Page 31 of Piggy

Charlotte

He says nothing the rest of the drive. Just breathes through his nose, bloodied knuckles tight around the wheel. Once home, he jumps out, slams the truck door, and disappears into the house.

No comfort. No checking if I’m okay. Just nothing.

Like I’m nothing.

It takes me a minute to slide out of the truck and walk inside, half-dazed. Despite his coldness, I search for him, drawn. I’m still rattled by the attack, but my body wants to be near him. He’s my protector.

My conscience, though... that little voice in my head I ignored most of the night, says: give him time.

In the distance, the shower runs. As I approach, his shoes are kicked off, and his clothes flung on the floor.

“Grayson?” I call over the shower’s hum.

“Go away, Charlotte,” he growls, voice short, barely reined in.

I don’t move.

I can’t.

The steam curls around me like fingers, warm and thick as I edge closer. The glass is fogged, but not enough to hide him. Not enough to save me from the sight.

He’s facing the wall. Head bowed. One arm braced above him. The other... moving.

Touching himself .

Water cascades over him in long, worshipful strokes. Down the broad slope of his shoulders, over the valleys carved between his back muscles, down to the curve of his flexed ass. Every inch of him looks forged in steel and punishment.

I watch, hypnotized. His hand works steady strokes along his length, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.

My hero. My monster.

My Grayson.

The soft tink of my cuffs against the glass door cuts through the hum of the shower.

He hears it.

And then, slowly, he turns.

His eyebrows lift, muscles flexing as he glances over his shoulder. The movement is unhurried, but tense.

His eyes find mine through the haze.

Sharp. Piercing. Rich hues of emerald green and gold contrast against his dark, wet eyelashes. Droplets roll along his sculpted jaw.

And he sees me .

Not just looks at me. Sees me.

My nervous smile. My wide eyes. My cuffs. The tremble of my body.

His gaze drags down like a physical touch, and I feel it everywhere, especially between my thighs.

He doesn’t blink.

“Why can’t you just fucking listen to me?” His chest heaves. “I need you to stay away from me right now.”

But I don’t move.

I swallow, shaking my head. This man is where I want to be. Close. Safe. By his side. Whatever that means or requires. In fact, I hate that he’s jerking off. I’m here. Desperate to thank him, to apologize, to be everything he needs.

My voice is small and cautious. “I can’t leave you, Grayson.”

His gaze drops to my wrists. The cuffs.

I catch it. The moment he breaks .

It’s now—

He yanks me into the shower. Water soaks through the shirt, sucking the fabric to my skin. He rips it off. My pants hit the floor.

He forces my body forward, pressing my chest against the hard, wet wall.

I’m overwhelmed by shock. Fear.

Need.

My palms brace the slick tile, but my body doesn’t move.

He won’t let me.

His hand is clamped over the side of my face, pressing my cheek flat to the wall. The weight of him behind me, the dominance in every inch of his powerful frame, is terrifying.

“You selfish bitch,” he growls, his voice deep and lethal. “You ignored me. Hours went by, bar after bar, searching for you, and you didn’t think I’d lose my fucking mind?”

“Sorry—” I gasp.

But I don’t try to stop him.

I want to see what he does next.

His palm slams down on my ass, loud, wet, and vicious. The sting blooms fast, biting through the heat of the water.

I jerk, but he doesn’t stop.

Another. Harder. The sound bounces off the tile.

I yelp, knees buckling, but his grip on my face is iron. I can’t fall. I can’t breathe. I’m completely at his mercy.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Each blow lands harder, faster, the rhythm violent. Punishment without mercy.

“Grayson—ow! Please—”

“No. You don’t get to beg yet.”

His voice closes in. Right against my ear. Almost gentle... if not for the venom in every syllable.

“How could you do that to me? You think I’m the kind of man you can ignore?”

Whap!

Another. Another .

I sob, back curling, skin practically blistering under each strike.

He pauses. His hand strokes over the red-hot curve of my ass, assessing the giant welts.

Then he spits.

Directly between my cheeks.

The slick warmth makes me gasp as it runs down and coats both my openings.

“Such a dumb little thing . Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t let you go this time? Even if you run. Even if some other fucker tries to take you.”

He presses the head of his cock against me, rubbing it between the sore flesh he just painted red. It slicks with his spit, driving me mad as it traces down.

“Now say it.”

I whimper.

“Wh— what?”

His hand snakes to the cuffs still dangling from my wrists and yanks them, forcing my body higher, spine stretched tight.

“Say you’re too stupid to exist without me. That you’re mine because you need me.”

“Uh! Grayson, please,” I choke out, but suddenly, I am stunned as I blurt: “I’m dumb! The van… that was stupid. I need you, okay?”

His body presses closer, massive and burning with heat, so much hotter than the steam swirling around us. His chest crushes against my back as he bends slightly, and the head of his cock travels between my thighs, thick, heavy, and hard.

The tip’s ridge slides over my clit. I gasp. He closes his eyes for a second, jaw clenched, like he’s fighting something deeper than anger.

His big hand closes around my throat, firm, his thumb subtly stroking the delicate skin.

“I thought I lost you,” he rasps, voice cut with violence barely held back. “You didn’t answer. You didn’t come home. It’s two in the fucking morning, and I find out you were with a man.”

His cock grinds into my pussy lips, teasing the opening, spreading slick and shame.

“I almost killed him,” he mutters. “I wanted to.”

I move to speak, but his grip tightens on my throat. My vision dances. I still manage a few words.

Softly, I reply, “I didn’t like him.”

“You left with another man,” he growls. “And now you fucking lie to me?”

“No,” I panic, pushing my words through a tight throat. “I swear. I wanted to come home—”

“You’re shaking, Charlotte. You know what that does to me?”

My lip quivers.

His hips snap forward. Hard .

His cock spears into me like a weapon, so brutal, bottoming out with one stroke. I yelp, the air ripped from my lungs, pain flashing through my hips.

“Nearly died,” he hisses. “Stupid Charlotte. Let another man breathe on her.”

He thrusts again. Deeper. Crueler.

“You should be afraid of what I’d do if I really thought you wanted him.”

He yanks my arms back by the cuffs, arching my spine, opening me wider. I cry out, raw, fucked open, helpless.

His voice drops, deep.

“But you didn’t. You’re not that reckless. But you’re just that dumb. It’s my fault, though. I didn’t train you to be mine. My whore. The hole I fuck. The girl I own.”

He lets go of my throat just long enough to spit on my face. It slides down to my cheek before he rams into me, wet and fast, the shower echoing every vicious crash of skin on skin.

Through ragged breaths, he teaches.

“You belong to me. That means pain when I say, pleasure when I allow.”

Smack!

“That means your cunt is mine.” He jabs his finger to the side of my temple, tapping hard and making me flinch. “Your cunt and this pathetic little mind that can’t stay out of trouble. ”

I whimper again, and the sound makes his cock pulse deep inside me. I’m trembling, crying, but something in me clenches tighter with every cruel word.

He feels it.

He smiles.

“Don’t tell me you like it when I hurt you?”

He bites my shoulder hard enough to bleed.

I bear it, though. Because, God, I want to lean into him. Have him closer still. But I’m too scared. Too unsure of what he wants or whether I can survive it.

“You need to be branded by my touch. So I’ll ruin you. Fuck you so goddamn deep, you’ll feel hollow and ache for me the second I pull out.”

He spins me and slams my back into the slick tile. The cold shock against my spine barely registers. My legs lock around his waist, arms hooking behind his neck instinctively. Like I belong there.

“I’m sorry,” I sob near his ear, kissing, soothing, burying my face to the hard muscle of his neck.

But there’s no mercy in him.

Every thrust is cruel. Deep. Violating. He tears me open, pounding harder, harder, like he’s trying to punish my soul for trusting another man, even for a ride home.

I gasp, wince, whimper. But I don’t tell him to stop.

To my surprise, I want him like this.

Showing me he loves me.

Which he does... I think .

“Grayson,” I squeak. “You still love me, right?”

Wrong question.

He grabs my hair and yanks my head back.

“Love?”

He drops me so fast I yelp.

My knees hit tile. Hot water sheets over me. I look up, wide-eyed, heart slamming.

He’s a god above me. Massive. Hard. Unforgiving. He grips the handcuff chain still dangling from my wrists and cups his cock with it, dragging the cold metal up the thick length of him.

The sound he makes isn’t human. A low, guttural groan of possessive madness.

“Love… what a laugh. You let another man chain you,” he murmurs, dark. “He touched what’s mine. You let him handle my fucking property.”

“I didn’t!” I cry. “Riser didn’t get far. He didn’t have sex with me. Only you have.”

Smack.

His hand flies across my cheek! Not forceful enough to knock me back, but sharp. Stinging. Claiming.

I don’t flinch. I don’t cower.

I burn.

I love it. I want more. From him. Yes, only him.

But he shoves three fingers into my mouth, stretching my lips wide, forcing my jaw open until I gag. My eyes blur with tears .

He watches me choke, breathing hard, jaw flexing as he uses my mouth like a toy.

When he pulls his fingers out, spit strings from my lips, and he chuckles, low and dark.

“Pathetic, little pig of mine. You’re learning though, aren’t you?” he whispers, running his thumb over my sore cheek. “Learning what it means to be mine.”

I love his praise. I want more. I open my mouth wide and stretch out my tongue.

A smirk plays on his lips, but it’s as if he’s amused rather than impressed.

“You think you’re worthy? After what you pulled?”

I nod, desperate.

Because I love him.

Because I need this.

His expression darkens, eyes locked on mine.

“Fuck, I’ve corrupted you so well,” he murmurs. “You were soft. Innocent. Now look at you. Cuffed. Bruised. On your knees. Begging for my cock.”

I say softly, “Only yours, though.”

“Is that so? Okay, Piggy. Because you won’t be able to squeal when I am done with you — or walk.”

“I won’t?”

His smile is pure sin.

And I know what’s coming next will wreck me. Ruin me.

And I can’t wait.