Now? I’m tired, which is understandable. But it’s more than that. It’s as if I’m exhausted beyond what has happened. It’s not just my father’s death or me rushing across the country to find safety in Mace’s arms.
I think I’ve been living the wrong life, and I’m worn out from doing so. I wasn’t in my true skin. Being Little was something I stuffed down inside me and ignored. It didn’t seem feasible to bring my Little out and live some sort of life that included age play. Having no idea that other people did so made it impossible for me to grasp.
“Autumn?”
I jerk my gaze up to find Mace in the doorway. His brow is furrowed. He’s holding a box of pancake mix.
I shove off the bed and wring my hands together in front of me, as if I’ve just been caught doing something naughty.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You haven’t moved since I went to the kitchen.” He comes closer and sets the box on the nightstand.
I glance at it.
He squats in front of me and sets his hands on my hips. “I came back to ask if you wanted pancakes or waffles. Talk to me, Baby girl.”
“Do you have chocolate chips?” I ask in a very small voice.
He smiles. “I think so.”
“Can you make pancakes with them?”
“I don’t see why not.” He grabs my hands. “But tell me why you’re still standing here. I thought you needed to go potty.”
The word potty yanks me into a deeper Little space than I was already sliding into. At the reminder, I twist out of his grasp and run for the bathroom. I don’t shut the door, but I do close the one to the smaller enclosure that houses the toilet.
Luckily, I manage to empty my bladder before it does so on its own. When I step back into the bathroom, Mace is leaning against the sink.
“Come.” He motions for me to join him.
I’m oddly bashful and out of sorts as I shuffle toward him, and I’m grateful as he angles me to face the sink. It’s as though I’ve forgotten what comes next when he pumps some liquid soap into his palm, turns on the water, and washes my hands for me.
It’s endearing. Neither of us speaks as he takes care of me. We still don’t say a word while he dries my hands, nor when he turns me around and lifts me.
I wrap my arms and legs around him and rest my cheek against his shoulder. It feels right. Home. It’s not his apartment. It’s him.
I lived my entire life in my father’s house. I didn’t even move out to attend college. I would have said I’m a creature of habit and didn’t want to change anything, not even so much as moving out of my bedroom.
But now I’m here, and Daddy’s home feels completely natural to me. This is where I belong.
I cling to him, feeling extremely needy and nervous.
He rubs my back as he heads for the closet. When he gets there, he shifts me to one hip. “Let’s find something for you to wear.”
I still say nothing as he flips through dresses, finally lifting a hanger. “How about this one?” He holds up a pale-yellow dress. It’s cotton with smocking on the chest and tiny white daisies all over.
I nod. It’s pretty, but all I care about is that he chose it.
Daddy replaces the dress on the rack and then removes it from the hanger before turning toward the drawers and snagging a pair of yellow panties. When he sits on the bench seat in the middle of the closet, he lowers me to my feet in front of him.
After setting the dress and panties next to him, he cups my face. “Do you want Daddy to dress you, Baby girl?”
I stare at him and nod slowly. Emotions are clogging my throat, keeping me from speaking. It’s messy in my head, a combination of feelings that are jumbled up and tangled, making it difficult to form sentences.
Thoughts are flying, bumping into each other.
You’re a grown woman, Autumn.
Let yourself be Little.
