Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Peyton
I. Was. Mortified.
No, no; that was an understatement. Was there a level of embarrassment stronger than mortification? Death. It had to be death.
I was hoping that I could sneakily change the sheets without anyone knowing, but it hadn’t crossed my mind that I’d need to change clothes—I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
I should have known that “Daddy” would kick in instead of Cole. God, I’d dreamt of being his Little for as long as I could remember, but not like this—not after throwing up and pissing myself in his bed.
Ugh!
Face on fire, I peeled myself out of my soiled clothes and tossed them outside the door.
I should have been ashamed at the idea of someone else washing them, but I couldn’t spare the energy.
Cool water splashed my skin and I gasped, but it was refreshing.
My legs shook with the effort of holding me upright, but asking Cole for help bathing may have been pushing the line a bit.
My throat tickled, and I coughed, groaning when my abs protested.
Shaking hands made a pathetic attempt at washing my body, but it was better than nothing.
Wetting my hair under the spray, I called it quits.
When I stepped out, I smiled. Cole had put one of his T-shirts on the counter.
My binder had been drenched in sweat but thankfully, I swam in Cole’s shirt.
It hid my chest and covered me to mid-thigh.
Knowing that he kept toothbrushes under the sink, I fumbled around until I found one.
I smiled in spite of myself: it had Cookie Monster on it.
I could have put it back and grabbed an adult toothbrush, but I didn’t want to. My regression was entirely involuntary. I was sick. My tummy hurt and… damn it, I just wanted to be held.
Cole had clocked that I was a Little long before I figured it out.
I’d already known that he and Jesse were part of the scene, but I had zero desire to talk to my brother about the discovery.
Thankfully, with Cole, there was never a discussion.
He just… accepted it, and he was the only one to ever be able to take me down a notch.
He knocked softly, and I mumbled for him to come in. After spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, I met his eyes in the mirror. He caught sight of the toothbrush, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Feeling better?” he asked.
Nodding, I rinsed my mouth and rotated to face him.
Uh-oh—he held my pacifier in his hand. I’d forgotten it was in my pocket. My gaze dropped to the floor, but Cole hooked a finger under my chin and redirected my attention back to him. “Don’t be shy, little one.”
Damn it; he was too good.
“I was going to make you a bottle, but I didn’t think milk would be a good idea.”
My stomach lurched at the mere idea of it. “No, thank you,” I gulped.
“Would you rather sleep alone or with me?”
My answer was instant. “With you.” It wouldn’t be the first time I’d share a bed with Cole. It would be my first time doing so half-naked and in Little space, but I banished that thought from my head. “Please.”
Smiling, Cole led me to his bedroom by a hand on the small of my back. Once I laid back on the pillows, my entire body seemed to sigh with relief. It was like I was finally where I belonged.
There was another thing about Cole Davis: I’d been in love with the man since the day we met.
For a long time, I wrote it off as nothing more than a teenage crush. I had a brother close in age—it was natural to develop crushes on his friends. But with Cole? Those feelings never went away. The older we got, and the closer we became, they only grew stronger.
Cole spread the blanket over me, tucking me in gently. “Open up,” he instructed. When I did, he placed my soother on my tongue. Humming, I sucked it into my mouth, eyes already growing heavy.
He refilled my drink, this time offering me a sippy cup before he climbed into bed.
I curled into his side, making myself right at home.
A large hand splayed across my back, rubbing soothing shapes into my oversensitive skin.
I shivered and drew closer. “Don’t feel good,” I murmured through the haze of sleep and the obstruction in my mouth.
“I know.” Cole pressed a kiss to my hair. “Rest, baby. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
I didn’t drift off right away. Fighting sleep, I reveled in the feeling of Cole’s arms around me, one of his hands on my back and the other holding my soother in place.
I imagined what it would be like for him to be holding a bottle instead.
Would he warm the milk first? Did he know any special Daddy tricks to make it taste so much better than normal?
My hand flattened on his chest, his skin warm beneath my palm.
His heart thumped a steady rhythm, matching the beat of my own.
What would it be like to have this every night?
Shame still niggled the back of my mind, but I willed it away.
I was comfortable. Sure, my belly still hurt—it really hurt, but Cole’s gentle hushes in my ear made it a bit better.
I, in fact, did not feel better the next morning.
In Cole’s arms, I dozed lazily for a few hours, but the nausea resumed the moment I opened my eyes.
I launched myself out of bed, grateful for Cole’s ensuite bathroom.
That was where I camped out, and Cole played the perfect Daddy.
He soothed me when I got sick, holding me close between spells and helping me clean up when I needed it.
My entire body ached and despite having a fever, I trembled from the chills.
Whiny and clingy, I was beginning to get on my own nerves, but Cole took it in stride.
When the vomiting finally faded away, he cleaned my pacifier and offered it to me as I laid in bed. The TV played softly in the background, and his intentions weren’t lost on me when he crept out of the room to have a hushed conversation in the hallway—he was calling in reinforcements for work.
Guilt stabbed at my chest, but I was too Little to find the words to argue with him. When he returned to bed, I could only whimper and hide in his side. He chuckled, the sound vibrating my cheek. “Comfy?”
Yes; yes, I was, and I wasn’t moving for the foreseeable future.
Though at the precise moment I opened my mouth to answer, my stomach spasmed again. “Tummy hurts,” I cried instead.
“I have an idea. I’ll be right back.” The mattress lifted with the absence of Cole’s weight, and I laid there with my eyes shut, gnawing on my pacifier as a distraction from the discomfort.
Soft noises trickled down the hall, but I didn’t dare open my eyes—until a hand tugged at my soother.
Confused, I bit down and shot Cole the best glare I could manage.
Oh—he had a bottle! He laughed as I spat the pacifier out, happily accepting the drink.
It was Gatorade, not milk, but it would do. Cole laid beside me, arm curled behind my head as he held the bottle for me. Less fizzy than the ginger ale, it settled easier in my belly. “Thank you,” I garbled around the nipple.
“Don’t mention it, Peyton.”
Jesse was gone when I snapped out of Little space.
Coming back to my senses, I left Cole asleep in his bed and grabbed my clothes from the dryer.
When I straightened, my heart melted—he’d even thought to hang my binder in front of the vent.
Trying not to think too much of it, I changed in the bathroom and went to the kitchen in search of more Gatorade, leaning against the counter to slowly sip at it.
My jeans hung open, belts and chains undone.
My stomach was still too sensitive to fasten them.
Though whatever illness I had was only fuel to the fire when Cole appeared in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants and looking sexy as fuck. The slightest flutter had me gripping onto the sink.
Cole ran a hand through his tousled hair, holding something up in the other—my pacifier. “Forgot something,” he said.
“Thanks.” I took the soother, feeling the urge to hide it in my pocket. What was the point? “I’m sorry about… all of that. I don’t know what happened.”
“Stomach flu, by the looks of it.”
“That means you’re going to get it.”
Cole only shrugged, perching against the counter next to me. “I think I can handle it. Do you want me to take you home, or would you rather stay here?”
Stay here. When Cole had asked me where I wanted to sleep, the answer was instant.
Unfortunately, Big Peyton had too much of a filter, which meant my Little side was about to be highly disappointed.
“I think I need to rot in my own bed for a while. You must have better things to do than to have a whining, crying Little clinging to you all day.”
Laughing, Cole pushed off the counter. “Let me get dressed, but for the record, I didn’t mind.” He ruffled my hair as he walked past and unlike if Jesse would have done it, I didn’t argue or fight back. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”