Page 44 of Piggy

Grayson

I love that woman.

Stupid Charlotte. My girl.

But that look in her eyes... She must not like the cuffs. Or the collar. Or maybe the bedroom.

“This is the room I fucked you in,” I remind her.

She likes sentimental shit like that.

But she only blinks.

Yep, she’s unhappy.

Then, she whines, “What about Atticus? Wilbur? What about my job, Grayson? You’re not thinking clearly!”

Damn. She still worries too much.

“No thinking . I took care of everything,” I reply, stern.

“Well, what about Meghan and—”

Click .

“Ow! Stop that!” She cowers, holding her neck.

I click the remote again.

For fun .

“Grayson!” she cries and folds to her knees.

I point at her, admiring the view. “I love that. On your knees. Now put your hands together. Pray to me.”

She balks, then scowls.

Oh .

That attitude.

Click .

“Okay!” she cries once more and slams her palms together. “Dear Grayson, please stop shocking me. Amen.”

I damn near moan.

Her obedience and misery.

“Stand up. Strip. It’s time for your punishment.”

“You shocking me isn’t my punishment—!”

Click .

She gasps, shuddering from the jolt. I lean in, close enough to feel her breath hitch. “No talking. That bratty mouth of yours needs to learn its place.”

Her lips press tight. A flicker of fear. Better.

She frowns.

I grin and clap my hands, praising her for responding with only silence. Of course, my little brat doesn’t return a smile.

“Now, let’s try this again. Stand and undress.”

Begrudgingly, she obeys. Her shirt and bra hang on her cuffed hands. She looks at her toes, her body slumped and awkward.

Cute .

I lift her chin gently, bringing her gaze to mine. “Your attitude is ugly, but that body? Sexy as hell.”

“I am?” she squeaks.

Click .

She crumples, but this time, she falls into me. Her cuffed hands grip my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart. She presses her cheek to my chest, trembling.

Begging without words.

I wrap an arm around her waist, even my fingertips are so possessive of her. My cock’s hard enough it hurts.

And all I can think about is how good she’s going to scream for me... once she finally accepts she’s not leaving.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Just then, the door creaks open.

Marissa steps inside, heels clicking on the floor. “You ready for us?”

I nod once.

The door swings wide, and her assistants file in, one rolling a padded table, the other setting up a camera on a tall tripod.

Behind me, I feel Charlotte go still.

She presses into my back, her bare chest hidden, clutching the waistband of my pants like it’s a lifeline. Like I’m her lifeline.

“Grayson...” she breathes, voice trembling. “A camera?”

That scared, uncertain whisper...

Fuck.

She’s afraid, and she’s turning to me . Like she forgot I’m the one who arranged this. She makes it so hard to discipline her.

But not too hard.

Click .

“No talking, remember?” I murmur.

She whimpers.

My God...

I suck in a breath, jaw tight, forcing myself not to take her right here against the wall.

“Go,” I say, low and sharp. “Get on the table. Do as they say.”

She hesitates but obeys, lifting herself onto the table.

“Ever had a Brazilian wax before?” Marissa asks, snapping on a pair of gloves.

Charlotte shakes her head, wide-eyed.

Marissa smiles like it’s nothing. “Then spread those thick thighs and try not to scream.”

Charlotte flinches but does as she’s told, reclining back on the table with shyness written all over her face. Her knees open, shaky. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Beautiful.

I stay back, watching.

Each rip of the wax strip makes her jolt, her body tensing, trembling. Her fingers curl tight around the table’s edge. Her little whimpers cut through me.

I clench my jaw, breathing through the sharp ache in my cock.

I want her .

Bad.

When Marissa finally steps away, satisfied, I’m quick to take her place.

Her pussy is red, her skin tender and swollen. My girl looks ruined already and I haven’t even touched her yet.

I press my thumb gently over her hot slit, stroking along the smooth crease slowly.

Her breath catches. She looks up at me, lashes wet, eyes full of things she won’t say.

But I see them all.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I murmur, dragging my thumb lower, easing it just inside.

She gasps, back arching off the table slightly, but she doesn’t close her legs.

She’s clenches around my thumb. She can’t help herself.

Well, her body can’t.

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.

“This is too far,” she whispers. “Too extreme.”

I lean down, mouth brushing her ear.

“Oh, my dumb girl. This isn’t punishment.” My fingers trail down her neck, possessive and hungry, causing her to shiver. I whisper low, “This was just the foreplay.”

Then, I swagger to the camera and flip the switch.

The red light glows.