“What the hell is this?”
Glancing up, he pins me with a glare that has me shrinking back, Cobie clutched so tightly to my chest I would swear I can hear him squeak in protest. “You are making me rethink my decision not to address your language earlier, Camilla.”
“Sorry, Sir.” The apology is rushed, breathless. The last thing I want is a date with his “Naughty Girl Potion”. “I’m just… confused. Why do you have Little girl clothes in your duffel bag?”
“I told you. I came prepared.”
Letting out a short, frustrated scream, I stomp my foot, which isn’t doing anything to help my “I’m a Big girl” case, but I’m too annoyed with him to care. “Butwhy? You couldn’t have known I wouldn’t want to wear my diaper or be Little.”
The corner of his lips kicks up in a knowing smirk. “I always keep these around in the event you need reminded of your place. I’ve had this bag stashed away in my office since the first day you came to work for me.”
My mouth falls open at that piece of news. “Youwhat?”
“You heard me. Until now, you’ve never given me a reason to need any of these items. Even on your most stressful days at the office, you always remembered you were just a Little girl under your scrubs. But obviously today you need a bit more of a reminder.”
I’m still reeling from the news that he’s apparently had a small wardrobe stashed in his office just for me when he pulls a short, fluffy skirt from the bag and my brain glitches, tornbetween utter delight at the adorable piece of clothing and horror at being forced to wear such an obviouslyLittlething outside of the island.
For now, horror wins out. “Absolutely not. I can’t wear that in public!”
“Trust me, Camilla,” he says with a condescending chuckle that makes me want to slap that stupid smug smile off his face. “In a city the size of New York, nobody is going to blink twice at a sweet Little thing like yourself dressed in a cute skirt.”
“Did you just call me sweet?”
Pulling a pale pink shirt from the bag, he looks over his shoulder, one brow raised as if I’m somehow the one who’s being ridiculous. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re very sweet. Most of the time.”
“Okay, seriously, what’s wrong? Do you have one of those weird brain tumors that completely changes your personality or something?”
The glare he sends my way tells me he clearly doesn’t appreciate my wit. “I do not.”
As if this whole situation hasn’t been bizarre enough, he shocks me even further by crouching down in front of me and holding the skirt out so I can step into it. I’m so shocked, in fact, that I automatically do exactly as he silently bids me to and he pulls the skirt up over my diaper.
“Arms up, little one.”
I hesitate, tightening my hold on Cobie. But instead of scolding me, Donovan’s expression softens. “Cobalt can sit right here on your seat until you’re done getting dressed.”
He reaches for my stuffie, but I take a small step back, tears filling my eyes. “Don’t wanna.”
“He’ll be safe, little one. I promise. Do you trust me?”
That’s a hell of a question.DoI trust him? I don’t particularly like him, and I’m still not sure exactly what’s going on.
But I do trust him not to let anything bad happen to me. More, I trust that he won’t let anything bad happen to Cobie. So with a slow nod, I force myself to hand Cobie over so Donovan can tuck him gently into the seat beside me.
And then, to my complete and utter shock, Donovan pulls the seatbelt over Cobie’s stomach, strapping him in. “There. Now he won’t run off.”
I’m too shocked by the sweet gesture to protest as he instructs me to raise my arms so he can strip off my t-shirt off and replace it with the pink one from his bag. This one is covered with little frolicking rabbits instead of the graphic tee I’d chosen for myself, the one with a cute cartoon kitten wearing headphones with the phrase “True Crime and Chill” underneath.
The finishing touch is a pair of stockings that come up to my mid-thigh, just below the edge of the skirt, and a pair of pink Mary Janes. The stockings are white to match the frilly skirt, with pink ribbons that match the bunny shirt and the shoes.
Taking a step back, Donovan runs an appraising gaze over me, and I can’t help but fidget a bit under his stare.
“Sit.”
He points to the floor and when I don’t immediately move he sighs and gives me a light swat to my frill-covered bottom. Even though it doesn’t really hurt, I yelp and hurry to take a seat on the floor in front of his chair.
And then he does the absolute last thing I would have ever expected.
He brushes my hair.
