Chapter 1

Clara, a meticulous 22-year-old fresh out of college, had always been the planner in her three-year relationship with Jamie, her laid-back 23-year-old partner. She’d mapped out their week-long escape to Jamie’s aunt’s secluded mountain house in North Carolina—gas stops, detours, a playlist for the winding roads—all for a getaway of hiking, streams, swimming, and waterfalls. Jamie, happy to let her lead, drove with a quiet ease that always steadied her. Lately, though, Clara had been off-balance. For weeks, she’d been having little accidents, unexpected leaks that left her damp and flustered. Nothing drastic, but enough to spark quiet alarm. She’d kept it under wraps, mortified, though Jamie had caught her dashing off once or twice and flashed that crooked grin, calling it “cute” in a way that made her squirm.

An hour into the drive, trouble brewed. Clara shifted in the passenger seat, her brow creasing as she stared out at the trees. “You okay?” Jamie asked, voice low, his hand drifting to rest on the gearshift—close enough to graze her thigh if he wanted.

“Yeah, just… my stomach’s been weird,” she mumbled, dodging the truth. At 22, she blamed stress—those accidents had been creeping up, but she hadn’t dared confess the full scope. Not yet.

Thirty minutes later, they hit a gas station. Clara bolted to the restroom, barely making it. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, washing her hands, her cheeks hot. She didn’t tell Jamie—why ruin the vibe?

Back on the road, her playlist thrummed, the landscape a golden-green blur. Clara sipped her coffee, but Jamie’s sidelong glance—warm, too long—sent a jolt through her. Then it hit: an urgent pressure she couldn’t fight. “Jamie, pull over,” she said, voice tight.

“What? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Jamie replied, scanning the highway. “Can you hold it ‘til the next exit?”

“I—uh—” Her face burned as she twisted, Jamie’s eyes flicking to her with a heat that pinned her. Before she could answer, it happened—a warm, humiliating rush soaked her jeans, seeping into the seat. She froze, mortified, as Jamie’s gaze darkened with surprise.

“Oh. Oh, wow. Okay, uh… don’t panic,” he said, pulling onto the shoulder. The car idled as Clara buried her face in her hands, Jamie’s scent—woodsy, close—flooding her senses.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling. “This… it’s been happening a little lately.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Jamie said, their tone soft but edged with something deeper. They leaned closer, a hand brushing her arm—slow, deliberate. “Kinda cute, remember?” The tease hung heavy as he popped the trunk, grabbed a towel, and slid it under her. “Stay in those for now—we’ve got luggage, but let’s wait ‘til the next stop. I’ll clean the seat.”

Clara nodded, pulse racing as Jamie’s fingers grazed her leg while tucking the towel, their touch lingering a heartbeat too long. She stayed in her wet jeans, the damp fabric clinging, as Jamie climbed back into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed, but before he shifted gears, Clara’s voice broke the silence, small and shaky. “Jamie… it’s not just today. These accidents—they’ve been happening for weeks. Little ones, mostly, but they keep coming, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s stress, or… I don’t know.” She twisted her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the dashboard, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s humiliating. I thought I could hide it, but obviously not.”

Jamie’s hand paused on the gearshift, his head tilting toward her. “Weeks, huh?” His voice was quiet, thoughtful, but there was a flicker of something else—concern, maybe, or curiosity. “You should’ve told me, Clara. I wouldn’t judge you.” He shifted, his hand finding her knee, a gentle squeeze. “Guess it’s more than ‘cute’ then. We’ll figure it out.” His eyes lingered on her, the weight of her confession settling between them, and then he pulled back onto the road, jaw tight with a new resolve.

An hour later, they rolled into a small town, and Jamie pulled into a drugstore lot without a word. “Wait here,” he said, voice dropping, his hand squeezing her knee again—firm, electric. Clara, still damp, watched him stride inside, her mind spinning. Ten minutes later, he tossed a bag onto her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, peering in. Her breath hitched as she pulled out wipes and a pack of size 8 baby diapers—cartoon-clad, crinkly, absurdly childish. “Jamie, no. These aren’t even adult ones!”

“They didn’t have adult sizes,” Jamie said, leaning in, his breath warm against her ear. “It’s this or nothing, babe. You’re soaked, and with what you just told me? I’m not risking it—or you.” Their lips quirked, eyes tracing her flushed face.

Her cheeks blazed. “This is mortifying.”

“It’s hot,” Jamie murmured, voice rough, his hand sliding to her wrist. “You, needing me like this? C’mon.” The air thickened as they locked eyes.

In the drugstore restroom, Clara locked the door, hands trembling as she peeled off her soaked jeans, the cold, clammy denim sticking to her thighs. The sharp scent of urine clung to her skin, a humiliating reminder. She grabbed the pack of wipes from the bag, tearing one free. The cool, wet cloth grazed her inner thighs, slick and intimate, sending a shiver up her spine as she swiped away the dampness. Her fingers hesitated, brushing too close, the sensation sparking a flush of shame and something hotter—Jamie’s voice echoing in her head, calling it “cute.” She wiped again, slower, the soft drag of the wipe against her sensitive skin amplifying her embarrassment, her breath catching as she imagined Jamie’s hands instead. The crinkle of the baby diaper on the sink mocked her, its cartoon animals staring up as she fumbled with it, the tabs barely stretching across her hips. Frustration—and a flush of want—prickled her skin. “I can’t,” she muttered, cracking the door. “Jamie… help.”

Jamie slipped in, locking the door behind. “Hold still,” he said, voice low, kneeling before her. His fingers brushed her hips—slow, teasing—as they taped the diaper snug, the crinkle loud in the charged silence. Clara’s breath caught, her hands twitching to touch his hair as he looked up, eyes smoldering. “There,” Jamie rasped, standing, his chest brushing hers. “Fits you just right.”

Back at the car, Jamie eyed her soaked jeans. “Peel those off. With your little habit, I’d rather not chance it. Shirt and diaper ‘til we’re safe—deal?” His tone was casual, but his hands guided the jeans down her thighs, fingers trailing her skin, deliberate.

Clara tugged her shirt down, heart pounding. “What if your aunt sees?”

“She won’t,” Jamie said, voice thick, their palm resting on her bare leg as she settled in. “We’ll fix you up before we arrive. She doesn’t need to know.” Their touch slid higher, then retreated—a promise unspoken.

The mountain roads curled on. Clara tried not to notice the childish cartoons looking back up at her. That evening, the pressure returned—a faint, nagging twinge. She shifted, hoping to ignore it, but as they pulled into the diner lot, Jamie’s hand brushed her knee, and the distraction unraveled her. A small, warm trickle escaped, seeping into the diaper with a faint hiss. She tensed, cheeks flaming, as the dampness spread, the crinkly padding swelling slightly against her skin. “Jamie,” she whispered, voice tight.

He glanced over, reading her instantly. “Again?” His tone was soft, but his eyes gleamed. “Alright, backseat’s better—laying down’ll be easier this time. Let’s do it before we go in.” He climbed out, opening the back door. “C’mon.”

Clara scrambled back, the diaper rustling as she lay across the seat, her shirt riding up. Jamie grabbed the wipes and a fresh diaper from the bag, kneeling beside her. His fingers tugged the tabs free, the sound sharp in the quiet, and peeled the damp diaper away. The cool air hit her skin, followed by the slow swipe of a wipe—his touch firm, lingering, as he cleaned her. Her breath hitched, the intimacy searing, his knuckles grazing her inner thigh just enough to make her squirm. “You’re a mess,” he teased, voice low, taping the new diaper on with a practiced ease. He dug into the luggage, pulling out a pair of soft gray sweatpants. “These’ll do for now,” he said, sliding them up her legs, his hands warm through the fabric.

Inside the diner, over fries and milkshakes, she met his gaze. “Okay, you were right. It’s… a relief.”

Jamie’s grin was slow, hungry. “Told you. We’re a team, Clara. I’ve got you.” His foot slid against hers under the table, a current sparking.

Back in the car, Jamie’s hand rested on her thigh as he started the engine. “Take the pants off,” he said, voice casual but firm. “No point ruining more clothes before we get to Aunt Linda’s. Diaper and shirt’s enough—you’re safe with me.” His fingers tugged at the waistband, helping her shimmy them down, leaving her bare-legged and vulnerable again, the heat of his touch lingering.

Chapter 7

Clara woke to the faint crinkle of her Goodnite, the starry padding sodden against her hips under the oversized shirt she’d slept in. Her fingers brushed it—wet, heavy, a full accident soaking the fabric—and she flushed, dread pooling in her gut as she glanced at Jamie. He stirred beside her, his sporty Goodnite dry, the blue clinging to his lean frame as he stretched, oblivious.

“Fuck,” she whispered, shifting, the damp bulk squishing against her thighs. “I’m soaked.”

Jamie blinked awake, smirking lazily. “Seriously? Thought you had it last night.” His hand grazed her thigh—teasing, warm—fingers brushing the Goodnite’s edge through her shirt. “Guess I’m the champ now—one more night and I’m free.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, swatting him, her cheeks burning as the wet padding clung, a humiliating weight. “It’s not funny. Linda’s gonna lose it.”

He chuckled, rolling closer, breath hot against her ear. “Kinda hot, though—you all helpless like this.” His thumb traced her hip, sparking her despite the mess, but her glare silenced him. “Okay, okay—we’ll deal. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“She always notices,” Clara hissed, tugging the shirt down, the crinkle loud in the quiet.

Before she could brace herself, Linda’s footsteps thudded down the hall. The door swung open, and she strode in, eyes sharp. “Up, you two—check time. Girls get here soon.” She tugged Jamie’s waistband first, peering inside with that clinical smirk. “Dry. Good.” Then Clara, lifting her shirt’s hem, fingers brushing the Goodnite’s edge. “Soaked already—you’re in this all day, hon. Daytime rules stick.” Her tone was firm, a disappointed edge cutting through as she dropped the fabric. “Cassie and her friends arrive at noon—get moving.”

Clara’s stomach knotted, Jamie’s hand squeezing hers under the quilt—electric, steadying. “Teenagers,” she whispered as Linda left. “In this?”

“We’ll manage,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, stoking her despite the dread.

By late morning, Clara stood at the dresser, picking out a light floral sundress—flowy, feminine, a shield for the fresh Goodnite she’d wear beneath. Jamie watched, tugging on shorts, his eyes lingering as she slipped the dress over her head, the fabric settling over the pull-up’s faint bulk. “Cute,” he said, voice low, thumb grazing her hip through the layers—a spark in the chaos. Tires crunched gravel outside, and Cassie burst in—18, tan, blonde curls bouncing, bikini top peeking from her tank, all curves and confidence. Mia followed, petite, dark-haired, piercing green eyes catching the light, her shorts hugging her hips. Sophie, lanky, redheaded, and freckled, trailed behind, her sly grin hinting at trouble. Hot, all of them, their college-fresh energy filling the cabin with chatter and giggles. Clara tugged the sundress lower, the Goodnite a secret ticking bomb.

Linda greeted them, ushering them to the bunk room. “Sheets are protective—plastic underneath,” she said, smoothing a quilt as the girls dumped their bags. “Old habit from when Jamie and Cassie were little—both of ‘em soaked beds like it was their job. Kept it up, just in case.”

Cassie groaned, rolling her eyes. “Aunt Linda, really?”

Mia and Sophie giggled, Mia nudging Cassie. “You too, huh?” Sophie’s smirk widened, her gaze darting to Jamie, who flushed deep red, muttering, “Long time ago.”

Linda shrugged. “Got pull-ups in the closet if you girls want ‘em tonight. No shame—better than wet sheets.”

Sophie laughed, waving it off. “No way, I’m good.” Mia nodded, grinning, “Same,” and Cassie just shook her head, mortified. Clara’s chest tightened, the offer a glaring spotlight on her own situation. Sophie’s eyes flicked her way, curiosity sharpening.

Lunch was sandwiches and lemonade by the lake, the girls sprawled on a blanket, their laughter sharp against the water’s lap. Linda suggested swimming, and Clara froze, the Goodnite a dead weight under her sundress. “I’ll sit this out,” she said, voice tight, but Cassie pounced, grabbing her arm.

“No way, Clara—you’re not bailing on us!” Her grin was relentless, Mia and Sophie chiming in, tugging her toward the shore.

Linda cut in, voice low. “Swimsuit’s fine, hon—but back in the pull-up after. No risks.” She handed Clara her bikini from the bag—dry, neatly folded—ushering her to the bathroom. Clara changed, the Goodnite swapped for the suit, its absence a fleeting relief as she set it aside on the sink. Out by the lake, she dove in, the cool water swallowing her nerves.

Cassie splashed Mia, laughing. “Bet I can dunk you first!”

Mia squealed, dodging. “Not if I get Jamie!” She lunged, shoving him under, and he surfaced, grinning, shaking water from his hair.

“Traitor!” he shouted, grabbing Mia’s ankle as she shrieked, dragging her back. Sophie cannonballed in, spraying Clara, who yelped, laughing despite herself.

“Watch it, Red!” Clara splashed back, and Sophie smirked, swimming closer to Jamie, her freckled shoulder brushing his.

“Nice moves, champ,” she teased, voice low, her green eyes lingering on him a beat too long, red hair slick against her neck. Clara’s stomach twisted—jealousy flaring as Sophie grinned, treading water near him. Jamie laughed, oblivious, splashing her back.

“Gotta be faster than that!” he shot back, but Sophie’s smirk stayed, her gaze flicking to Clara—testing.

Drying off, Linda cornered her again. “Back in it,” she said, handing over a fresh Goodnite. Clara slipped it on under her sundress in the bathroom, the crinkle loud as she rejoined the group. Sophie, lingering by the door later, peeked in after Clara left, spotting the starry Goodnite pack half-open on the sink—Clara’s secret laid bare. “Weird,” she muttered, smirking to herself. By late afternoon, lounging by the lake, pressure crept in—a faint twinge Clara ignored too long. A warm trickle escaped, seeping into the Goodnite, the padding swelling against her skin. She froze, thighs clamping tight, the dampness spreading—clammy, slick, a humiliating secret under the sundress. Every shift made it squish, the faint crinkle taunting her as Cassie chattered beside her, oblivious. The wet fabric clung to her inner thighs, rubbing with each move, a sticky heat blooming where it pressed her core—shameful, arousing, her breath hitching as she crossed her legs tighter. Jamie’s hand brushed her knee, his touch sparking her, the damp pull-up grinding against her—her cheeks flaming as she fought to hide it, arousal pulsing beneath the embarrassment.

The bonfire crackled that night, marshmallows charring as Cassie strummed a guitar, Mia giggling beside her. Clara sat close to Jamie, the sundress hiding the now-damp Goodnite, its sodden weight a constant thrum against her core. Sophie’s eyes kept drifting her way, suspicious. “You’re fidgety,” she teased, popping a marshmallow in her mouth. “Nervous about something?”

“She’s fine,” Linda said, too quick, her glance at Clara’s lap loaded. Jamie’s hand rested on her thigh, thumb brushing the Goodnite’s edge through the fabric—teasing, stoking her heat as the firelight danced, the wet padding slick against her skin. Later, as they headed inside, Linda stopped Clara by the porch steps, voice loud enough for the girls lingering nearby to hear. “Hold up—let’s check you.” She yanked the sundress hem high, exposing the Goodnite’s swollen waistband to the night air, fingers tugging it down an inch as Cassie and Mia turned away, chatting, but Sophie watched, eyes narrowing. “Wet already—and not a little,” Linda said, shaking her head like a scolding parent. “After this morning’s soaking? You’re not even trying, Clara. Pull-ups all week—day and night.”

Clara’s face blazed, the public shaming searing her—Sophie’s smirk deepening, Mia’s giggle echoing faintly as the damp Goodnite sagged, its wet heft undeniable. Jamie’s grip tightened, his breath hitching, a mix of shame and heat flashing in his eyes.

Back inside, Clara excused herself, Jamie trailing her to the bathroom. He locked the door, the air thick as he lifted her sundress, peeling the sodden Goodnite off—lake water and her leak mingling in a clammy mess. “You’re a fucking mess,” he rasped, grabbing a towel, wiping her slow—fingers tracing her thighs, grazing her heat, the rough drag igniting her. She moaned, tugging his shorts down, his bulge springing free, half-hard and pulsing. She knelt, water still dripping from her hair, and took him in her mouth—urgent, sloppy, the humiliation fueling her. He groaned, hands gripping the sink, but pulled her up mid-act. “Not here—tonight,” he growled, sliding a fresh Goodnite up her legs, the starry padding snug as he adjusted it, eyes smoldering. “Wanna see you in this later.”

At bedtime, Linda checked Clara—still in her Goodnite, the sundress off. “Wet again,” Linda said, eyeing the pull-up, her tone sharp with disapproval. Jamie, still in shorts, hadn’t put his on yet, so she skipped him, muttering, “One more night, kid—don’t slack.” She left, and they locked the door, Jamie stripping her Goodnite bare. He pressed against her, grinding, his breath hot against her neck. “No point staying dry—you’re stuck in these anyway,” he murmured, voice rough, fingers slipping into her pull-up, teasing her clit slow, then faster. She gasped, legs parting, the crinkle loud as he worked her—heat building, her wetness soaking the padding. His other hand gripped her hip, grinding harder, and she shattered—cumming hard, a sharp squirt flooding the Goodnite, the warm rush seeping through as she trembled, moaning into his chest. He groaned, aroused, her hand slipping under his shorts, jerking him slow—hot, desperate. They stopped just short of his release—Linda’s rules a faint echo—collapsing in a sweaty, frustrated heap, the plastic sheet rustling beneath them.

“Sophie saw it,” Clara whispered, breathless, the Goodnite pack in the bathroom haunting her. “She’s onto us.”

Chapter 2

The sun dipped low over the North Carolina peaks as Jamie steered the car up the gravel drive to Aunt Linda’s cabin, a rustic retreat perched by a shimmering lake. Clara, 22 and still reeling from the day’s chaos, tugged her shirt down over the cartoon-patterned baby diaper, its faint crinkle a constant reminder beneath her bare legs. The memory of Jamie’s hands—firm, teasing, lingering as he’d wiped her clean and taped her into fresh padding in the diner’s backseat—still seared her skin. At 23, Jamie’s hand now rested on her thigh, a steady weight that anchored her even as her stomach knotted. Linda’s silhouette loomed on the porch—tall, wiry, her graying hair pulled tight—and Clara’s pulse quickened. What if she noticed?

“Relax,” Jamie murmured, squeezing her leg, though his own voice trembled faintly. “We’ll get you in pants before she sees.” But his eyes darted to the cabin, a flicker of something—dread, maybe—crossing his face.

Linda greeted them with a brisk wave. “You made it! Long drive, huh?” Her voice was warm but clipped, her gaze sharp as it swept over them. Jamie popped the trunk, hauling out bags, while Clara scrambled into the soft gray sweatpants from the backseat, the diaper’s crinkle muffled but deafening to her ears. The scent of baby wipes still clung faintly to her skin, a mix of cool cleanliness and humiliation from Jamie’s slow, deliberate swipes earlier.

Inside, the cabin smelled of pine and old wood, cozy yet stark. Linda led them down a creaky hall. “You two’ll share the guest room—hope that’s fine. One bed, but it’s big enough.” She pushed the door open, revealing a quaint space: quilted bed, wooden dresser, a window overlooking the lake. Clara’s eyes snagged on the mattress—a faint rustle as Linda smoothed the quilt, exposing a shiny plastic sheet beneath.

Jamie froze mid-step, his bag slipping slightly in his grip. “Uh… still got the old setup, huh?” His laugh was strained, cheeks flushing.

Linda turned, hands on hips. “Oh, you bet. You and your cousins—Lord, the bedwetting phase never ended. Ruined two mattresses before I wised up. Even you, Jamie, ‘til what—seventeen, eighteen? Figured I’d keep it on, just in case.”

Clara’s jaw tightened, glancing at Jamie. Seventeen? His flush deepened, eyes dropping to the floor, but a strange heat flickered in them—embarrassment, sure, but something else too, a twitch of arousal he couldn’t quite hide. Her own pulse thudded, caught between shock and the echo of his fingers grazing her thighs hours ago, the cool drag of wipes against her skin as he’d cleaned her mess. Her own accidents—those leaks she’d hidden, the diaper still snug against her hips—suddenly felt less solitary.

“Anyway,” Linda went on, oblivious, “back when you kids were under eighteen, I had rules. First couple nights, pull-ups—mandatory. Too many wet sheets otherwise. If you stayed dry, you graduated out of ‘em. Worked like a charm.” She paused, eyeing them with a faint smirk. “Still got some in the closet, if you think you’ll need ‘em. No shame in it.”

Jamie’s laugh was too loud, too quick. “No, no, we’re good, Aunt Linda. Past that stage, right, Clara?” His hand found her lower back, fingers pressing—a plea, a spark. She nodded, mute, her throat dry, the memory of Jamie kneeling before her in the drugstore bathroom flashing vivid: his breath warm, the crinkle loud as he taped her up.

Linda shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Dinner’s in an hour—settle in.” She left, her footsteps fading down the hall.

The door clicked shut, and Jamie exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “God, that was… I forgot she’d bring that up.” He turned to Clara, close now, his breath brushing her cheek. “I was a mess ‘til my late teens—couldn’t shake it. She’s relentless about it.”

Clara tilted her head, a sly grin tugging at her lips despite the knot in her chest. “Seventeen, huh? So I’m not the only one who’s had… little accidents?” Her voice dipped, teasing, as she nudged his side. “Guess I should’ve packed you some of these diapers too, huh? Keep you safe on that plastic sheet tonight.” She patted her own waist, the crinkle faint but pointed, and watched his flush deepen, a mix of chagrin and heat sparking in his eyes.

“Clara,” he groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified, but he stepped closer, his hand sliding to her waist, thumb grazing the diaper’s edge through her sweatpants. “It’s humiliating,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “But—don’t laugh—it’s kinda… hot, too. Thinking about you like this, and me back then…” His eyes locked on hers, dark with shame and want, and her breath hitched. The sensory memory surged—his knuckles brushing her inner thigh in the backseat, the wipe’s cool glide, the faint baby powder scent mingling with his woodsy cologne.

“Guess we’re a matched set then,” she murmured, her tease softening into something raw as his fingers tightened, pulling her flush against him. The crinkle sounded between them, loud in the shrinking room, the bed’s plastic sheen a taunting backdrop. But then his grip slackened, nerves overtaking desire. “If you have another accident… if she finds out…”

“She won’t,” Clara said, too fast, though her stomach flipped. Jamie’s history, Linda’s rules—it all pressed in, a tightrope they were barely balancing. “I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, but his jaw clenched, eyes darting to the bed. “She’s got a nose for this stuff. One slip, and—” He cut off, shaking his head, but the unspoken hung heavy: Linda’s pull-ups, her rules, a past he couldn’t outrun. And Clara, already teetering, felt the weight of it too—the pack of wipes still in the bag, a silent promise of more moments like the diner, Jamie’s hands on her, steady and teasing.

They unpacked in silence, the air thick with tension—sexual, anxious, electric. Jamie’s hand brushed hers as they shoved clothes into drawers, a deliberate linger that sent a shiver up her spine. The protective sheet rustled as he dropped a bag on the bed, and his gaze flicked to her, conflicted, hungry. Clara’s diaper felt tighter, its cartoon characters a childish taunt against the heat pooling in her core. Linda’s offer echoed in her mind—pull-ups in the closet, a step up from the baby diapers Jamie had taped her into, but still a surrender to the same vulnerability she’d just teased him about.

Chapter 5

Clara stirred awake to the soft rustle of the plastic sheet, her body nestled against Jamie’s warmth. Dawn light filtered through the cabin window, casting a golden glow over the quilt. She shifted, expecting the familiar chill of a soaked Goodnite—girls’ XL, starry and snug—but her skin felt… dry. She froze, hands darting under the blanket to press against the pull-up. No dampness, no swollen padding. Her breath caught, a mix of relief and disbelief bubbling up. Jamie rolled over, his arm still heavy across her waist, his boys’ Goodnite crinkling faintly as he blinked awake.

“You good?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his morning hardness nudging her thigh through the fabric.

“I… I think I’m dry,” she whispered, eyes wide. He propped up on an elbow, hand sliding to her hip, fingers brushing the Goodnite’s edge to check for himself. His touch lingered—teasing, electric—and he smirked.

“Me too,” he said, patting his own pull-up, the blue outline still taut against his bulge. “Didn’t see that coming.” His grin turned sly, thumb grazing her skin. “Guess we’re beating Linda’s game.”

Before Clara could reply, footsteps creaked down the hall—sharp, deliberate. Linda. The door swung open without a knock, and she strode in, hands on hips, her gray eyes glinting with purpose. “Morning, you two. Let’s see how you held up.” Her tone was brisk, but a faint smirk tugged at her lips.

Clara’s face blazed, yanking the quilt higher, but Linda waved it off. “Up, both of you. No hiding.” Jamie groaned, swinging his legs out of bed, his boxers swapped for the Goodnite making his flush deepen as Linda’s gaze zeroed in. She stepped closer, bending slightly to inspect his pull-up—fingers tugging at the waistband, peering inside like a drill sergeant. “Dry as a bone,” she muttered, almost disappointed, then turned to Clara.

Clara squirmed, heart pounding, as Linda’s hands brushed her shirt up, exposing the starry Goodnite. She tugged the sides, checked the crotch with a clinical swipe—humiliatingly thorough—then nodded. “Dry too. Huh. Maybe you’re not hopeless.” Her smirk softened, but her eyes lingered, assessing.

Jamie caught Clara’s gaze, a flicker of shared heat cutting through the embarrassment, his lips twitching like he might laugh—or pounce. Linda straightened, oblivious. “Good start. Two more dry nights, and you’re free. Today, we’re hitting that diner down the road for lunch, then a hike around the lake—nice views, fresh air. Oh, and tomorrow, my niece—my late husband’s side, not your blood, Jamie—Cassie, just turned 18, starting college, is coming with two girlfriends. Staying the week. Young, loud, full of energy.”

Clara’s stomach flipped, her dry streak suddenly fragile. Jamie’s hand tensed on the bed, his jaw tightening. “Here? With us?” he asked, voice low, a nervous edge creeping in.

Linda nodded, folding her arms. “Yup. Cabin’s big enough. And don’t worry—I won’t spill your… situation. Not if you keep waking up dry. My lips are sealed.” She tapped her mouth, a glint of amusement in her eyes, then left, the door clicking shut.

Clara sagged against Jamie, her breath shaky. “Teenagers? Here? If they find out…”

“They won’t,” he murmured, pulling her close, his lips brushing her ear—warm, steadying. “We’ve got this. Dry run, right?” His hand slid down her back, grazing the Goodnite’s edge, a spark igniting despite the nerves. She swatted him, half-smiling, the tension coiling tighter.

Lunch at the diner was a greasy reprieve—burgers, fries, milkshakes under buzzing fluorescents. Clara sat across from Jamie, Linda beside her, chatting about the hike. No twinges, no leaks—her bladder held steady, a quiet victory. Maybe the stress was easing, her body settling. She met Jamie’s gaze over his shake, his foot nudging hers under the table—a slow, deliberate tease that sent heat up her spine. “Feeling good?” he asked, voice low, layered.

“Yeah,” she said, almost surprised. “Really good.” His grin widened, hungry, but Linda’s presence kept it tame.

Back at the cabin, they prepped for the hike—boots, water bottles, Clara in leggings and a loose tee, Jamie in shorts that hugged his thighs. He cornered her by the dresser, voice dropping. “It’s going too smooth. Want one of these, just in case?” He dangled a baby diaper from their stash, cartoon characters mocking her, his smirk playful but edged with suspicion.

“No way,” she hissed, snatching it and shoving it back in the bag. “We’re hiking—Linda’d hear it, or worse, see it. I’m fine. It’s… better today.” Her confidence wavered, but the risk of crinkling through the woods outweighed her doubt.

He shrugged, hand brushing her waist as he stepped back. “Your call, babe. Don’t say I didn’t offer.” His touch lingered, a promise simmering.

The hike wound through pine-scented trails, the lake glinting below, framed by jagged peaks. They talked dinner plans—steaks, roasted veggies, maybe a pie—Jamie’s arm brushing hers as they climbed, his breath close when he pointed out a waterfall. Clara’s pulse thrummed, the views and his nearness stoking her, but her bladder stayed quiet—until the end. Descending the final stretch, pressure bloomed, sharp and insistent. She gritted her teeth, steps quickening. “Almost there,” she muttered, Jamie’s hand steadying her elbow, his eyes narrowing like he knew.

They hit the cabin, collapsing onto the living room couch, boots still laced. Clara bent to untie hers, laughing as Jamie cracked a dumb joke—something about a bear and a picnic. The giggle shook her, and then it happened: a warm, unstoppable rush flooded her leggings, soaking into the couch cushion. Not a trickle—a full, humiliating gush, the fabric darkening as she froze, mid-laugh. Jamie’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide with shock and a flicker of heat. Linda, rounding the corner with a glass of water, stopped dead, her gasp slicing the air.

“Clara!” Linda’s voice was sharp, stunned, her eyes darting from the wet spot to Clara’s flaming face. “Daytime? I haven’t seen that since the kids were toddlers!” She set the glass down, hands on hips, but her tone softened, edged with care. “Come on, up—let’s get you cleaned. Jamie, grab a towel for this mess.”

Clara stumbled to her feet, legs trembling, the dampness clinging as Linda guided her toward the bathroom, one hand firm on her shoulder. “I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered, mortified, but Linda shushed her.

“Happens, hon. We’ll figure it out,” Linda said, voice steady but cryptic, her mind clearly spinning. She grabbed a rag, wiping the couch as Jamie returned, his gaze locked on Clara—worry, arousal, a tangle of both.

In the bathroom, Linda stepped out, leaving Jamie to slip in with a handful of wipes, a fresh pair of panties, and the soft gray sweatpants from their bag. He locked the door, his breath hot against her neck as he peeled her soaked leggings down, fingers grazing her thighs—slow, tender. “Fuck, Clara,” he murmured, dropping to his knees, the cool swipe of a wipe gliding over her skin as he cleaned her, his touch loving yet charged. Her breath hitched, shame melting into want as he traced her inner thighs, wiping away the mess with a gentleness that made her ache. He slid the panties up her legs, then the sweatpants, his hands lingering on her hips as he stood, pulling her close.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, lips brushing her forehead, his voice rough with care. “But she saw, babe. Daytime—she’s gonna do something.”

Chapter 3

Clara and Jamie lingered in the guest room, the baby diaper’s crinkle under her sweatpants a glaring risk as Linda’s voice echoed—dinner in thirty. Jamie unzipped his bag, but his earlier touches—wiping her clean, taping her up—still smoldered in Clara’s mind. Linda’s sharp eyes, that plastic sheet, the pull-up offer—it was too much. She couldn’t sit through dinner rustling.

“I’m taking it off,” Clara said, voice firm. Jamie turned, heat in his gaze.

“The diaper?” he asked, stepping closer, playful yet nervous. “Sure? After today…”

“Just ‘til after dinner,” she said, shimmying her sweatpants down. She ripped the tabs free, the cartoon-clad diaper dropping, and Jamie’s eyes raked her legs, hungry. “Your aunt’s too perceptive—I can’t risk it. Later, I’ll put it back on.”

“Need help?” he murmured, husky, fingers brushing her hip—electric. Her breath hitched.

“Behave,” she whispered, swatting him, though her skin buzzed. She tugged her sweatpants up, the diaper’s absence a gamble. Her hidden leaks gnawed at her, but she’d manage.

Jamie smirked, hand grazing her back as they left. “Don’t push it—she’s got a sixth sense.”

Dinner—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans—filled Linda’s table. Clara sat across from Jamie, Linda at the head, her gaze flicking as she passed rolls. Small talk flowed—the drive, the lake—but midway, a bladder twinge hit Clara. She’d skipped water, nursed tea, but it crept up. She crossed her legs, shoving food in to hide it.

“You okay, Clara?” Linda asked, fork pausing, tone edged. “You’re wiggling.”

Cheeks warm, Clara lied, “Fine, just settling in.” Jamie’s foot nudged hers—warning, spark.

Linda hummed, skeptical, but dropped it. The twinge sharpened, a dull ache pressing low. Clara excused herself post-meal, darting to the bathroom and locking the door. Standing there, she clenched her fists and muttered, “Hold it,” her voice a desperate command. She’d been dodging the bathroom all day—too nervous with Linda’s hawk-like watch, too stubborn to admit she couldn’t wait. It was a point of pride now, a silent defiance against the pull-ups Linda kept hinting at. But as she fumbled with her sweatpants, a small, warm spurt escaped, soaking into her panties before she could stop it. “Damn it,” she hissed, yanking them down and dropping onto the toilet. The rest poured out in a rush, relief mingling with irritation as she stared at the damp spot on her underwear. It wasn’t much—just a little leak—but it stung her pride. She wiped herself, pulled up the panties and sweats, hopefully they wont make a wet spot on her pants. splashing her face to cool her flushed cheeks she then returned to the others

After dinner, they stepped onto the porch, the night air cool, stars glinting over the lake. Linda leaned against the railing, sipping cocoa, and handed them mugs. “Nice night, huh? Lake’s perfect this time of year—calms the soul after a long day.”

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous,” Clara said, forcing ease, though her nerves hummed. Jamie’s arm draped around her shoulders, thumb tracing her neck—stoking her.

Linda nodded, eyeing them. “You two seem wound up, though. Drive wear you out?”

“Just a lot of… excitement,” Jamie said, smirking faintly, his touch sparking Clara. Then it hit—sharp, urgent. She shifted, thighs pressed tight, a tiny leak dampening her underwear. She laughed too loud at Linda’s next comment—something about fishing—to cover it.

Linda’s eyes narrowed. “Sure you’re alright? Jumpy—bladder trouble?”

Heart thudding, Clara said, “No, I’m good,” too fast. Jamie’s arm tightened.

“Mm-hmm,” Linda replied, unconvinced. They sipped cocoa, tension coiling. As Linda set her mug down, she added, “Well, rest up—tomorrow’s lake day. Swimming, kayaking, early start. Last chance—Goodnites are in the closet. Beds aren’t cheap.”

Jamie’s laugh strained. “We’re fine, Aunt Linda.” His hand squeezed Clara’s, their baby diapers a secret shield.

Linda shrugged, lingering a beat. “Alright, your call. I’m turning in—don’t stay up too late, you’ll need energy.” She headed inside, leaving the hall door ajar, her footsteps fading slowly.

In their room, door shut, Clara sagged against Jamie. “She’s onto me,” she whispered, the damp spot taunting. “Those close calls…”

“She’s fishing,” Jamie said, pulling her close, thumbs brushing her hips. “Put it back on—just in case.” His eyes darkened with want.

Clara smirked, tossing him a baby diaper. “Maybe you should too, Mr. Seventeen.”

He caught it, cheeks flaming, laughing rough. “Not happening, babe.” He tossed it back, chest brushing hers. “Lie down—it’s easier.”

On the bed, the plastic sheet rustled. Jamie peeled her sweatpants down slow, fingers trailing her thighs. He tugged her damp underwear off, smirking at the stain, then grabbed wipes from their bag. The cool swipe grazed her skin—intimate, teasing—as he cleaned her, knuckles brushing too close. She gasped, arousal stirring as he unfolded the diaper, sliding it under her, lifting her hips. His fingers lingered, tracing her inner thighs, dipping near her heat. Her legs parted, a faint dampness from her arousal kissing the diaper’s lining, and he taped it snug, breath hitching at the subtle wetness.

“Little damp already, huh?” he teased, voice hoarse, leaning in. His lips crashed against hers—hot, desperate—his boner straining his jeans. Her hands tangled in his hair, his slid under her shirt, thumb flicking her nipple. She moaned, loud, as he pressed the diaper against her core, grinding against her leg.

“Fuck, Clara,” he groaned, nipping her neck. Her hand reached down, stroking his bulge. “Please,” she begged, voice trembling, desperate, fingers fumbling with his fly. He thrust into her touch, then froze as faint footsteps echoed—Linda, maybe, down the hall.

“Shit—pause,” he rasped, pulling back, eyes wild. “She might hear us.” Her cheeks blazed, his glowed—both wrecked, breathless.

Clara whined, nodding reluctantly, body aching. He steadied himself, hands shaking as he finished taping her, one last graze along her thigh—torturous. “Done.”

Chapter 6

Clara and Jamie stepped out of the bathroom, her fresh sweatpants soft against her skin, his hand lingering on her lower back—steadying, warm. The living room loomed ahead, and there stood Linda, waiting by the couch, her expression a mix of concern and stern resolve. In her hand dangled a girls’ Goodnite, a silent judgment. She held it up like a disappointed mother scolding a toddler, her lips pursed, eyes fixed on Clara.

“Clara, hon,” Linda started, voice low but firm, “that couch mess… daytime wetting’s a whole new ballgame. I haven’t seen this since my kids were in diapers. You’re wearing one of these tonight—through dinner, into bed. No arguments.” She shook the pull-up slightly, the crinkle cutting the air. “And I’m putting it on you myself. Gotta make sure it’s snug, no leaks. You’ll know how it should feel for next time.”

Clara’s face burned, her throat tightening as she glanced at Jamie. His jaw clenched, a flush creeping up his neck, but he stayed silent, hand twitching against her. “Linda, I—I can manage,” she stammered, mortified, but Linda stepped closer, undeterred.

“Nope. Daytime’s serious. Upstairs, now—let’s get this done.” Her tone softened, almost caring, but the authority brooked no refusal. Clara shot Jamie a pleading look, but he could only squeeze her hand, helpless, as Linda ushered her toward the guest room.

In the room, door shut, Linda motioned for Clara to drop her sweatpants. Her cheeks blazed as she complied, the cool air hitting her thighs, panties still fresh from Jamie’s tender change. Linda knelt, sliding the Goodnite up with practiced efficiency—tugging the waistband high, smoothing the sides, her fingers brushing Clara’s hips with clinical precision. “See? Tight but comfy. Keeps everything in,” she said, patting the padding like a lesson. Clara’s skin prickled, humiliation warring with the snug fit, Linda’s touch a stark contrast to Jamie’s earlier warmth. “Good. Pants back on—dinner’s ready.”

Clara nodded mutely, pulling the sweatpants up, the faint crinkle deafening in her ears as Linda left. Jamie slipped in after, his eyes dark with a mix of sympathy and heat. “You okay?” he murmured, hand grazing her waist, thumb tracing the Goodnite’s edge through the fabric.

“Barely,” she whispered, leaning into him, his woodsy scent grounding her. “She’s treating me like a kid.”

“She’s Linda,” he said, lips brushing her temple. “We’ll get through it.” His touch lingered, a spark flaring, but dinner called.

At the table—steaks, roasted veggies, pie cooling on the counter—Clara sat stiffly, the Goodnite rustling faintly under her sweatpants. Jamie’s foot nudged hers, a quiet tease, while Linda prattled about the lake. Halfway through, pressure hit—sharp, urgent. Clara froze, fork clattering, then bolted upright. “Bathroom,” she muttered, rushing off, her cheeks flaming as Linda’s eyes tracked her.

She made it, yanking the Goodnite down just in time, the stream hitting the toilet with a shaky exhale of relief. She wiped, pulled it back up—still dry, thank God—and splashed her face, steadying her nerves. Back at the table, she slid into her seat, but Linda wasn’t done. She leaned over, voice low but firm. “Lift your shirt a sec, hon—gotta check.”

Clara’s stomach dropped, Jamie’s fork pausing midair as Linda tugged her waistband down an inch, peering at the Goodnite like a toddler’s diaper check. “Dry. Good girl,” she said, patting Clara’s knee, oblivious to the searing humiliation. Jamie’s gaze met hers—shock, arousal, a flicker of shared embarrassment—his flush mirroring her own.

“Really, Aunt Linda?” he muttered, voice tight, but she just shrugged.

“Rules are rules,” she said, cutting into her steak.

After dinner, they escaped to the porch, the night air cool, stars glinting over the lake. Clara leaned against the railing, Jamie’s arm draping her shoulders, his thumb tracing her neck—stoking her despite the day. “Tomorrow’s gonna be rough,” she said, voice low. “Those girls—Cassie and her friends—get here at noon. Linda’s got me in this thing all day.”

“We’ll keep ‘em busy,” Jamie murmured, lips close. “Kayaking, maybe a bonfire. They won’t notice.” His hand slid to her waist, grazing the Goodnite’s edge again, a shiver rippling through her.

Linda stepped out, cocoa in hand. “Nice night, huh? Don’t stay up too late—girls arrive tomorrow. Jamie, two more dry nights and you’re clear. Clara, you’re in pull-ups for the rest of the nights, and tomorrow daytime too—I’ll check before you’re back to underwear. Gotta be sure.” She sipped, eyes glinting. “Night.”

Clara’s heart sank, Jamie’s grip tightening. “Noon,” she whispered as Linda’s footsteps faded. “They’ll be here, and I’ll be crinkling.”

“We’ll figure it,” he said, voice rough, pulling her closer. The threat loomed, but his touch burned hotter.

In their room, door locked, Jamie stripped to his boxers, then slid on his boys’ Goodnite, the blue clinging to his bulge. Clara peeled off her sweatpants, the Goodnite exposed, and Jamie’s eyes darkened as he climbed onto the bed. “Wait,” he said, hand brushing her hip, fingers pressing the padding. “You’re… damp already?”

She froze, checking herself—a faint wet spot, not soaked, just her arousal seeping through from his touches all day. “I—I didn’t even feel it,” she stammered, cheeks blazing, but his grin turned hungry.

“Hot as fuck,” he rasped, pulling her down beside him, the plastic sheet rustling. His lips crashed against hers—desperate, deep—his boner straining the Goodnite’s side. Her hands tangled in his hair, his slid under her shirt, thumb flicking her nipple. She moaned, loud, as he pressed against her, the crinkle loud between them.

“Clara,” he groaned, nipping her neck, and she tugged his pull-up down just enough, his cock springing free—hard, pulsing, sticking out the side. She slid lower, breath hot against him, and took him in her mouth—slow, wet, intimate. The Goodnite framed him, absurdly childish against the raw act, her tongue swirling as he gasped, hips bucking. His hands gripped her hair, voice hoarse. “Fuck, babe—yes.”

It was embarrassing—her in a damp pull-up, him in his—but the heat overpowered it, their vulnerability stoking the fire. He shuddered, spilling into her mouth, and she swallowed, trembling, arousal pooling in her Goodnite as she pulled back. He yanked her up, kissing her hard, tasting himself on her lips, his hands roaming her body—teasing, possessive.

“Night,” he growled, spent, pulling the Goodnite back over himself as she curled against him, her dampness a quiet thrill. His arm draped over her, hardness softening against her back, the air thick with their intimacy and the looming dread—two nights for him, a week of checks for her, and the girls arriving tomorrow. Sleep took them, teetering on the edge of exposure, bodies buzzing with what they couldn’t outrun.

Chapter 4

Clara woke to a damp chill, the plastic sheet crinkling beneath her as she shifted. Her eyes fluttered open, dawn light seeping through the cabin window, and a sinking dread hit—her shirt clung to her stomach, the baby diaper between her legs sodden and useless. The too-small thing, taped tight by Jamie’s trembling hands last night, hadn’t held her arousal or the inevitable leak that followed in her sleep. The quilt was damp, the sheet beneath a telltale wet patch. She bolted upright, heart hammering.

Jamie stirred beside her, his arm still slung over her waist, his morning hardness pressing against her hip through his boxers. “Mm—what’s wrong?” he mumbled, voice groggy, then froze as his hand brushed the wet spot. His eyes snapped open, darting to her soaked diaper, then the sheets. “Oh, shit.”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Clara whispered, cheeks flaming, tugging her shirt down as if it could hide the mess. The memory of last night—his lips on her neck, her begging, the diaper slick with her arousal—flooded back, now twisted with panic.

He sat up, raking a hand through his hair, his bare chest catching the light. “It’s fine, babe. I’ll handle it.” His voice was steady, but his gaze lingered on her, dark with a mix of worry and that same heat from last night. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You’re still hot, even like this.” A shiver ran through her, despite the mess.

Before she could protest, footsteps creaked down the hall—Linda. Jamie yanked the quilt up, covering Clara, and swung his legs out of bed just as the door cracked open. Linda poked her head in, her sharp eyes narrowing at the rumpled bed.

“Morning, you two. Sleep well?” Her tone was casual, but her gaze snagged on the damp quilt, then flicked to Clara’s flushed face.

Jamie stood, blocking her view, his boxers tented slightly—damn his timing. “Uh, yeah, mostly. I, uh… had a little accident.” He rubbed his neck, forcing a sheepish grin. “Old habits, I guess.”

Clara’s jaw dropped, but she clamped it shut, heart thudding. Linda’s eyebrow arched, her lips pursing as she studied him, then Clara, who shrank under the quilt. “You, huh?” Linda said, skepticism dripping. “Funny, you’ve been dry for years. Sheets don’t lie, though.” She stepped closer, peering at the wet spot, then back at Clara. “Sure it wasn’t someone else?”

“Nope, all me,” Jamie cut in, too quick, his hand brushing Clara’s shoulder under the quilt—a secret squeeze, electric despite the tension. “Sorry, Aunt Linda. Won’t happen again.”

Linda hummed, unconvinced, but waved it off. “Clean it up before breakfast. Lake day’s still on—get moving.” She left, door clicking shut, but her suspicion hung like smoke.

Clara exhaled, shoving the quilt off. “You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered, peeling the soaked diaper free, her thighs sticky with arousal and shame. Jamie’s eyes tracked her, his boner still evident, and he smirked.

“Couldn’t let her pin it on you,” he said, voice low, stepping closer. “Besides, it’s kinda… sexy, you soaking through that little thing.” His hand grazed her hip, teasing, and her breath caught, heat flaring despite the mess.

“Stop it,” she hissed, swatting him, but her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch. “We’ve got to clean this up.”

The lake day dawned bright, a blur of sun and distraction. Clara, in her bikini, felt the pressure build an hour into kayaking—the rhythmic paddle, the water’s lap, Jamie’s grin beside her stoking her nerves. A sudden twinge hit, and before she could brace, a spurt escaped—warm, brief—into her bikini bottom. She froze, cheeks burning, glancing at Jamie. He caught her flinch, eyes narrowing, then widening as she slipped over the kayak’s edge into the lake, the cool water swallowing her secret. She finished there, a faint stream blending with the ripples, praying Linda—watching from shore—wouldn’t notice.

Climbing back in, dripping, she met Jamie’s knowing smirk. “Should’ve packed swim diapers, huh?” he teased, voice low, paddle dipping lazily. Her blush deepened, a laugh escaping despite the humiliation, his gaze sparking her pulse. Linda’s distant stare stayed oblivious, and Clara clung to that.

By nightfall, they sprawled in the living room, sunburned and tired, the fire crackling. Linda set her mug down, her expression shifting—stern, final. “Alright, you two. That bed’s taken enough hits. Jamie, you’re a gentleman, but I’m not buying it was you this morning.” Her eyes locked on Clara, who froze, Jamie’s hand stilling on her knee under the blanket.

Clara opened her mouth, but Linda raised a hand. “Save it. I’ve seen the signs—fidgeting, close calls. You’re both in Goodnites tonight—XL ones, no arguments.” She stood, pulling two packs from the closet—one boys’ version, blue and sporty, the other a girls’ pack, purple with stars, clearly freshly bought. “Only had the boys’ ‘til I slipped out earlier—figured Clara deserved her own. I know how many are in each, so don’t think you can swap ‘em out dry in the morning. I’ll check. Rules are: three nights dry, you’re back to normal underwear. Wet, you wear ‘em ‘til we leave. Leak through? It’s tape-on diapers—big ones—for the rest of the trip. Beds aren’t cheap.” She tossed the packs on the couch. “Put ‘em on. Now.”

Clara’s face blazed—girls’ XL Goodnites, bought just for her, the implication searing. Jamie’s went scarlet, his grip tightening on her knee. “Aunt Linda, we’re not kids—”

“You’re in my house,” she snapped. “Night.” She left, footsteps fading.

Clara stared at the purple pack, pulse racing, her blush a wildfire. Jamie turned to her, his eyes dark, conflicted. “This is… fucked up,” he muttered, but his voice dropped, husky. “And kinda hot.” His hand slid up her thigh, thumb brushing her shorts, and her breath hitched.

“Jamie,” she whispered, half-protest, half-plea, as he leaned in, lips grazing her jaw. “She’ll check.”

“Then we stay dry,” he murmured, nipping her earlobe, his boner pressing against her leg. “But fuck, I want you in that right now.” His fingers teased her waistband, and she squirmed, heat pooling low.

In their room, door locked, Clara stripped to her shirt, Jamie watching, his erection straining as she slid the girls’ Goodnite up—snug, starry, mortifyingly cute. He pulled on his boys’ version, the blue clinging to his bulge, and grinned. “His and hers, huh? Matching set.”

She smirked, climbing into bed. “Yours looks ready to burst, Mr. Seventeen.”

“Yours is begging for it,” he shot back, pressing against her, the plastic sheet rustling. His lips found hers—slow, hungry—hand cupping her hip. Her fingers slipped under his Goodnite, wrapping around him, stroking slow. He groaned, hips bucking, then slid his hand into hers, fingers dipping inside her—wet, warm, teasing her clit. She moaned, rocking into him, the crinkle loud between them.

Her arousal slicked his fingers, a faint dampness seeping into the Goodnite’s lining. “Shit,” she gasped, pulling back, breathless, as the wetness registered. “It’s getting damp—we can’t.”

He froze, panting, eyes wild. “Fuck, you’re right.” His hand retreated, hers too, both red-cheeked and aching.