Page 72 of Cruel When He Smiles

And when his eyes meet mine, I see something new in them.

Not gentleness or even cruelty.

Reverence.

He watches me as if I’m the ruin he prayed for.

“Fuck,” he groans as his fingers slip under my tank, dig into the softness of my waist as he pistons his hips forward, relentless now, brutal in pace but never messy. I’m gasping, choking, my knees knocking, my body clenching around him like it’s trying to keep him there.

Through it all, Liam doesn’t sweet-talk or say anything romantic. He just uses me the way I begged for.

He wraps a hand around my throat again, tighter this time, dragging me upright against him as he fucks up into me from behind. I’m gasping his name, lips parted, head tossed back, and he catches my jaw with the hand that was at my throat.

“No hiding,” he warns. “Eyes on us. I want you to remember this the next time you think about crying over a boy who never deserved you.”

I sob. My vision blurs, heat pooling again low in my stomach, traitorous, alive, and clawing its way out.

“Please, please—”

He fucks me harder, hips slapping against me with obscene sounds, every thrust pushing the air from my lungs in ragged gasps. I feel like I’m coming undone at the seams. Each stroke hits somewhere deep that has me moaning without shame, without fear, only need.

His rhythm quickens, and I’m incoherent now, noises pouring out of me in gasps and broken syllables. His hand returns to my throat, then he slams into me harder. Faster.

“Say it,” Liam growls. “Say you belong to me now.”

I shake my head, but it’s weak, and he slams into me harder. “Say it, Nathaniel.”

“I—” My voice catches on a groan. “I belong—fuck—I belong to you.”

His grip tightens and he groans, hips stuttering. “God, you’re perfect when you break.”

I feel the build, the unbearable pressure curling at the base of my spine and the way he’s pounding into me, the filthy way he’s using my body. “I hate you,” I rasp, even though my cock is leaking, even though my body’s already tipping forward, right over the edge.

“Good. Hate me harder while you coat the fucking mirror.”

I don’t even get to answer before it rips out of me.

I come, cock untouched, and my release streaks across the glass as I shake through it, knees giving out under me. Liam holds me up and keeps thrusting. Chasing his own high with brutal, deep strokes until he groans and pulls out at the last second, his cum spilling over my ass, my back, my thighs.

Liam leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice breathless but cruel as ever. “Next time, Pup… you’ll beg me to do worse.”

And I already know he’s right. I finally understand he’s not trying to help me forget. He’s rewriting me, piece by fucking piece.

Liam

ThefirstthingInotice when we walk back into the house is the quiet shift in Nate’s energy. It happened after I started cleaning him up. His body moves differently—looser through the shoulders, softer in the way his fingers brush against his own wrist when he thinks I’m not looking.

His head is still down, lashes low as he steps over the threshold into the kitchen, but there’s no tension winding through his frame anymore. It’s been replaced with something calmer. Not peace, I don’t think Nate does peace. But something closer to surrender, and not the pathetic kind either—the kind born of relief.

He hasn’t spoken much since I helped him back into his boardshorts, only muttering a rough “thanks.” He didn’t even fight when I told him to drink the water I handed him. Just swallowed half the glass and leaned back against the kitchen counter like his bones had finally stopped buzzing.

Now, as I open the fridge and pull out some of the pre-made pasta Killian left out, I glance over and watch him tilt his head to the side, eyes following the movement of my hands.

“You hungry? We don’t have to head outside to the others if you’d rather stay here,” I say in a low tone. I don’t want to startle him, but I also want to gauge how far under he still is.

He shrugs, then nods once. “Yeah, actually. And I appreciate that.”

That surprises me. Nate doesn’t usually eat—he picks, maybe, drinks water, but he doesn’t sit and eat like a normal person. Today he does.