24. Big
24
Big
I liked Harvey’s studio apartment. I liked the green, special-edition game controller he let me use to play a bowling game. I liked the novelty mugs from The Bern we used for hot cocoa. And I liked the plaid comforter, which Harvey wrapped around me like a cape, although I liked it even better when I pulled it up over my head to form a hood.
Harvey laughed and kissed my nose. “Aren’t you a cutie?”
“That’s me.” I wiggled my hips.
This was heaven. Tasty, cozy heaven. With Harvey. And, um, privacy.
People considered this kind of thing a kink, and maybe it was, but I didn’t consider it sexy so much as intimate. I didn’t necessarily get horny. It just helped me relax. But with Harvey, the vibe was different. A toe-curling honey glow kept building in my chest and tummy. When Harvey tucked me into his bed and kissed my forehead, I squealed with glee. He cared for me. He gave me his blessing. And I wanted him to be close to me. Closer than a date or a boyfriend or a friend with benefits. He was playing as my prince charming. My Daddy. Not a dad . A special person just for me. And somehow, I made him happy by doing my thing.
During a commercial, I rolled over in my cocoon and admired the ink on canvas propped on his bookshelf and hanging on the walls. “Pretty. You did these?”
He rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have been so pretentious to hang them or anything, but they did well in some high school festival, so–”
“That’s amazing. Good job, Harvey.” I pushed his leg. “My artist. We should color. I have crayons somewhere.”
“After this episode, maybe.” He smiled and lifted his arm, allowing me to burrow against his side while we watched a popular cartoon about misfit sea creatures that’d been on since we were both kids.
All bundled up with pasta and warm beverage in my tummy, I was awfully comfy. I yawned and cuddled with Harvey. Everything was nice. Happy. Sweet. I never wanted to leave.
My eyelids grew heavy, as did my chin. The next time I jerked awake, I was on my side, still tucked into the comforter, Harvey’s arm loosely wrapped around my side.
“Hey, there she is.” He stretched out.
“Shoot, what time is it?” I hissed, grappling for my phone.
“Almost ten.”
I gasped and turned around. “I’m so sorry.”
He scratched his head, looking fairly scrumptious with messy hair. “For what?”
“For keeping you hostage, forcing you to take care of me like that.” For wasting our date on cartoons and coloring.
He snorted and closed his eyes. “You weren’t as much trouble as I expected.”
I huffed and pushed his chest. “I’m not any trouble."
“Yes, you are.” Smirking, he threw one arm over his forehead, his shirt rising just high enough to preview a trail of soft-looking body hair. I wanted to rub my face on it. He peeked at me, his eyes glinting.
Would he rub his face anywhere on me? His declaration from earlier on our date replayed in my head: ‘I want to look at, touch, and taste every inch of you.’
Desire flared through my body, much different than the warmth of adoration. I fluffed out the comforter to make room for both of us under it and wrapped my leg around his. “Okay, I haven't been much trouble yet . But I’m not Little right now if you want to do grown-up stuff.”
He rubbed his foot against mine. “I can tell. Your voice and whole demeanor is kinda different when you slip into that headspace.”
“Oh, gosh, that’s embarrassing.” I pulled the covers up to my nose and braced for more teasing.
He brushed my hair away from my face. “It’s kinda sweet, actually.”
So was he. I rubbed his calf with my foot. “So, do you want to?”
He stroked my cheek. “Of course I do. But should we talk for a bit? Don’t we need to ease out of it?”
“Ease out of what?” I tilted my head.
His gaze darted to Mr. Waddles and Doggie, who we’d sat at the edge of the bed to 'watch' TV. “Uh, our nap,” Harvey said.
Maybe we could use a smidge more separation. The role was different for him than it was for me. “Okay. I should check on my sweater, anyways," I said, rolling out of the delicious warmth to pad to the kitchen.
Thankfully, the sauce had come out of my shirt. But it was still too wet to put on, and Harvey didn’t have in-unit laundry. No hair dryer, either, though he got a good chuckle out of my asking.
I nudged him with my foot. “Come on, Mr. Manager. Problem-solve with me.”
“You don’t want to wear my clothes home?” he asked.
I bit my lip and hugged my sweater tight enough his shirt clung to my skin. “I do, but my Mom tends to give away or sell stuff she doesn’t deem worthy.”
“Even if it’s yours?” He frowned.
“Yep.”
He hummed, furrowing his brow.
“I know it’s kind of weird. But hey, the less stuff in our house, the more room for Jesus,” I joked.
He shot me a funny look and got up.
“Sorry,” I said, wringing my arms in the sweater. “I’m glad my mom has her faith and the community. But sometimes it’s more like she’s trying to smother any semblance of individuality. Everything I do has to ‘serve’ somebody. Mostly our family.”
“Maybe that’s why you like age play," he said.
Cringing, I turned away. “Please don’t psychoanalyze me, I was only rambling.”
“I’m not doing anything. Just saying.”
“Well, next you’ll be asking about my father, and that would ruin the mood entirely.” I hugged the sweater to cover up the twisty awfulness tightening in my tummy and studied Harvey’s bookshelf. It was packed with dark comedies, psychological games, and pseudo-dystopian stuff. They weren’t ideal for bedtime stores, though in Harvey’s voice, anything could be relaxing.
He rubbed my back. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask about your family, but you can tell me anything.”
My voice wobbled, though I tried to keep my tone somewhat upbeat. “I know. I’m just used to hiding some things. Or people judging me. Despite my complaining, I do love my family and I know they love me.”
“I get that.” After a beat, he squeezed my shoulder. “Would it help you to know that my family is incredibly boring? Dad’s a handyman and mom’s a secretary. They got married, had a baby, worked at the same place forever, and they’re happy. They’ve got their routine, but it was mind-numbing to me. My own dreams never really registered for them either. I got into an art show? ‘That’s nice, honey.’ I got a C? ‘Better get studying.’ Nothing mattered. They retold the same stories all the time. I felt like I was drowning in this stream of ordinary. No passion or anything. Then, I saw this guy with a piercing on TV. A musician. He was philosophizing, getting real about misery and ecstasy and finding meaning in everything. I guess it spoke to me, so I got a piercing.” He rolled his eyes and gestured to his face.
I giggled and bumped his side with my hip. “You got two .”
“Yep. But little did I know, lots of people would see them as an affront to wholesome, decent behavior. They thought I was a punk trying to pick a fight," he said.
"That's silly," I said. “You wouldn’t even throw a snowball at me.”
He cracked a smile. “You were too pretty. And weird, like me.”
“Stop.” I laughed, pushing his chest. “I’m proud of you for not taking out your piercings. They make you happy. They channel your energy, I think. And they accentuate how handsome your face is.” I traced the contours of his cheek. He was absurdly elegant. And those lips…those wide, slightly cracked, wonderful lips…
He kissed my fingertips and massaged my palm, easing love into my skin. “How about we put your sweater on the heater to help it dry?”
“Ah, yes. Problem solving. Good job.” I strode over and swooshed the sweater out over the vents. “I love that fresh-out-of-the-dryer feeling. Everything’s warm and cuddly and clean.”
Harvey wrapped his arms around me. “Well now I want that feeling.”
I waved at the heater. “There’s room if you want to put any of your clothing.”
He looked from me to the vents, his face slightly slack as he caught on to my implication. I arched an eyebrow and smiled.
“Troublemaker.” He whipped his shirt over his head and dropped it on the heater.
Santa, baby . Harvey was more appetizing than any sugar cookie. As Little as I could be, I was having some pretty Big feelings.
“I feel overdressed,” I said, playing with his waistband.
Harvey slid his hands under the back of my leggings. “We can fix that.”