Chapter Fifteen: Anson

D rake passes me my bundle of freshly cleaned clothes and then rambles something about making breakfast. I hum happily and pull my boxer briefs and jeans on, scrunching my nose at how wrong they feel after wearing the super comfy Little clothes for the better part of the past twenty-four hours.

And what a mindfuck that is!

I like being fashionable. I like looking hot. These are my favorite jeans, damn it.

And yet…they feel too snug and too stiff and too…grown up.

Huh. Maybe I’m not entirely ready to be Big again after all.

But I have to be. Drake did not sign up to be Daddy to someone in Littlespace for his entire Christmas break. That wouldn’t be fair to him. Additionally, we need to talk properly about how we both honestly felt yesterday went, and whether we both still agree to an exclusive, serious relationship in the cold light of a new day.

I know how I feel. After waking up in Drake’s arms after a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep, I never want to wake up any other way again.

I know that’s a pipedream: we’ve both got jobs to go back to after Christmas, and we have our own homes…but I’d like to at least wake up in his bed, or with him in mine, more often than not.

Not to mention, I want my bedtimes to all be like the one last night. I want to be cuddled and read to. I want to listen as I’m read a book, and I want to suck on a paci and snuggle Oinky and Daddy.

I want to feel little and cherished as I nod off to dreamland.

I don’t want to have to worry about which reports I need to fill out, which pathology tests I need to chase down, which patients’ parents are struggling to afford the care their kids need…I just want to lose myself in the special place where my Daddy takes control and there’s nothing to worry about except whether I need a change or not. And even then, I don’t even need to worry about that, because I know Daddy will check and make sure I’m clean and comfy.

So…yeah. I know how I feel.

But does Drake feel the same way? Or was I too Little for him? He seemed perfectly at ease with the wetting and the diapers, and my baby-talk, but what if a Little who regresses that far is too needy for him in the long run? What if he’d really prefer a Little with a bit more independence?

What if he’d prefer a Little who really just wants Daddy kink with a tiny bit of silly play on the side? There’s nothing wrong with that, but after yesterday, I already know that I’m a higher maintenance Little. I want this to be a lifestyle thing with Drake, and not just playtime on weekends, or whatever.

God, I hope he wants the same things that I do.

Once I’m dressed, I head out into the main space of the cabin, relieved to find it toasty warm. Drake is standing in front of the stove, stirring a pan of something that smells delicious. I wander over and take a peek.

“Scrambled eggs?” I ask, and he nods.

“Bacon’s in the air fryer, and I’ve got some homemade sourdough that—”

“Hold up,” I blink at him, “homemade bread?”

“Well, homemade in the sense that I baked it myself…at work.” He shrugs.

Suddenly, I feel like a dick. I’ve been crushing on this man for months, and I’ve never actually asked what he does for work. “You’re…a baker?”

I feel guiltier still for the surprise in my tone. Just because he looks like every lumberjack fantasy come to life doesn’t mean I can just stereotype him or the work he does.

Drake smiles and bobs his head, seemingly not bothered by my ignorance. “I am, yeah.”

“Do you have your own bakery?”

Throwing the tea towel over his shoulder, he leans against the counter to face me. “I do.”

“What’s it called? Because if it’s not set in stone, I vote you change it to Lumbersnacks.”

That earns me the laugh I was hoping for, and his shoulders seem to loosen a bit. I’m glad to see that happen, because the weird, awkward tension he’s been radiating since I stepped into the room makes me uneasy.

“It’s actually called Making Dough ,” he admits, cringing a little as I crack up. “Yeah, I know. I was young and dumb.”

“No,” I protest. “I love it. Very punny.” Cocking my head, I muse, “So…that means you can spoil me with cake and cookies any time I want, right?”

Beneath that beard that drives me wild, I watch his pink tongue sneak out to wet his lips. His dark eyes focus on mine, and there’s no levity in his answering question, “Is that what you want? Me to spoil you?”

“Well, yeah, duh.” I frown. “You…don’t want to?”

He turns away and stirs the pot again, before taking it off the heat. Then he faces me again and says, “I want that more than anything, Anson. But we’re moving really fast and I don’t want you to feel like I’ve manipulated you into a relationship.”

“Manipulated?” I blink, feeling blindsided. “Why would I think that? Why would you think that?”

He throws his hands into the air at his sides. “I don’t know. But…you thought you were a Daddy before yesterday. I just…I just don’t want you to feel like I pushed you into anything.”

“You didn’t. In fact, I recall you doing the exact opposite. You gave me other options. You made sure I was comfortable with every single new thing I tried.” Bringing my index finger to my chest, I start punctuating my points with little taps against my heart. “ I wanted to wear the clothes. I wanted to use my diaper. I wanted you to fuck me. I want you to be my Daddy all the time.” I need him to understand that he did nothing but support me. “I made those decisions, Drake. Not you. You just helped me realize what I was too oblivious to see before.”

His eyes stare into mine intently, his gaze seeming to dart between each of my eyes as he gauges my words and processes them. “And you don’t think we’re jumping into this too fast? We can still just write the next few days off as a bit of fun experimentation if you want to.”

“Is that what you want?” I take a step back, suddenly understanding that, yeah, I did make all the decisions yesterday. What if he doesn’t want this… whatever it is to last beyond our Christmas break?

Horror takes over his expression and he moves forward, back into my space. “I want every day going forward to feel like last night…and that scares me, Anson. I’ve been on my own for so long, I’m afraid I’m clinging to you too fast. I’m also afraid that, once we’re out of here,” he gestures vaguely around us, “you’ll realize you want to experience being Little for someone else, which is totally normal. But if I allow myself to get attached to the idea of being exclusive…”

“You’re going to get hurt.” I finish for him softly.

My heart hammers wildly in my chest because I can relate to that feeling. Wasn’t I just standing in the bathroom having a freakout over the thought that I’m too needy for him?

“Daddy,” bringing my hand up, I bury my fingers in the thick auburn hair at the back of his head, “I feel the same way. Like…I was just standing in the bathroom thinking I’d be crushed if you changed your mind about the sweet promises we made last night.”

“You were?”

“Uh-huh.” I nod. “And I’ve realized that, at least for now, I’m going to be a pretty high maintenance Little. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much time exploring who I really am, y’know? And my job stresses me out, so being able to just pretend none of it exists…being able to not have to worry about anything because I know you’ll take care of me when I’m home…that thought is heady as fuck. So, I’m afraid you’ll think that I’m too needy and clingy, too.”

His lips curl into a slow, warm smile and his arms wind around my waist. “It sounds like we really are kind of made for each other, huh?”

My heart goes back to thumping wildly, but not because I’m anxious. Instead, it’s because I can feel myself falling for him, which —he’s right— sounds absolutely ridiculous after less than a day together. But we’re not complete strangers. We were friends before yesterday. Maybe not close friends, but friendly enough that we’d arranged to spend Christmas together. That has to count for something, right?

And who am I justifying this to, anyway? The only people in my life whose opinions even matter are Vince, who fell head over heels in love with his Boy after only a couple of nights, and my sister, who lives overseas and has never really cared about who I’m sleeping with as long as I’m being safe and that I’m happy.

That final realization settles it for me.

“Ignore social convention, Drake,” I tell him. “Let’s just follow our instincts and see where it takes us?”

He chuckles. “Vince did warn me you were the type to just jump in headfirst. I guess that comes to dating, too?”

“You bet your sexy ass it does.” I grin. “I give it two weeks before I’m begging you to move in with me. Or vice versa.” I tilt my head, feeling mischievous. “What does your place look like, Daddy?”

“Like a house I inherited from my parents and am slowly renovating myself.”

“A whole house? Like…with a yard and all?”

“It’s really not as fancy as it sounds.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m still living in the first apartment I leased when I landed my job out of college. It’s nice, but tiny.”

Even though I was earning more than I was back then, I’ve never seen the point in getting a bigger space. Not when all I do when I get home is sleep. Occasionally I’ll throw a party, but even those events have become a once or twice a year event now.

“A house in the suburbs sounds pretty damn fancy to me,” I add.

More than ever, I want to settle down. I want to live somewhere comfortable and be a homebody with a sexy man by my side. I want to get a dog and indulge my Little side freely. Maybe even adopt a kid or two at some point, who knows?

Drake snorts. “Are you trying to seduce me for my house, Doctor Meyers?”

“Nope. I’m trying to seduce you because you’re hot, an awesome Daddy, and I want you to fuck me again and again and again.” I shrug. “The house is just a bonus.”

Pink slashes appear over the tops of his cheeks. “How, um, how are you feeling after last night? Not too sore?”

There’s a little ache, but nothing worth complaining about. Still, it’s sweet of him to ask. “Nope. I think the bath helped a lot with that, but you also spent a lot of time stretching me out. I’m good.”

Turning back to the stove, he puts the pot back on the heat and starts stirring again. I think he wanted the distraction, because he fully immerses himself in his task before he asks, “And it was okay?”

Fuck, but he’s just so cute when he’s all concerned and awkward.

“Better than okay, I promise. And being able to be Little made it even better. Like…I just knew you’d take care of me and I just let go and had fun.” I pause to consider how he might interpret that. “Not that I don’t think I’d enjoy it with us both in adult headspaces, but for that first time, it made it easier to be vulnerable.”

Somewhere in the middle of my rambled attempt to reassure him, he craned his neck to face me. Still stirring the eggs, his smile is warm and there’s an unreadable glint in his eyes. His voice is kind of strained when he says, “I’m honored that you put so much trust in me, Anson. I really am. I’m not used to…I mean, it’s been a while since anyone has. Truth be told,” he turns back to the eggs and I am so onto that ploy now, “I’m a little scared I’ll fuck it up.”

“We’re probably both going to fuck things up at one point or another. Anyone who says they’re in a perfect relationship and never argue are either delusional or lying.” I know I sound a little bitter at the end there, but I truly believe that no relationship is magical and without minor —or even major— hiccups. “Once the shininess and novelty of being in a new, exciting relationship fades, we’re going to get under each other’s skin. We’re going to have moments where we miscommunicate, or where my habits annoy you or your anal retentiveness annoys me…and that’s okay. I mean, we’re not kids, Drake. We know better than that.”

“You totally minored in psychology, didn’t you?” He teases and flicks the burner off. He also turns the dial to shut the oven down, too, and reaches for the four-slice toaster, sliding down both levers so all of the slices he had ready to go heat at once. Then he looks at me properly again and accuses, “You’re far too good at knowing exactly what to say.”

“I might have considered switching majors at one point,” I confess with a teasing lilt. Then I shrug. “Just because I can talk the talk now doesn’t mean I’m always gonna be rational. Talk to Vince: he’s seen me have more than my fair share of tantrums when I’ve had bad days.” As my own words register to my ears, my shoulders droop and I shake my head. “Yet more evidence that I’ve always had a Little side.”

“I’ve seen plenty of grown-ass adults tantrum, and I doubt many of ’em are into regression play,” he argues and grabs two plates out of the cupboard above his head and to the right.

“I forgot that your job has a retail component,” I shudder, but then I laugh. “You should totally Daddy the next customer throwing a tantrum, though.” I put on my best Daddy voice, which does not even come close to his. “ We don’t talk like that to people. Go stand in the corner and think about your behavior. Once you’ve apologized, you can have your cupcakes. ”

Drake’s laughter is once again rich and booming. “Yeah, sure, I’ll give that a go.” He starts dishing out steaming heaps of scrambled eggs onto the plates, then pulls the bacon from the oven.

The smell hits me and makes me salivate. I watch, licking my lips as he puts a generous serving on both plates as well, then nabs the toast as it pops up out of the toaster. Lifting the plates, he gestures with his chin towards the square timber table between the kitchen and living areas. It’s already set with cutlery, glasses of juice, butter and condiments.

If I wasn’t already falling for this man, this is the moment I would have started.

Dinner last night was delicious, and this just proves that he’s a man who not only knows his way around a kitchen, he takes pride in what he’s serving up. And that’s great, because I live on takeout and microwave meals for one.

My stomach grumbles loudly. I blush.

“Hungry, sunshine?”

“Starving,” I admit. Then I shake off the embarrassment and bat my lashes at him. “I used a lot of energy last night…and I plan on using a whole lot more while we’re snowed in here.”

The windows outside reveal that the snow is still coming down strong, and from what I can make out through the sheets of bright white, it looks like the driveway and area is covered in a thick blanket of the stuff. I can’t even see the trees out there anymore.

“Yeah…I’m hoping it eases up tomorrow so we can make our way out the day after Christmas as planned. We’ve still got to get your car out of that ditch.”

A bubble of anxiety makes my gut churn and I try to keep the feeling from making its way onto my face. Being reminded of my car and the mess I’m going to have to clean up getting it towed and repaired also brings up questions like ‘how am I going to get to and from work while it’s being fixed?’ and ‘will my insurance cover the accident?’ and ‘how badly is this going to throw out my already unstable routines?’ and ‘if we’re snowed in, how am I supposed to get back to work the day after we were supposed to be home?’ as well as other less pressing questions.

It’s all adult stress that I just don’t want to deal with. It makes me miss the feeling of being Little last night: ignoring all my grown-up problems and knowing that Daddy would take care of any pressing issues.

Pasting on a forced smile, I nod and try to shrug casually, even while my hands shake and my eyes threaten to well up with tears. “We’ll deal with that later.” I lick my lips as I pull back my chair at the table and breathe in the delicious scents wafting up from my plate. “This looks so good.”

Drake leans over from his own spot once he’s seated and picks up my toast, buttering both slices for me. As he’s putting the last one back down on my plate, he freezes and shoots me a sheepish look. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“I told you; I like that you’re always in Daddy mode.” In fact, after the meltdown I just narrowly avoided, it helps to settle my nerves. Just having one small thing taken care of for me removes one adult task from my ever-growing list of the things. “Please don’t stop.”

If he hears the desperation in that request, he doesn’t say anything. He just nods, and we dig into our food with a gusto.