Page 51 of Piggy

Charlotte

“Wha—” I say.

I peek over my shoulder. Turn around. “Babe? Where are you?”

I creep forward, surveying all around, flipping on more lights as I advance. “This isn’t funny,” I whine. “ I’m supposed to be the bad guy.”

The light behind me clicks off.

I spin.

Darkness.

“Come on, Grayson... I’m getting scared for real.”

It’s dead silent.

My hand fumbles against the wall for the light switch.

A palm slams over my mouth and my head thumps hard against a man’s chest as I am pulled backward. Stubble touches the side of my face. But it isn’t Grayson’s voice. It’s a voice modifier right next to my ear.

“Bad girls get big cock. Ready for some? ”

I squeal, but not from fear so much as the thrill. I claw at his wrist, mask slipping. I know it’s him. I can feel him. The weight. The restraint. The command.

“What do bad boys get?” I whisper, breathless.

The voice changer drops to the carpet.

His voice — Grayson’s voice — gravelly and deep, answers, “ You. ”

He tears the mask off my face, scoops me into his arms, and carries me to the couch like I’m weightless. His body radiates heat, skin hot and smooth, muscles flexing with each step.

“Knees on the cushion. Chest on the pillow.”

I don’t question.

I obey.

My heart’s pounding. My skin prickles with awareness. Every nerve lights up as I settle into position, vulnerable and presenting.

“I wanted to be the boss,” I whisper.

“You’re too dumb, Piggy.” He licks his palm, wet and obscene, and cracks it across my ass.

I gasp. Pain flares. I flinch but lean back into it, desperate for more.

“Too pathetic,” he growls, delivering another hot smack. “No one could fear a little brat like you.”

His hand roams over my bare ass, his fingertips glide to my pussy, swirling over the sensitive skin. I clench just from the anticipation, leaning my bottom towards his wandering fingers, aching .

He stops and murmurs, “Spread yourself.”

I reach back and open, fingers trembling as I reveal everything to him.

He exhales, low and full of reverence. “Look at that. Look what’s mine. And always dripping for me.”

“I’m bad, too,” I hiss, wanting more of his attention. “I had a whole plan.”

He circles my entrance with one finger, so slow it hurts. I arch my back, begging.

“Grayson.”

The clink of a belt, the russel of pants falling, and a shirt being tossed. Then, the heat of his hips press against my backside. I melt . I want to feel his cock so badly. But I am also really hung up on this plan...

So I snatch his wrist and loop a rope around it. But this is pointless. It’s not like he’s going to let—

Grayson holds out his other hand... allowing me to bind them both!

I gawk.

“Go on. Have your fun. you persistent thing,” he says.

My eyes widen, but I hurry, shaking as I loop the second rope, tightening it into a slip knot. His hands are bound.

I squeal , overwhelmed with power, heat flooding between my legs. “On your knees.”

He glares, but obeys.

I turn on my music. Rosenfeld, Do it for Me . The song fills the room, deep, seductive, filthy .

Take off your clothes

Give me your trust

Look me in the eyes and confess your lust

Get on your knees

Beg me to stop

I promise I’ll love you if you do it

So do it for me

Perfect.

I grab the knife. Slide a leg over his shoulder. Grab his jaw. “Eat.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His mouth claims me, tongue thick and warm, lips pulling my clit into a slow, torturous rhythm.

“Try harder, Betty Pig,” he rumbles into my pussy, lips slick with my arousal. “This isn’t a punishment for me.”

Fine. I ride him harder. Grind. Pull his hair.

I slap his face. Hard.

Way too hard.

He blinks, then slowly, he rises to his feet like a tower erupting from the earth. His shadow casts over me.

I cower instinctively.

“Sorry,” I squeak, the red handprint already raising on his cheek .

He steps closer, and I back up. His finger presses to my chest and pushes. I tumble backwards onto the couch, legs open, heart pounding.

“I’m yours,” I whisper, sweet and hopeful.

And terrified.

“You are.” His voice is quiet and cruel. “But why do you want to be like me ?”

I shrug, lips trembling. “I don’t know. I wanted to own you. Even if just for a minute. Even if it was fake.”

His mouth crashes down on mine, rough and devouring. His body pushes between my thighs.

And then—

He enters me. Deep and slow. Stretching me in that way that makes my eyes flutter shut and mouth part.

My breath stutters.

He moves inside me like I belong to him. Like there’s nothing else in the world but my walls clenching around him and his mouth on my neck.

His voice growls near my ear, erotic and powerful. “I’ll eat your pussy anytime. I’ll fuck you till you cry. Hurt you until you beg to cum.” His teeth scrape my throat. “You want to own me? You do. Always will.”

“You’re mine,” I moan.

“Good, Piggy. Because you’ll never stop being mine, either.”

And he takes me. Thrusts into me with the perfect blend of control and violence, with tenderness buried beneath the bruises he leaves. He fucks me until my mind blanks. Until my soul weeps for him.

Until I forget I was ever scared of this man.

Because now, he’s more than my sadist.

He’s my husband.

My Grayson.

And after tonight—

The father of my child.

The Florida’s sun warms my face, but not as warm as his hand sliding over the swell of my belly.

We sit on a creaky wooden bench at the edge of the playground, shaded by an old cypress tree, but Grayson’s touch has me burning.

He palms the curve of me slowly, reverently, as if he can’t wait to meet our little girl.

“That’s right, princess,” he murmurs to my stomach. “You grow nice and sweet for Daddy. Just like your brother did.”

I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh. Because our son? Sweet?

No.

A loveable terror.

Grayson’s fingertips make small circles on my stomach. “Can’t wait for you to give birth… so I don’t have to be so gentle.”

“That makes two of us.” I blush, yearning for his tender and cruel touch.

His lips graze my shoulder, though, soft and affectionate. He breathes, “I love you.”

Before I can reply, a shriek erupts from the jungle gym.

Our son, all three years and pure chaos, shoves a little girl into the sand. Her red pigtails flop forward as she wails.

“Hey!” I jump up, horrified. “No, Elijah! Be nice ! Say sorry right now!”

He huffs and kicks the ground, but my glare holds him in place.

I spin back toward the bench. Grayson still lounges, arms stretched wide, legs splayed open like he owns the damn world. And that grin on his face…

Sinful.

So smug I could slap it off. Or kiss him all over.

I bite my bottom lip, fighting a smile. He raises a brow, his eyes locked on mine. “Sorry, babe. He might be like his daddy.”

“God help him, then.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t be like me. But even if he did, he’ll find a good girl.” His eyes soften, the smugness fading into that same look that always steals my breath. “And he’ll love her with every piece of his soul. Obsessively. Like a man should. Like how I love you.”

I clutch my chest in awe of his words .

“Oh, Grayson. I love you, too,” I whisper, my heart swelling.

Because my fantasy came true, and then some.

Someone loves me deeper than I ever dreamt possible.

And I love him with equal passion and devotion.

It turns out, the roughness of his hands and the softness of his heart aren’t opposites. They’re the same.

And only Grayson can leave me breathless — not just in love, but consumed, possessed, and aching for more.