Page 12 of Piggy

Charlotte

I twist my fingers, leaning forward, dying to know what sinful, sexy things Grayson wants in bed. Things I can do for him, and be the best he’s ever had.

Then he’ll say I’m his girlfriend.

Then he’ll love me.

Finally , he answers, almost to himself:

“Latex. I wanna see a girl crawling in it. Begging to touch me. Mouth wide open, drooling for it. I wanna choke her with my cock, tie her down, spit in her face while she thanks me. Make her cry. Humiliate and ruin her.”

My eyes widen, lips part.

“Oh.”

He sees it. The falter in my expression. His jaw flexes, and I can feel his walls go higher.

“You think I’m sick now?”

I hesitate. “No. I just... I don’t know if I’m like that. ”

He leans in, his gaze intense. One hand cups my cheek. “You’re not.”

It stings. Even though it shouldn’t.

“But—”

He brushes my stray hair back, petting me, and his voice softens.

“That’s not what I want with you, Charlotte.”

I stare at him, lips parted, holding my breath.

“I just want to keep you for as long as I can.”

“But why don’t you want to keep me and still—”

“Because you’re not built for it,” he replies brusquely, but his eyes betray something raw. “You’re not a hole for me to use. Not some girl I spit on and leave wrecked in her bed.”

Actually , he did spit on me once, but I don’t want to dig that up.

“Maybe I could learn... for you.”

“I don’t want you to,” he says, his frustration building. But he manages to lower his voice. “You need someone... good.”

“You are good,” I whisper, but the look on his face says he doesn’t believe me. “Grayson. Didn’t you tell me once you wanted a family? A wife and kids. A house. A dog. That sounds like a good man.”

He shakes his head. “Except I can’t get a respectable job to support them,” he mumbles, then louder, “I already burned that dream before it ever had a chance.”

I bite my bottom lip, trying to stop myself from blurting: That could be us !

After all, he’s talking about everything I’d love to have, but in the same breath, he pushes it away.

Pushes me away.

I can’t help it and jump on his lap, kissing his face like he’s truly mine. I feel his cheeks rise as he smiles. He loves it. And like a fool, I say, “I want a family, too! A quiet one, without big parties or Brax.”

He holds me, his gaze solemn as he nods slowly. “You deserve that kind of life. I see how well you take care of Atticus. You’ll be a great mother, Charlotte.”

My mouth hangs open. I pray silently: Please, say a great mother... to your kids.

He leans back, calm, but his lips purse like he’s trying not to say more.

My heart sinks as the familiar sting of disappointment returns.

I try so hard, but I don’t know how to get him to believe we could have that life. It’s so dang frustrating!

Thus, I just sit there.

With his taste on my tongue. My heart in my throat. And the ache of loving someone who thinks we’re doomed.

Just then, he completely flips the energy in the room, acting like we weren’t discussing something serious. He tugs my pants down and dives in. No warning, no build-up. Just his mouth on me, devouring like he’s starving .

It takes a beat for me to reset my brain, but eventually, my head tips back and I moan. My body breaks apart beneath his tongue.

Once I cum, he pulls away, slow, lips shiny, expression calm.

Then, a grin. “See how much I like your body?”

My cheeks burn. I nod, breathless and heart pounding. The rush is still tingling in my thighs.

He kisses my stomach, so soft, warm, and affectionate.

“Good.” Another kiss, lower this time. “Now cancel that gym membership.”

I blink.

My smile lingers, but it’s uncertain. “Why? I mean, they have yoga classes I wanna try.”

His lips pause against my skin. His eyes lift, colder now.

My pitch jumps. “I get a free session with a personal trainer, too. He... he knows a lot and—”

“A trainer? A guy?” His head lifts fully now. His eyes are different. He stills, and I see it. Some kind of panic.

He hisses, “Cancel the fucking membership.”

I freeze.

His voice is so cold and dark. My body tightens. “Grayson, I didn’t mean—”

But he’s already up. His hands move fast, zipping up with angry motions like every inch of clothing is armor. He won’t meet my eyes .

“You know what, Charlotte? Talk back. Toss me aside. Fuck whatever gym-rat you want. If he can even get hard looking at your rolls.”

“Grayson! Don’t freak out... It’s...” I stammer, then cover my mouth, suddenly speechless.

I can’t believe he said that!

He storms out. His bedroom door shuts. And the lock clicks.

I just stand there. Pants around my ankles. Pulse racing. Heat still between my legs.

But my stomach—

It’s twisted.

It’s like being kissed by an angel only to be cut by the devil. I don’t knock. Brax’s room is nearby. He’ll hear.

So I text.

Don’t be mad. I’ll cancel it. I swear! I only want YOU!!!

Grayson

I dont care fuck who u want

Just like that.

Final.

I stare at the screen, my fingers trembling.

What did I say? What did I do?

I cover my stomach .

I cry.

Morning sucks.

Grayson left before I woke up.

No lunch visit.

No texts.

No reply to mine.

By the end of the day, my hands won’t stop trembling. My stomach turns every five minutes like it’s ready to puke up air.

Charlotte, you idiot.

It was going so well.

Why’d I have to push back? Why couldn’t I just nod and cancel the stupid gym?

Some damn yoga class? Some random trainer?

Grayson kissed my stomach. Touched me like he adores me. Told me I was perfect.

And I ruined it.

When I get home, I knock on his door.

Nothing.

“Grayson? Can we talk? Please?”

Silence. A locked door. A locked heart.

I check on Atticus and make him dinner, then go straight to my room and cry into my pillow like a pathetic loser .

I can’t sleep. I just wait in the dark, praying my doorknob turns. Praying he’ll hold me again.

But he doesn’t.

It’s like we broke up, except we were never together.

And I still have to live with him.

So when the next morning arrives, I’m determined to fix it.

I get up extra early, and make him breakfast. His eyes flick to the plate, then me.

I give a cautious, hopeful smile, holding my breath, praying he sits down.

Nothing. Just leaves.

Therefore, all day, I have the same sick feeling. Same silence. Same missing him so bad it feels like he died. Like the best moments of my life were all a fantasy.

When I get home, his truck is missing, but something new catches my eye.

His phone.

On the coffee table.

Buzzing.

Then ringing.

Again.

My heart races. He never forgets his phone.

The screen shows twenty missed calls.

Text previews scroll across the screen: “911! brO ANSWER!”

Another call flashes: BOBBY.

I hesitate .

It rings again.

I swipe it, pulse pounding. It’s an emergency, after all.

“Um... hello?”

A pause. Then a deep, scratchy voice on the other end:

“Where’s Grayson?”

My voice squeaks. “I don’t know. I’m… uh, I’m Charlotte. His roommate. Who’s this?”

Another pause.

“I’m his big brother, Bobby. Haven’t seen him for a couple of years. Say... you think you could give me a lift?”

My reflex is to say no.

But...

Oh my gosh!

I know how to get Grayson to talk to me again! I could do this favor. Surprise him when he gets home. Look, it’s your brother!

So I reply, “Yeah! I can pick you up. Where are you?”

“Boy, that’d be great, sweety. Cutter Prison. Just released. But don’t worry. I don’t bite.”