Page 47 of Piggy

Charlotte

Grayson actually growls .

The deep, animal sound charges the air between us.

“Piggy, undo these. Now ,” he orders, the words scraping through his clenched teeth.

I shake my head slowly. My smile is sharp. Unbreakable.

“Charlotte.” His voice is raw, breath heavy through his nose, the kind of anger that makes most people back up. But I step forward instead.

I crouch beside the couch and tap his ribs, light and taunting. “Just testing the ropes,” I hum, side glancing at him... ready to jump away.

And indeed, he thrashes violently. The couch jerks. My knots tighten. They hold.

I let out a giddy squeal, part fear, part thrill.

“Grayson,” I whisper, dragging a finger down the plane of his chest. “You’re... you’re mine. My prisoner. ”

His eyes blaze. “If you don’t let me go right fucking now, I will kill you .”

I plop beside him, legs crossed, head tilted. Still smiling and proud.

I hesitate, but then, I tap his nose. “No, you won’t. You love me, Mr. Rowen Grayson.”

He flinches, my words apparently offensive. He glares, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

I pretend to think, tapping my chin. “Hmm... power.”

Carefully, I crawl up and straddle his hips, a little braver now. No shaking. No pause.

“Charlotte—”

I slap his cheek.

Oh my gosh! I just did that!

It was light. Teasing, really. But loud enough to echo.

I blink. So does he.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, jaw flexing like he’s biting through rage.

Smack.

Harder this time!

He shuts his eyes tight. When they open, his voice is calmer. Deceptively so. “Okay, you had your fun. Untie me. I promise. I won’t be mad.”

I scoff. “You’re already mad. I know your nice voice. This isn’t it.”

His silence confirms it .

This time I laugh, feeling vindicated, shy, and indeed, giddy.

It feels good .

“You locked me up for a week,” I say, climbing off him. “You waxed me. Tattooed me. Pretended to stream me naked to the world. You left me in chains. Do you even know what that does to a girl? Or any person?”

He blinks, then shrugs. “I’d do it again.”

“Why? Why not just... try to win me back like a normal human being?”

His jaw locks so tight, I swear I hear his teeth grind.

I keep pushing. “What did you say after we made love? Before you left me and went to Tampa?”

He mutters, “Good pussy.”

“Lie,” I snap. I whirl, grab a marker from a drawer. “You want punishment? Should I write coward on your chest?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

His eyes pin me in place, the deep emerald and brown colors pierce through my soul. I swallow.

With determination, I pop the cap and press the tip to his chest — to the ridged, perfect muscles that rise and fall with every angry breath.

We stare at each other, the tension palpable.

Silence.

I start writing big letters across his chest

Although... I am writing my name .

“Okay, okay,” he blurts suddenly, voice sharp. “I said I was in love with you, alright?”

My hand freezes mid-stroke.

“Grayson,” I whisper with affection, my heart aching.

I gaze at him, but he veers his eyes away, jaw clenched like admitting it cost him something vital.

“Why do you do that?” I whine.

Silence again.

Always guarded. Always locked up. He doesn’t have to be! How do I get past his armor?

A pause, musing.

“I got it!” I say, now realizing more and more what I want. I jolt to my feet and race upstairs.

When I return, I’m ready.

“Want freed?” I ask sweetly. “Then start talking, big guy.”

I roll my shoulders and let my robe fall.

There, I stand, wearing latex. Black corset. Semi-sheer. Baby pink garter belt. Matching panties. Hose straps clipped tight to thigh bands that hug the curves of my ass.

I stand still, let him see me.

His breath hitches, sharp and involuntary. But his expression stays stone-cold and controlled as always.

He’s pretending not to want me.

I love that. I’m getting to him. I just know it.

Therefore, I strut forward and straddle his hips, slow and bold. His mouth parts slightly, like his body’s reacting faster than his brain .

My hips lower, and I drag my pussy over his underwear. His rock hard shaft twitches.

He turns his face away. But we both know.

“I guess you like my outfit, baby?” I purr, leaning in.

His whole body tenses.

“Gonna play difficult, huh?” I ask. “That’s fine. But don’t be a coward .”

His body jerks upward, furious and brutal. His back arches, lifting me like I’m weightless, even restrained. I hang on, though.

“You little bitch,” he growls, sinking into the couch once more, glaring.

I smirk, breathless from the thrill. “Question one! Why hurt me?”

He sneers like it’s beneath him.

“Answer. Why do you like hurting me ?”

“I told you. Because it feels good.”

The words hit like a slap. So I spit, fast and sharp, right at his chin!

“Keep playing, Piggy. When I’m out of these ropes, I’m gonna ruin you until your legs give out and your cunt’s too sore to take me.”

“Why are you so mean!” I scold, but gently, I wipe my spit off his chin, feeling like I did something wrong.

Still, he snaps his teeth at my fingers, trying to bite me like the wolf he is.

I frown .

“Grayson, why be cruel to me? I liked taking care of you,” I say, voice cracking slightly. “I made you dinner. I folded your shirts. I kissed you every chance I got. I—”

He rolls his eyes, seemingly bored.

My frustration explodes. I dig my nails into his sides, hard.

“Fucking brat,” he snarls.

“Admit it! I love you! And you know it!”

His chest rises faster. His eyes blink open, so dark, pained, and furious.

“I love you, Grayson,” I say, my weapon to disarm him. “Someone really loves you. Me.”

He closes his eyes again, like he’s breathing in the words. Like they’re oxygen.

But still, no answer. No softness. No words back. I shake my head. All this: ropes, latex, my sad torture, and still, he won’t break.

Nothing gets through.

The only time he bends... is when—

I got it.