Page 152 of Piggy

I glance down at the bulge straining in my jeans, breath coming heavier.

Knock. Knock.

“Hey, Grayson,” comes a man’s voice from the doorway.

I turn my head.

Cole.

Short. Wiry. Greasy brown hair tucked under a beanie. Silver hoops glint in both ears. Black clothes from neck to toe.

And most importantly: a man.

I throw a blanket over Charlotte’s exposed body with a sharp flick of my wrist, shielding her. Shielding what’s mine.

Cole enters without looking at her. Smart.

As he sets up his tray and tattoo gun, I kneel beside her, brushing strands of hair off her flushed face.

“Roll onto your stomach, baby. Cole’s going to give you something pretty.”

Her eyes widen, pure horror crashing over her face. She shakes her head, mouth opening in a silent, frantic no, no, no.

My hand wraps gently around her chin.

“Roll over,” I repeat, voice deeper now, then increase the voltage on the remote.

Click.

She yelps and scrambles to her belly, pressing my palm to her back.

I keep her covered, except for her legs.

The buzz of the tattoo gun starts. Black ink bleeds into supple skin.

She cries silently into her hands, trembling beneath the needle. My eyes stay fixed on the lines forming, thin, perfect trails of black tracing down the backs of her thighs.

Sexy as sin.

An hour or two later, Cole finishes and steps back, proud.

“Very Bettie Page,” he remarks.

I study her short, curvy legs marked just how I wanted.

Two perfect black seams run from her upper thighs to her ankles. Like vintage stockings.

She stands up, peering over her shoulder in the mirror, squinting. “Wait… are those solid lines or—?”

“Letters,” I say, standing tall beside her. “My name. Cursive. Over and over. Rowen down one leg. Grayson down the other.”

Her breath catches. “What!”

I smirk, gripping her jaw and tilting her face up to mine. “You don’t love either, right? That’s okay. Your body does. And now your legs will never forget who to wrap around.”

She frowns… but doesn’t pull away.

Instead, her cuffed hands slowly find my wrists. She locks her eyes with mine: hurt, confused, but there’s something else there too.