I’d been staying over at his place more often lately, and every night felt a little different. A little closer. A little softer. And somehow, a little smaller.
It started with his teasing. He’d glance at the clock, then at me, smirking. “Past your bedtime, little one.” My cheeks would burn instantly, even though a giggle slipped out. It was silly, but the way he said it made me curl up inside like a shy child caught staying up too late.
Tonight, though, he surprised me. He reached behind the couch and pulled out a package I didn’t even realize he had bought. Pull-ups. Goodnites that I recognized instantly. My heart raced.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he teased. “You’ve been acting smaller and smaller. I think it’s time we make it official.”
I wanted to protest, but the words caught in my throat. Instead I found myself nodding, face hot, hands twisting in my lap. He guided me gently to lie down, sliding the soft padded up between my legs before I knew it. I felt both ridiculous and completely safe. My first pull-ups, and it was him putting me in them.
He sat back, admiring his work. “There. All ready for bed.” His voice was gentle but firm, like he’d been waiting for this moment too. I buried my face in his shirt, wishing my blush would fade.
The strangest part was how natural it felt. Snuggled on his lap, listening to his steady heartbeat, I felt little tremors of nerves and comfort weaving together. And then—before I could stop myself—I relaxed too much. Heat spread, a slow trickle soaking the pull-ups while I stiffened in shock.
I froze, ashamed. But his arms only tightened around me. “Shhh,” he whispered into my hair. “That’s what they’re for.”
I hid my face deeper, mortified and comforted all at once. My first bedtime in pull-ups, my first accident in his lap… and somehow, it just made me feel more his. More safe. More little.
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