Page 71 of Cruel When He Smiles

I gasp, almost drop it, glaring at him in the mirror before I hand it back to him, my breathing still uneven, my body already wrung out but begging for more. He takes it from me with a soft, approving noise.

“Good boy,” he murmurs again, too close to my ear, too fucking satisfied with how easily those words ruin me.

I hear the packet tear and feel the slick, cool press of lube against my already-sensitive skin.

His fingers return with purpose now—two this time, scissoring me open with practiced pressure. I suck in a breath, shaky and broken, the stretch hitting too fast, too much, but exactly what I asked for. What I begged for.

“You take me so well when you’re in pain,” Liam says, not even trying to hide the dark affection curling around the edges of his voice. “Bet you’d have been even better if I’d fucked you the night you begged me in the parking lot.”

I groan, forehead pressing harder to the mirror.

“I remember how you looked at me. Drunk off defiance, mouth red and eyes sharp. You said you hated me with your lips, but your body said something else entirely.”

His fingers crook deep inside me, and I cry out.

“God, you make the prettiest fucking noises,” he says, dragging his hand away to undo his own pants. I hear the sound, and I go still, too aware of what comes next.

He presses the head of his cock against me, just enough for me to feel the weight of it, the heat, the unspoken promise that everything will hurt exactly how I want it to. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says against the shell of my ear. “But you’re going to keep your eyes on the mirror. You’re going to watch what I make of you. Can you do that? Use your words.”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes and moans, tilting his head back. My body jerks instinctively, and his hands grab my hips again, pulling me back toward him until I feel the press of him, hot and thick against the curve of my ass.

“You sure?” he asks. “I don’t have protection, Pup.”

I nod, but he doesn’t move.

“Nate.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, I’m sure. Just fuck me, you goddamn stalker. You already know my results, anyway.”

I catch his grin and know that’s all he needs.

He pushes in with a groan that vibrates in his chest, the first genuine sound he’s made that isn’t a command. I gasp as he stretches me, my body adjusting around him. His hands grip my hips even tighter, and when he’s halfway in, we both go still.

I groan—half pain, halfmore.

“Shit—fuck, Liam—”

“Breathe,” he says, soothing and dark, like it’s nothing to him. Like this isn’t wrecking me from the inside out. “You can take it. Youwantto take it. Be a good boy and open up.”

I relax just enough to let him bottom out, my knees shaking, and thighs trembling from the force of keeping myself upright. I feel full—too full. Every nerve ending burns, and when his hips finally meet my ass, I choke on a sound I barely recognize.

Liam exhales hard behind me. “You feel that?” he whispers against my ear. “That stretch? That ache? I want you sore, baby. Every time you sit in class, every time you try to focus, I want you to remember how I made you forget him.”

“Please,” I whisper.

I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but he gives it to me.

His hips snap forward without warning, just once, hard and deep, and I cry out, forehead thunking against the mirror. He does it again. Then again. Building a rhythm designed to wreck, slamming into me with punishing control, no hesitation, no faltering.

And the mirror—

God.

I can see it all: my open mouth, my glazed eyes, my body jolting with every thrust like I’m nothing more than a hole to be used. Liam behind me, sharp-jawed and focused, hair messy now, his face a portrait of calculated destruction.

Every thrust is measured and cruel in its softness. My hands scrabble at the mirror again, trying to find purchase. Trying to stay grounded while he fucks me full of everything I wanted to forget.