Page 116 of Piggy

She groans, hungover, mascara streaked, eyes bloodshot, lips puffy.

Perfect. Wrecked, and mostly from me. Just how I left her.

She limps toward the shower, knees barely working, and almost bow-legged. I didn’t even fist her. Didn’t need to. She’s that untouched. That pure. Torn up from nothing but my cock.

Good.

She’ll feel me all day.

Still, I can’t shake it... Ignoring me like I didn’t exist. Her leaving a bar with another man. Ending up in a goddamn van getting titty fucked. I’d slit that guy’s fucking neck if she wasn’t there.

I thought she was mine. All of her. Especially her loyalty. Her best quality.

That’s the problem with sweet, dumb girls. They’re curious. Eventually, they fuck up. Then they learn.

I’m trying to teach her: Me. Only me.

I’ll take care of her. Fulfill her curiosities. And I can... if she stays.

But she won’t. She’ll get a good job. Meet better men. Stable. Safer. Smarter.

She’ll leave.

God, I fucking hate that she’s building a future that doesn’t need me.

All I can do now is hope. Hope last night was a mistake. That she still remembers who she belongs to. And what I’ll do if she forgets, I already know. It’s just a matter of time.

She slumps at the kitchen table after her shower, eyelids heavy, lips chapped, sore where it counts.

I smirk at her misery, and sip my coffee as I stare at the girl who detonated my fucking life.

“Didn’t fix your tires,” I mutter. Like it matters.

She glances up from her bacon. “Oh? Uh, that’s okay. So—”

“I’ll drive you. Eat faster.”

When I drained the air yesterday, it wasn’t to hurt her. It was recon. I needed to see where she took her classes. See the men walking in. See if they looked at her like I do.

I cock my head, too tired to fake patience. “I’ll pick you up too. Not Keysha.”

Her fork pauses. “You will? What about work?”

“I said I’ll handle it. You ride with me now.”

Hell, I should sell her car to Bobby. Strip it for parts and dump the rest in the lake. I want her close. Dependent. Within my reach.

I check the time. My pulse ticks faster. “Hurry up. We’re leaving.”

She nods and scrambles to grab her bag. But just as she reaches for the doorknob, I fist her hair and yank her back.

She gasps.

I lower my mouth to her neck and breathe her in. Beautiful. Sweet. Even after last night. But she covered the hickies. Hid my bite marks. That pisses me off.

I pull her hair tighter until she arches, neck bared.

“I want the ratty hair back,” I growl. “Tell Keysha to take this shit out.”