. I can see the moment pride slips into hunger. The moment his pupils dilate even further, and his lips part like they miss the taste of my fingers.

I guide his head forward with one hand still tangled in his hair and press the tip of my cock against his lips, dragging it across the soft swell of his mouth. His tongue flicks out to catch the taste, and he moans. “Open,” I say, no room for argument.

He obeys, and I slide into the heat of his mouth, just the tip at first. Then, I slam into his mouth, and he gags when I hit the back of his throat.

“Breathe through your nose,” I whisper. “C’mon, take it. I know you can.”

He moans around me, and it’s fucking filthy.

Desperate. Sounding every bit like surrender and revenge in one.

He coughs when I pull back, a thin string of spit catching from the corner of his mouth to the head of my cock, and I watch it stretch and break.

I tap his cheek with my fingers before I slide those same fingers into his mouth again.

“Show me you can take more,” I say, as he glowers up at me, then seals his lips around my fingers and sucks like he wants to spite me by being better than I asked for.

I pull my fingers free and spit into his open mouth, thick and hot, and the way he swallows without being told makes my cock throb.

“Again,” I tell him, and he opens again, tongue out, jaw loose, pupils blown like he is drunk on this. I reward him with another deep push into his throat, my hips rolling once so he feels the promise of what I will do to him when I finally stop playing with his mouth.

I hold him there for a beat, just long enough to feel his throat spasm, then pull out, letting him gasp and cough, spit pooling at the corner of his mouth as he drags in a breath.

I cup his chin, tilting his face up. “Still hate me?”

His lip curls. “More than ever.”

I hum and close my eyes. “Your hate makes me hard as fuck, baby.” I let my smile curve slowly, knowing it will needle him, knowing it will make him bite back harder, even as his throat keeps working around a breath he can’t quite catch. “Strip for me. Let me see that gorgeous body.”

He stares up at me, chest rising, jaw clenching like that’s the only control he has left. With a sigh, he pops the buttons on his jeans before sliding them down. My brain blanks out.

He’s wearing them again.

Black lace briefs that ride high on his hips, tight enough to make my mouth go dry, sheer enough to show the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

I groan, and my cock pulses at the sight of it against the panther tattoo that runs from his upper thigh to under his ribs.

“You wore this for me,” I breathe, almost reverent, almost ruined. “You fucking knew I would corner you, didn’t you?”

“I was counting on it,” he says, biting his lip as he shimmies out of his jeans, then looks up at me with that guarded expression like he’s waiting to see which version of me shows up tonight.

And unfortunately for him, it’s the one that snaps. I’m on him before he can blink.

Pushing him onto the bed, hands on his thighs, spreading him open like he’s a gift I didn’t earn but am absolutely going to take, anyway. I grind my cock against the front of that perfect fucking lace, making him gasp.

“That’s it, Pup,” I murmur, dragging my tongue up the side of his neck. “Give me all those little sounds I crave.”

His hand slides up my chest, curls around the collar of my shirt, and tugs. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re hard for disgusting,” I growl, nipping at his lips. “You’re fucking soaking through your panties for disgusting.”

He shivers, and I lift up to drag my fingers down his stomach teasingly and cup him over the lace. He jerks in my hand, a broken sound punching out of his throat.

“I could come just from this,” I admit, voice dark and rough. “Just from watching you fall apart in something so fucking obscene.”

“Then do it,” he snaps. “Come in your pants like the pervert you are.”

I squeeze him, fingers curling around the damp, lace-covered heat of him, and he chokes on a moan. “You want me to tear them?” I ask softly. “Or should I fuck you in them first?”

He glares at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and I see it—the moment he gives in. The moment the fight turns into an ache. “Don’t rip them, please,” he whispers. “They’re my favorite.”

I hum and kiss him all the way down his chest until I get to those fucking panties. I flick my tongue over his lace-covered crown, and groan when the taste of him hits my tongue. He arches from the bed and lets out a moan.

I keep my eyes on him as I pull them down, then start kissing him like I want to consume him. His hips buck, and I grind down, matching him thrust for thrust, making him moan against my lips, turning those sharp words into breathless gasps.

“You feel so fucking good against me,” I whisper, dragging my teeth along his collarbone.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. “You gonna just kiss my neck and whisper praise until I fall asleep, or were you actually planning on fucking me tonight?”

I still.

Everything. Fucking. Stills.

Because I know that’s not a question, that’s a fucking challenge.

My cock throbs hard enough that I nearly see stars. I drag my gaze down his body—bare, flushed, stretched out like temptation incarnate—and then back to his pretty green eyes. I hold them; I let him see the moment my switch flips.

“You fucking brat. You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” I grit out, my voice flat, calm, dangerous.

Nate opens his mouth to respond, but I move too fast for him to finish. One hand snaps around his waist while the other grabs his shoulder, and before he can even think about it, I flip him onto his stomach.