Page 3 of Piggy

Charlotte

I try to remain calm, wondering if Grayson just suggested sleeping with me...

No, he couldn’t have.

But I clarify, stuttering, “A guy... like you ?”

He chuckles. “I meant someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing. All virgins are terrible in bed.”

“They are?”

He smirks. “You’ll lay there and shake like a Chihuahua. Whatever loser you’re with will take forever figuring out a condom. Then, when it finally happens, he’ll blow his load in ten seconds.”

I frown at his explanation. That’s... not how I pictured it happening.

“Okay, well... how was your first time?” I ask, trying to sound unaffected even though I’m disappointed.

“In an alley. Drea Reece. Years ago. Quick and dirty. We were both awful. ”

An alley.

Of course. I shouldn’t be surprised. Brax said he lost his virginity in a movie theater bathroom.

Guys don’t care about perfect.

“Well, I’m a hopeless romantic,” I say, quieter now. “I want it to be special.”

...if it ever happens.

But I don’t say that part.

He shrugs. “You’d probably have experience if you weren’t waiting for some bullshit fantasy. I bet you want a perfect guy.”

Wrong . Any guy.

I furrow my brow, but he continues before I can respond.

“I hate that about girls. They have nothing to offer but pussy, yet the guy is never enough. Has to have a six-figure job, a fast car, a big dick. Everything has to be their way.”

“Not true!” I squeal, but quickly catch myself and soften my voice. “Okay then, what’s your fantasy?”

He shrugs, then purses his lips.

“Tell me! I told you mine,” I push.

“It’s weird to tell a girl.”

Whoa .

He thinks I’m not just ‘ one of the guys .’

“I won’t judge,” I say casually, then recline lazily like a man.

He downs a big swig of beer, then sighs. “Alright. I want the type of girl who only wants me. As I am.” He stares off, his thoughts slipping deeper. “I want her to crave me. Beg for me. Prove her worth.”

I’m not breathing.

He looks up at the ceiling, musing.

Wanting him to keep talking about something so personal, I nudge him. “What do you mean, prove her worth?”

He pauses briefly, but answers, “I’m kind of rough with girls. I like a woman who can take it. Prove she can handle me.”

I retract my chin. “Rough? Do you beat them?”

He laughs a little. “No, like tie her up, pull her hair, hold her down. But I like them on their knees first—” He hesitates. “This is fucking weird tellin’ Brax’s little sister this .”

“No, it’s not!” I huff, but I calm myself once again. “I mean, it’s cool. All his friends tell me stuff. Keep going.” I give a casual smile and pretend knowing anything about his sex life is totally normal. “You were saying about wanting the girl on her knees.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I open the door and she’s on her knees, wearing something black, sexy. She takes my hand, starts sucking my fingers. Really showing me she’s worthy of putting my dick in her filthy mouth.”

“What!” I scoff.

That sounds so insane!

I snarl. “What’s so great about…” I gesture to his hi ps.

He fights back a laugh. Then, his eyes gloss down my body, making me shift awkwardly under his intense gaze. He murmurs, “No doubt, that little body would struggle to take me.”

Little. Struggle. Take him .

I blink. “What?”

“I’m saying,” he replies, eyes lingering on me, “my dick would ruin you for other guys.” Then, bitterly, “It’s the one thing I’ve got going for me. Women don’t want the rest.”

I gawk for a moment. “I— Uh, I’m not little.” Is all I manage. I grip my fat thighs, which strain my pajama bottoms.

“You are little. You’re just short and thick.”

And then, he does that thing I freaking hate about guys: he flips the conversation back to casual talk, asking about the movie. Pretending he didn’t just say something so personal.

I cross my arms and sulk. “Well, I hope you get the girl you want.”

He snickers. “I hope you find a loser like you and finally get laid.”

That one hits harder than it should. I’m used to cruel jabs, but still... he just opened up to me. I let down my guard.

Besides, what are the chances I’ll ever find someone willing to sleep with me?

I sniffle, swallowing back tears — the kind that always sneak up when I’m reminded the love I want will never happen.

“That’s not funny,” I mumble.

“What’s not? ”

I suck in a breath.

Don’t let him see you cry or freak out, Charlotte. It’ll just make it worse.

I compose myself and clarify: “It’s not funny that I’m a virgin because no one’s ever wanted me like that. That I’ll always be a virgin. Because I’m too—”

Ugly. Weird. Unfuckable.

But I swallow those words down like poison.

He tilts his head, perhaps seeing how much I’m hurting as tears escape and roll down my cheek. I quickly wipe them away and sit straighter.

He lowers his voice. “Look, a guy’ll fuck you. If you got some practice, sex wouldn’t be a big deal.” Like it’s so simple. Like I could just walk outside and throw it at someone — anyone.

I sigh, deflated. “Grayson, you’re wrong. It is a big deal. It’s a big deal that nobody will touch a pig like me. I just... I just wanted to feel happy today. I love this movie. Can I at least have that?”

His forehead scrunches, but he nods. “Fine. Sorry. Enjoy your fantasy.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, though my voice wobbles. I have to suck in a sob to keep it together.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You poor fucking thing.”

I flinch, humiliated. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t even know why I’m so upset. My sad love life is not new information. I shouldn’t have—

The couch creaks .

Then shifts.

I stiffen as Grayson moves closer, his body heat suddenly right there. Close enough that his thigh brushes mine, solid and heavy. I freeze.

“No guy’s touched you, huh?” he asks, voice low, almost curious. He doesn’t believe me.

I manage a small nod.

He studies me. Silent. But something in my gut tells me he’s thinking things I don’t quite understand.

“So you have no clue what you’re doing with guys?” he says, more to himself than to me.

I bite my lip. My face is burning. I manage the smallest shake of my head.

“Figures,” he mutters.“Fucking untouched.”

Then, his arm slides behind me. His other hand crosses his body and settles on my waistband.

I blink. “Wait—”

He doesn’t.

His fingers are inside my pajama bottoms in one smooth, confident move. No hesitation, no fumbling, like he’s done this a hundred times. Because he probably has.

I shudder.

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You want to learn, don’t you?”

I can’t speak. Just nod, trembling like his prey .

His fingers dip lower, and I jolt the second he finds my crease, the touch featherlight, barely there, and still it rips a gasp from my throat.

He strokes — once, twice — slow, teasing passes like he’s got all the time in the world to watch me squirm, shake, be humiliated, yet unable to resist.

A low, cruel chuckle rumbles from his chest. “What’s wrong, Piggy? Can’t even look at me?”

I can’t. I don’t dare. My chest rises and falls in short, frantic breaths.

Just then, he circles around my entrance. His voice lowers.

“Yep. Definitely a virgin. I can feel it. Tight little skin right here.” He nudges my hymen with the gentlest pressure, just enough to prove he knows.

“Grayson,” I whisper, voice cracking, muscles locked in place.

He moves closer, now fully flush against my side, his body solid, overwhelming.

I could melt just at the sight of his massive thigh pressed tightly against mine.

My skin forms goosebumps as his breath ghosts down my neck.

And oh, that cologne... fresh, clean, sexy, wraps around me, thick and suffocating in the best way.

My heart? Stopped .

Then, his finger dips inside to the first knuckle.

I choke on a tiny gasp, then another. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s careful. Like he wants me to feel it... but not break the skin .

He pulls out and taps his finger on my opening, letting the wetness sound in the quiet.

“You hear that?” he murmurs. “You got wet the second I touched you.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease.

He just exhales and leans in closer, his nose brushing my jaw.

“You know, I should make you squeal. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

My spine snaps straight as I tense, attempt to lean away, but he’s faster, keeping me in place. The slightest mischievous smirk flashes before disappearing. He soothes, like he cares, “Calm down, you sad thing. I won’t tear you.”

But somehow, he speaks like a man giving a lesson. Like it’s nothing personal. Like this is just another thing he’s good at. So I nod. After all, I trust anyone more than myself when it comes to sex. I know nothing.

That’s why I do as he says and stay calm. My eyes close as his finger pushes in again — deeper, past the second knuckle this time, but still slow, still unbearably tender.

“There,” he whispers by my ear. “Now that neglected little pussy’s been touched.”

He starts to move in soft, sensual strokes that makes me feel like... he’s making love to me. It’s a stupid thought, but this is how I imagine it, just not a finger .

The rough scrape of his stubble grazes my cheek, and I turn my head, overwhelmed. He’s so damn sexy. I can’t handle his closeness. I feel unworthy.

I want to run.

I want to stay.

Then he exhales a deep, shaky breath, like he hates that he’s going gentle. Like something darker’s clawing at him to take more.

No, no. No way he wants more, Charlotte. This is nothing. Just take it. Don’t ruin it.

But then his breath fans hot across my neck. His nose skims along my jaw and his voice drops as he murmurs, “Tell me someone’s kissed you? Even once.”

I shake my head… or maybe I nod. I don’t even know anymore.

His lips brush my cheek, slowing as he nears my mouth. The heat of him is everywhere.

He leans in.

Is he going to—

Darkness.

Nothing.

My vision crisps.

I blink.

“Piggy, wake up,” he says.

He’s gripping my shoulders. “You alright? ”

“Did I—”

“Yeah, you passed out. Fucking pathetic,” he answers with a big grin, chuckling.

Kill me right freaking now!

I can’t look at him. I’m a hurricane of emotions.

He just fingered me. A man touched me. Grayson touched me. And he’s still sitting next to me!

Yet I passed out like a dummy. I ruined it!

I turn to look at him, expecting him to now see the real me and run away. As if I’m an actual pig in pajamas sitting on a couch.

But he’s gone.

I catch a blur in my peripheral.

Oh, he’s walking away.

“Good night, Charlotte . Happy birthday.”

I stammer, unable to see his expression. Is he happy? Grossed out?

Wait... he said my real name.

His bedroom door shuts.