Page 8 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

The party feels like static—loud, hot, pointless noise crawling under my skin. But I’m required to stay down here because this is the first time Luca has been sober at a party, and I have to act like I care, even though I don’t truly know how to feel that emotion.

But the second Nate Carter walks in, the static clears.

He’s wearing sin tonight. Tight black jeans that hug his hips, and a black long-sleeved crop top that leaves nothing to the imagination and everything to the teeth. My gaze snags on the ink curling along his side—a panther draped in ivy and roses, coiled and dangerous and beautiful.

His stomach tightens when he laughs at what Sage says, drawing my attention there without apology. Lean, sculpted abs ripple with the movement. Defined lines I’ve seen on the field when he wears compression shirts, carved by hours of midfield drills and punishing practices I’ve made him run.

I always go home to shower after practice, so I didn’t know he had a tattoo. It startles me how badly I want to touch it.

I’ve never felt like this before—want, in a physical sense.

I understand power, control, and obsession.

Lust has always been clinical to me, something I could fake for function.

But now, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, curling like a live wire behind my ribs.

Because it’s Nate. And Nate doesn’t just wear his defiance, he weaponizes it.

I’ve been leaning against the archway of the living room, nodding along to Thorn’s story about whatever chaos the hockey team caused last semester. I haven’t absorbed a single word. My eyes haven’t left Nate since he walked in, and my chest hasn’t stopped tightening.

He knows what he’s doing. He knows I’m watching. And still, he tosses his head back when he laughs, tongue running across his teeth with bored disdain, and I want . Not just control. Not just compliance.

I want him.

And that’s not part of the game.

Sage sneaks away first, and Nate watches him walk off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, then turns and heads for the back patio. I know he needs air; that look in his eyes tells me the walls are finally pressing too close.

Perfect.

I wait thirty seconds, because I want him to think I debated it. Then I follow.

The air outside bites more than expected. Nate’s already got a cigarette lit, the tip glowing orange as he takes a drag. He doesn’t turn when I step out, doesn’t flinch. But his shoulders twitch almost imperceptibly. The tell is microscopic, but I catch it.

He knows it’s me; he always does.

I stop beside him, my gaze forward. The silence between us buzzes with something close to a challenge. His body language reads confident now: chin up, spine straight, and one foot crossed casually over the other.

“You ditched the hoodie,” I say, my tone dipped in soft interest. “Brave.”

“Wanted you to see what you can’t have,” he says without missing a beat.

My jaw tightens, the response unexpected. He doesn’t even glance at me when he says it, just leans on the railing, casual as ever. But that’s not what rattles me. It’s the way his voice dropped when he said you .

Dangerous little brat.

“You’re not even pretending to have fun,” I murmur.

“Why would I?” he asks, his tone dry and as sharp as broken glass. “This crowd is full of idiots.”

“Then why show up?”

He exhales smoke, turning his head just enough for me to see his smirk. “To piss someone off.”

I raise a brow. “Did it work?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends,” he says, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “Are you pissed?”

I laugh under my breath, leaning a little closer. “Not pissed, no.”

“Then I’m failing.”

He says it so easily, with that dismissive edge in his voice that dares me to react.

Instead, I study the line of his jaw, the way his lips purse around the cigarette.

The crop top rides up when he shifts, exposing more of that tattoo.

The panther stretches with him, its claws digging into his ribs.

I want to follow the ink with my tongue just to hear what kind of sounds he’d make if I bit down.

But this isn’t about want; not tonight. This is about restraint. About watching him throw gasoline onto a fire he doesn’t fully understand and letting it burn because that’s the only way he’ll learn.

I let my gaze drag down his body, unapologetic about my hunger for him. The crop top rises when he leans, and I see the ink teasing me again. His stomach tightens on a breath when he notices where I’m looking.

Then he smirks wider. “You gonna keep staring or just get it over with?” he taunts, his voice lighter now, but the undercurrent of tension is still there. “Not every day the campus sociopath catches feelings.”

That word again— feelings . I want to tear it out of his fucking mouth.

“I’m just trying to figure out if the panther bites,” I say, tilting my head. “Or if it just scratches.”

“Try me,” he shoots back, and fuck, it’s not just attitude anymore. He’s baiting me. Testing boundaries. Standing his ground when every other person I’ve broken down ended up backing off before I got too close.

But that’s not Nate. He steps in, just a fraction, smoke curling from his lips. “You’ve been staring at me all night. Might as well own it.”

“Because you make a spectacle of yourself.”

He takes a final drag and flicks the cigarette into the grass. Then he turns and leans one hip against the railing, cocking his head to the side. “You mean I look hot, and it’s bothering you.”

It is bothering me and messing with my rhythm. Attraction, physical or otherwise, has never factored into my control. I’ve never needed it. But the way his shirt rides up, looking like every sin I’ve ever committed?

Yeah. It’s messing with something .

I step closer until he’s pushed up against the railing, and I brush my knuckles along the line of ink curling under his ribs. His breath stutters. “You wore this for me,” I say softly. “Didn’t you?”

He rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

“I don’t wish, Pup. I know.”

His jaw tightens, and his pupils dilate.

“Didn’t know you had claws,” I say casually, knuckles dragging down his side again.

He leans in, lips ghosting mine. “You’ve barely seen the beginning of me,” he whispers, and that shouldn’t turn me on.

But it fucking does.

The smirk he wears now isn’t just cocky, it’s knowing. Pulled tight at the corners as if he’s holding back a grin meant for the moment he sees me snap.

I don’t. I do reach for him again, though. My fingers ghost just under the hem of his crop top and press lightly against the center of that tattoo, against the spot where the panther’s claws dig into vines, roses, and inked skin.

He doesn’t flinch or pull away, but his mouth parts. “You want to lick it, don’t you?”

I slip my hand higher, my thumb brushing over his nipple. His back arches just barely off the railing, and my thumb pauses over the slight, hard bump under the thin fabric.

A barbell. Cold beneath the heat of his skin.

He has a nipple piercing. Of course he fucking does.

I drag slow circles around the metal, teasing it, watching how his throat works through a silent swallow.

His abs tighten when I do it again, and I hum as I slide my hand up to his throat.

My fingers curve across his pulse, thumb brushing the underside of his jaw, the way I know a brat like him would get hard over.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, my mouth inches from his. “To be stared at? To be touched?”

His throat bobs beneath my palm. “Nothing wrong with wanting a little attention.”

“Not when you wear my attention like this ,” I murmur against the shell of his ear, letting the words sink in.

My thumb strokes lightly beneath his jaw, just once, and his pulse jumps under the contact. I don’t press harder. I don’t need to. He’s already giving me everything I want—reaction, resistance, and desire all twisted up behind those pretty green eyes.

“I’m not wearing anything for you,” he lies.

I brush my knuckles over the edge of his jaw. “No? Then what’s this?” My gaze drops to the bare skin between the hem of his crop top and the waistband of those tight jeans. “You wanted me to look. You needed me to react. You wanted to get under my skin, and congratulations, Pup. You succeeded.”

He lets out another low laugh, but it’s edged with desperation. “I didn’t come here for your approval, Callahan.”

“No,” I agree, my eyes dragging back up to his mouth. “You came for my attention. You dressed like a fuck-you and walked straight into my line of sight.”

“What if I did?” he asks, breath hitching as I lean closer. “What if I wanted you to look? Doesn’t mean I want you to touch. Looking’s free. Touching’ll cost you.”

“And what’s the price, Pup?” I whisper.

Nate’s mouth is close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath and can smell the faint bite of smoke and mint on his tongue. “Everything you’re afraid to give up.”

It’s the first honest thing he’s said tonight, and I fucking despise it. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He runs his tongue over his top teeth. “I like that it makes you weirdly breathless.”

He’s right; I am breathless, and I hate it. “You always talk this much when someone’s about to ruin you?”

The brat looks at me incredulously. “You think you’re going to ruin me ?”

I lean in close enough for my mouth to graze his ear. “Oh, Pup. You’ve been unraveling since I met you.”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, but he still doesn’t move or push me away.

“You want to be touched soft, and hated hard,” I murmur, letting my voice sink like poison. “You want someone who sees through all the bark and teeth. That’s why you keep coming back.”

He scoffs. “I come back because I’m forced to.”

“But you stay because you want to.”