Page 67

Chapter Eleven

The scent reached him first. Warm maple, melting butter, something toasty. He cracked one eye open and saw morning light diffused through the curtains. The air held that still, Sunday softness. No rush. No alarms. Just quiet.

And then a shadow moved at the door.

“Morning, cuddle-bug.” Henry nudged the door open with his hip, both hands occupied by a tray.

Lincoln blinked, still caught between sleep and awareness.

Henry set the tray down carefully on the nightstand, and Lincoln’s chest squeezed at the sight—two slices of French toast cut into perfect triangles, a dollop of whipped cream with fresh berries, a little carafe of milk, and his favorite mismatched mug already filled with coffee.

“What’s this?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

Henry crouched beside the bed, brushing the backs of his fingers down Lincoln’s cheek. “This,” he said, “is a morning with nothing on our agenda but you.”

Lincoln’s breath hitched. He propped himself up against the headboard, tucking the blankets closer as Henry picked up the tray and settled it in his lap.

The first bite—crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, sweet with syrup—dissolved on his tongue, and he closed his eyes. “This is awesome,” he whispered.

“The toast or me?” Henry teased.

Lincoln garbled an answer around a mouth full. “Both.”

“Well, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

Lincoln cocked his head and chewed slowly.

Henry stood and crossed to the armchair by the window. Draped over the back were clothes. But the garments weren’t his usual slacks and button-downs. Something else. Henry held them up, piece by piece.

Short denim coveralls. A cropped off-white shirt with a dinosaur print. White knee socks. Doc Martens.

“You’re serious?”

Henry grinned. “Deadly.”

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “You want me to wear that?”

“I want you to feel cute.” Henry walked back over, socks in one hand, shirt in the other. “And you look fucking adorable in overalls, cuddle-bug. You know it.”

Lincoln’s face grew hot, and he looked down at his plate. The toast had suddenly become uninteresting.

Henry crouched again, setting the socks on mattress and leaning close. “And—” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small zip-lock bag of glittery gold star stickers “—you get two stars for your bingo card.”

“My what?”

Henry reached under the tray and pulled out a piece of cardboard with five rows and five columns marked on it. At the top, in blocky marker, it said LINCOLN’S BINGO CARD.

He blinked. “You made me a bingo card?”

Henry’s grin widened. “Yep. Twenty-five squares. Each one has something little and fun. When you finish a task, you’ll earn a sticker. Fill the whole card, you get a wish.”

Lincoln snorted. “What kind of wish?”

“Whatever you want. Cuddle time. No phone for the evening. A bubble bath. A punishment.” His eyes twinkled as he said the last one.

Lincoln gave him a dry look, but something in his chest fluttered.

Henry pointed at the first square. Let Daddy pick your clothes. The next one read Eat breakfast in bed. Both already had tiny gold stars stuck to them.

He pointed again. “That’s two for today. You can earn a third if you color a picture with me after breakfast. Can you fill the entire card in one day?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Lincoln shook his head, laughing softly now. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re gorgeous.” Henry pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

Lincoln ducked, half shy, half overwhelmed. He ran his fingers over the cardboard card, taking in the variety of tasks: Tell Daddy your favorite snack, listen to a bedtime story, wear a diaper, say what makes you nervous but you really want, build a pillow fort, wear a butt plug for Daddy .

Some made his heart warm. Some made it race.

“I can opt out of things, right?”

Henry nodded, watching him closely. “Always. But that one—” he tapped gently at the wear a diaper square “—isn’t about humiliation. It’s about surrender and trust. I know it’s a big ask.”

Lincoln looked at the card again.

Of course Henry would want this much control. He always had.

As a 24/7 Master, he’d shaped every part of Lincoln’s day—every choice, every breath, structured around ownership. This was softer, but no less intimate.

Daddy didn’t command with chains. He guided with care. And still, he wanted it all.

Lincoln wasn’t sure if that terrified him… or made him ache for it.

“This isn’t a punishment chart. It’s for fun. And connection. If you skip one, we just draw a new square.”

“And the hard ones?” Lincoln’s finger hovered over Talk about a fear .

Henry’s hand covered his, warm and grounding. “Only if you want to, cuddle-bug. You don’t owe me that. You’ve never needed to earn my love.”

Something caught in Lincoln’s throat. He blinked down at the card, eyes stinging.

They ate quietly after that, Henry occasionally nudging a strawberry to his mouth, Lincoln pushing back until he finally accepted it with a grudging smile.

When the tray was empty and set aside, Henry helped him out of bed.

Lincoln balked when Henry peeled back the covers and touched his ankle.

Not because the touch startled him—he’d felt Henry’s hands in far more intimate places—but because this wasn’t about sex or pain or dominance.

This was care. Quiet, ordinary care. He froze as Henry gently slid a sock over his foot, then the other, the soft cotton gliding over skin that felt too exposed.

It shouldn’t have felt like anything. But it did.

Something in his chest tightened, and he had to blink hard to keep the feeling from spilling over.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“You keep saying that,” Henry said, straight-faced, “but your cheeks keep going pink.”

Lincoln reached for the coveralls, then hesitated.

Henry tilted his head. “Want help?”

A nod.

He didn’t even flinch this time when Henry lifted his sleep shirt off and replaced it with the dinosaur top. Henry helped him step into the shorts, adjusted the bib, and fastened the buckles on his shoulders. Lincoln kept his eyes fixed on the wallpaper behind Henry’s head, unable to meet his gaze.

Then Henry’s hand was on his chin, tipping it up.

“Look at me.”

Lincoln did.

Henry smiled, slow and sure. “Fuck, you look adorable.”

Lincoln rolled his eyes, but the weight in his chest had loosened. Just a little.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he said quietly. “Not just the clothes. All of it.”

“Safe?” Henry offered.

Lincoln nodded.

Henry reached for the card again, pulled a third sticker from the bag, and pressed it to the unicorn square.

“Coloring is next,” he said. “No backing out.”

“Bossy.”

“Daddy,” Henry corrected, then leaned in close, voice warm against Lincoln’s ear. “And I’m just getting started.”

“Daddy?” Lincoln fidgeted, glancing down at his shortalls and then back up. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Henry stepped closer, cupping the side of Lincoln’s face. “Thanks for telling me, babyboy.”

His thumb traced Lincoln’s cheek briefly before dropping to the buttons at his shoulder. “Let’s get you out of these first, hmm?”

Lincoln stood still as Henry unfastened the straps and helped him shimmy the denim shortalls down, boxers and all. The movement was gentle, unhurried, but something about it made Lincoln’s chest tighten. Not with embarrassment—though his cheeks still burned—but with something tender.

“Go ahead,” Henry pressed a kiss to Lincoln’s temple. “When you come back out, I’ll help you into your diaper, and then you’ll earn your next gold star.”

That earned a blink. “Just for wearing it?”

Henry grinned. “Well, you can also get a star for using it, but wearing a diaper is on the card as well, remember?”

Lincoln nodded slowly, a little dazed by how easy it all felt when Daddy explained things in that calm, clear, no-judgment fashion.

When he returned, Henry was waiting in the bedroom with the diaper already unfolded and a bottle of powder beside it. He patted the bed.

“Come lie down, cuddle-bug. Let Daddy take care of you.”

Lincoln hesitated at the threshold. This felt different. Intimate in a way that sex, even kink, wasn’t. Letting Henry undress him, wipe him, powder him—this wasn’t about arousal. It was about being cared for. About surrendering completely.

He stepped forward and lay back, breath catching in his chest.

Henry was quiet, patient. His hands steady and warm as he worked.

He cleaned him gently, then guided his hips up before slipping the diaper beneath him.

The softness cradled him in a way he hadn’t expected.

And when Henry fastened the tabs, snug but not tight, Lincoln exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“There,” Henry said, smoothing a hand over the padded front. “Snug as a bug.”

Lincoln gave a shaky laugh.

“Now come on,” Henry said, helping him up and leading him into the living room. “It’s time to color.”

Lincoln padded across the living room floor, his new socks skimming the tiles with each reluctant step.

The thick diaper crinkled faintly beneath the denim of his shortalls, the strange bulk pressing his thighs apart.

Not uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. He hadn’t worn one in years—not since that brief stint with a previous partner who treated it like a novelty instead of something meaningful.

But with Henry—no, Daddy—it wasn’t like that. It felt different now. There was no mocking, no judgment. Just intention.

Still, the slight waddle made him self-conscious. And the plug nestled inside him? That wasn’t new, but the way Henry had helped him insert it—slowly, gently, with steady praise—left a different kind of ache blooming beneath his skin.

“Picture time,” Daddy announced from the coffee table, patting the plush floor cushion beside him.