Page 154 of Cruel When He Smiles
He sinks a second finger in, watching my face the entire time. Another finger joins, stretching me wider, and I hear the quiet, pleased sound he makes in his throat. My body’s moving with him before I realize it, hips rolling into his hand. “Liam—fuck—”
“Want more?”
“Need you,” I rasp, tugging against his grip on my wrist.
His smile is pure satisfaction as he lines up against my hole. The head presses in, and my breath stutters. He pushes slowly until he’s buried deep, and my nails dig into his forearm hard enough to leave marks.
“Oh—fuck—”
He leans down, his mouth at my ear. “Shh. You can take it. You’ve taken worse from me.”
The words punch a noise from my throat I’ve never made before. Then he starts moving. Hard. Deep. Each thrust rocks me, drives heat down my spine. The blood on his ribs smears against my stomach with every push, hot skin to hot skin, the metallic scent curling around us like it’s part of the oxygen.
His pace is merciless—meant to brand, not just fuck. Every thrust drags the slick heat of his blood against me, streaking my skin like he’s painting me in proof that I belong here, under him, with him inside me.
His hand clamps my throat, forcing my head back so I can’t do anything but take it, breathe him in, and let the rhythm crush every last thought out of me.
Then, without slowing, he reaches toward where I dropped the knife. His eyes lock on mine as he flips it in his palm and offers it to me.
“Use it,” he says, and his thrusts never falter. “Mark me again. I want to see how much of me you can wear before you can’t breathe without it.”
My fingers curl around the handle automatically, my pulse deafening. He presses the knife harder into my grip, his other hand tightening on my throat until I’m dizzy with the mix of oxygen and power he’s feeding me.
“Do it, Pup,” he murmurs. “Make me bleed for you.”
I don’t even think. The blade kisses across his shoulder, shallow enough to sting, deep enough to instantly well with red. He groans—low, guttural, pleased—and fucks me harder, his forehead pressing to mine as the warm blood hits my chest, smearing across both of us.
“That’s it,” he rasps, and it’s not pain in his voice—it’s hunger. “You look beautiful covered in my blood, baby.”
It’s everywhere now; slick between where our bodies meet. Every time he drives into me, the mess spreads, coating, marking, sealing something in place that I know I’ll never scrape off, even if I wanted to.
“More,” he breathes, hips snapping forward with brutal precision. “Put more of me on you.”
I drag the blade again, lower this time, across the side of his ribs. He shudders, eyes fluttering for a moment before snapping back to mine. “Pretty little thing with a blade in his hand,” he says, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so deep I gasp.
My hand’s shaking around the knife, but not from fear—from want. From the way he’s watching me like I’m the only one he’d ever kneel for, even though we both know he’s still the one holding me open, still the one fucking me into the mattress until I can’t breathe without tasting him.
Without thinking, I lift my bloody hand and smear it across his cheek.
“Messy,” I rasp, watching it drip.
“Yours,” he says without hesitation. “All of it.”
I roll my hips up into him, and he groans again, this time louder, and his hand tightens on my pulse. “You’re keeping it on you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my pulse. “Every smear, every drop, until you smell like me tomorrow.”
I press the flat of the blade against his jaw, tilting his face toward mine. “Then fuck me harder.”
His grin is slow and dangerous. His hips slam forward causing the knife to drop from my hand and air to leave my lungs in a sharp gasp. The blood between us slicks hotter with every thrust, his chest smearing against mine, the metallic tang thick in the air.
His hand slips between us and wraps around my cock, still streaked with red, and the sight alone is enough to snap me. I come hard, and it hits like violence, tearing through me so hard I can’t breathe. Liam follows a second later, hips grinding deep as he spills inside me, groaning my name.
The world tilts, my body sinking into the mattress, my limbs heavy, sated. Liam collapses against me, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against mine.
For a long moment, neither of us moves or speaks. Then Liam lifts his head, his hazel eyes locking onto mine, something dangerous and soft flickering in them.
“You’re never leaving me,” he murmurs, a slow, satisfied smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “I won’t let you.”
I let out a breathless laugh, my bloodied fingers dragging through his sweat-dampened hair, feeling the way his body still shudders against mine. My limbs are heavy, my pulse slowing, but my mind is still spinning—because I know what this is.
