Page 70 of Cruel When He Smiles

He walks me straight to the mirrored wall without a word and stops behind me, and I catch our reflections out of the corner of my eye. I look fucked, and he hasn’t even fucked me yet, while Liam looks like a goddamn nightmare dressed in control.

He moves closer. Just his chest at my back. His hands come to my shoulders, then lower. One palm presses against my lower back. The other lands flat on my chest, just over my heart.

“You said you wanted to forget.” His voice is calmer now, but it carries the same undercurrent—coiled power, soft threats, and promise wrapped in poison. “I’m going to give you exactly what you asked for. Put your hands on the mirror, Pup.”

My breath punches out of me. I brace my hands on the mirror, palms flat, trying not to shake.

Liam’s hands skate up my thighs, teasing and not quite touching where I need it. He does that on purpose; he lives for the moment before the unraveling. And I let him because I’m too full of everything else. Rage. Shame. Ache. Betrayal. I want it all gone. I want it replaced.

“You sure about this?” he asks again, mouth pressed behind my ear. “Because once I start, I’m not stopping. I’m gonna fuck the grief out of you, Nate. Gonna take every hurt he left behind and burn it out.”

My voice cracks. “Do it. Please, do it.”

Liam’s breath shudders out of him like I just gave him permission to destroy. His hands slide up my stomach again, then across my chest, fingers grazing the lines of muscle until I’m shaking for a different reason.

He bites my shoulder hard, and I gasp, hips jerking back into his, my eyes fluttering half-closed before I catch myself. “No. Keep them open,” he says and tugs my shorts down, lips brushing down my spine with obscene control. “I want you to remember exactly who fucked the pain out of you.”

And when his hand wraps around my throat again, when he lifts my face to the mirror, I believe him.

I believe I’ll forget every goddamn thing except this. I see it all in the mirror. His reflection behind mine. His eyes dark, mouth parted as if he’s restraining something with teeth. The way he holds me looks like ownership, and I’m letting him own me.

“Say it again,” he breathes against my ear. “What do you want, Nathaniel?”

My knuckles whiten against the mirror at his use of my full name. “To forget.”

He hums. “And what are you willing to give me for that?”

“Everything,” I whisper. And I mean it. Fuck, I mean it. I’d let him hollow me out if it meant scraping this feeling from my ribs. “I’ll give you everything.”

“There’s a good boy. Let me make you forget your best friend betrayed you.”

I bite down on a sob, but he feels it. I know he does. He grabs my hair, yanks my head back again, and forces my eyes to the glass. “Eyes on me,” he snarls. “You wanted to be hollow? I’ll empty you out.”

His words hit deeper than his cock ever could, and the fucked-up thing is, they work. Liam knows how to use pain like a balm—to make filth feel holy.

I bite down on a groan and brace myself harder, palms flat, muscles locking. I can’t stop staring. Can’t stop watching myself in the mirror—watching him, standing behind me like a sin in a T-shirt, untouched and composed while I’m being taken apart in slow, brutal pieces.

“Do it,” I whisper, my voice barely holding shape. “Fuck—I can’t… just—do it, please.”

He makes a quiet sound, a pleased hum deep in his chest. “I’m not prepping you soft,” he says. “This isn’t about romance. You don’t want sweet.”

I shake my head, throat tight. “No. I want it to hurt.”

He grips my hips and pulls, bending me forward so my chest brushes the cooling glass. My pulse is still thundering, my body still trying to process what just happened, when he spits in his hand and presses his slick fingers against me, sliding one in without fanfare, slow and deep, watching my reaction in the mirror with quiet focus. I bite down on my lip hard enough to sting, arching into it before I can stop myself.

“You want more?”

I nod.

“Words, Pup.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “More, please.”

He hums and bites my neck. “Reach around into my pocket and grab the packet of lube. As much as I want to do this rough, I’m not letting you get hurt and bleed all over my cock.”

So, that’s what he grabbed in that room.

I’m half bent over the mirror, skin tacky with sweat, when I fumble behind me with a shaking hand. Liam doesn’t help and doesn’t guide me. He just watches with his fingers still buried inside me. The moment I find it—that familiar crinkle of foil between my fingers—he curls his finger just right, and my whole body jolts.