Page 132 of Piggy

Grayson lies beside me, his broad chest rising and falling, shirtless and gorgeous. The heat of his body radiating near mine. The bodywash he uses is so damn hypnotic, a little like fresh rain and amber wood. The scent crawls into my nose and lingers there, taunting me.

I shouldn’t crave him like this. Not when my head is so full of warnings. But my pussy clenches all on her own. I ache. I miss the way he touched me in the truck, with so much desire. Like I mattered most in his world.

But it ended in disappointment. When he said no, I interpreted it as Grayson replying:No, Charlotte, I can’t have sex with you like a normal person. I hate it. You’re terrible.

Normal thoughts.

And he hasn’t. No sex since. Maybe I need to make a move. I’m probably just overthinking this.

I roll onto my side, slipping my hand across his abs, fingers gliding lower. As my fingertips skim his underwear, his body tenses beneath my touch.

“Not tonight,” he mutters, eyes closed.

I freeze.

Not tonight. Again.

My stomach sinks. I should be used to rejection. I’ve spent most of my life being too much, too loud, too annoying, and according to Brax, too fat for any of his friends. But this? Grayson not wanting me, not even to let me touch him, feels like rejection of the worst kind. Like he’s pulling away.

I whisper, “Did I do something wrong?”

One eye peeks open... but only for a second. “Everything’s fine. Just tired.”

Fine. Tired. He always is.

I turn onto my back, blinking up at the ceiling. I’m still, but my body is burning with hunger for his touch... and aching with the pain of being unwanted by this man I love so much.

Buzz. Buzz.

His phone lights up on the nightstand. I wait, but he doesn’t move.

Curiosity coils like a snake in my chest. Carefully, I reach over his sleeping body and take the phone, hoping and praying it’s nothing.

I punch in the passcode I wasn’t supposed to memorize.

Meghan

CALL ME. COME OVER!! PROBLEM.

My breath catches.

Problem? What kind of emergency could she possibly have? And why does she still think he’ll come?

I scroll. She texts often. Every few days. Begging. Teasing. Needy little messages that get no reply.

But... he never blocked her.

Why?

He could’ve. Definitely should’ve. My thumb hovers over the screen.

Just block her, Charlotte.Erase her. You’re his now. He’s in bed with you. Not her.

I press down. It’s done. She’s gone.

Still, my hands shake because I know Grayson will be pissed if he finds out.Ugh. What am I doing!

Yet, before putting the phone back, I scroll up. Just to be sure. One message from a few weeks ago sticks like poison in my brain: