Page 17 of Rowan’s Renewal (DKAG Summer Shorts #6)

“ S o,” Bianca drops into the chair across from my large desk, leaning back and crossing her ankles on the polished surface, the soles of her black heels facing me, “you look well rested.”

She marched into my office, all dark hair and attitude in her power suit, telling me that it was my lunch break and that we were eating in.

That was three minutes ago, and after sweet talking my assistant into shuffling a couple of my afternoon meetings, I finally sat back down in my chair to face my best friend.

Over the week I spent in Australia, I replied to her texts sporadically.

I sent her photos and vague updates about my activities, but I didn’t indulge the long deep and meaningful conversations that we usually share.

I should have assumed that Bianca would come looking for me as soon as she knew I was back and active.

I smile at her, feeling exactly as she’s said. Rested. Happy. Relaxed.

Grateful.

“I am,” I nod, then reach for the paper bag she dropped on my desk, pulling out the chicken sandwiches and fries she bought from the café downstairs. I slide hers across to her and dive into mine with gusto. I sigh happily after my first bite. “Thank you.”

The words hold more weight than a simple thanks for lunch, and I know she hears it.

Sweeping her feet back off my desk, she scoots her chair forward and eyes me seriously. “You really did enjoy it?”

“I did. Way more than I thought I would. It was…” I pause, searching for the words to explain just how much her generous gift has changed my life. Choked up, and not just because I’ve taken another bite of my sandwich, I swallow and finish tearfully, “perfect, Bee.”

Her green eyes widen almost comically. “Rowan,” my name comes out on a wave on concern, “are you…Jesus, babe, are you crying ?”

Letting out a decidedly watery chuckle, I shrug and wipe at my eyes. “I, um,” I try to clear my throat while I blink rapidly. “I met someone.” If her eyes get any wider, I’m afraid they might fall out of their sockets. “And, um, I know it’s fast, and it sounds crazy, but I love him.”

“ Whoa ,” she breathes, awed. Then her brow crinkles and she leans forward. “Is he Australian? Oh, babe, is he still over there while you’re here?”

I shake my head, trying to get my emotions under control. “No,” I laugh again, sounding mildly manic even to my own ears. “Get this: he lives here . Like here here. Half an hour from my apartment.”

“ What?! ”

“I know, right? What are the chances?”

“I’m gonna need the whole story.”

So, I spend the next few minutes giving her the summarized —and abridged to avoid all mention of my issues or our kinkier play— story.

Bianca tuts and shakes her head through parts of it, scowling and muttering about the booking fiasco under her breath, and asks questions about Aaron which stall the process.

But she’s smiling as I wrap the whole thing up, looking about as bewildered as I’ve felt since I met him.

“If I believed in fate…” she muses, biting into her sandwich again.

I swallow my own mouthful and nod. “I’m starting to think that maybe I should. The way everything had to line up just right for us to meet…it feels like I’m living in my very own romcom.”

“You hate romcoms,” she accuses, making me laugh.

“I’m coming around to them.”

Sitting back in her seat, Bianca’s gaze turns assessing again. Her lips quirk into the ghost of a smirk and she says, “I want to meet this guy.”

“We’ve only been together for, like, a week and two days.”

“Uh-huh,” she waves a dismissive hand, “and you’ve already said you love him. And he’s changed your feelings on romcoms. I can’t not meet him.”

If our roles were reversed, I would be making the same demand of her.

I sigh. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen him since we left the airport the other day.

” It was hard to walk away from him, even harder to get into my car and drive myself back home, but the barrage of texts and phone calls we have exchanged since then has soothed the ache in my chest a little.

“So, you know, give me a little while longer to enjoy him for myself first. Please?”

Understanding softens her expression before she nods. “Of course, babe. But I’m still giving him the shovel talk.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

***

I’m nervous as I park my car in the visitors’ lot of the nondescript apartment building downtown.

It’s not the kind of place I imagined Aaron would live.

Not when I know how vibrant he is. But then, he did say he prefers to spend his money on experiences rather than material things, so that probably includes his apartment, too.

Especially when he doesn’t get to spend a lot of time at home, thanks to his busy work schedule.

The building looks just like every other one in this area: tall, rectangular, built out of gray concrete and brick. But the lobby is light and airy, though minimalist, and I travel to the tenth floor in a clean, brightly lit elevator. There, I turn to the right and make my way down the hall.

There are two apartments on every floor, and Aaron lives in the one with the view of the college and its sprawling grounds.

The other side of the building faces the more industrial part of the city.

I smile to myself, thinking that it makes sense he would prefer to see splashes of parkland and greenery in his view. That’s very much like my Daddy.

Adjusting the strap of my overnight bag on my shoulder, I rap my knuckles on the door and try not to fidget as I wait.

It has been almost a week since I last saw him, and I can’t help but worry that, despite our constant contact over the phone and via text, he might have changed his mind about being with me.

But those concerns fade away as the door swings open and I’m met with his blinding smile.

“Hey, baby,” he greets me, reaching forward to tug me inside. I barely register the sound of the door closing and the lock engaging as I’m enveloped in his warmth and scent. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Melting into his embrace, I fight the ridiculous urge to cry. “I’ve missed you, too, Daddy.”

He groans and kisses my cheek, murmuring, “You know exactly which buttons to press, don’t you, honey?

” There’s a teasing glint in his eyes as he pulls back to look at me, but something of my emotional state must show on my face because it is immediately replaced with concern. “Oh, Ro. Sweetheart, c’mere.”

I don’t know why I’m fighting back tears as I’m pulled into another strong hug, but Aaron knows exactly what to do. He slips my bag from my shoulder and drops it by the door, then leads me into the open-plan living area of his apartment, pulling me into his lap as he drops onto the couch.

He rubs my back and soothes me as I sniffle in his hold, rubbing a stubbly, spiky cheek over my temple. “It’s been a long week, huh?” his voice rumbles through his chest. “And after a week of being able to be completely free, it must have been hard for you to go back to masking everything.”

I hadn’t really thought about it that way.

But he’s right.

From remembering to set alarms to visit the bathroom, to diapering myself at night, to not being able to give in to that floatier headspace where I’m coming to realize I do regress a bit, just like he said I do…it has been really draining. Emotionally and physically.

I find myself nodding and crying a bit harder.

“It’s alright, baby. Let it out. Daddy’s got you.”

The magic words. They’re apparently exactly what I needed to hear. After choking back one more sob, I stop trying to hold it all back. Burying my face into the crook of his neck, I cry it all out, finally letting the rush of relief wash over me as I stop pretending to be so controlled. So adult .

Aaron hums and sways us from side to side where we sit, his hand still rubbing circles on my back. I ride the whole emotional release out until I’m a snotty, sniffling, hiccupping mess. But I feel boneless and lighter than I have all week.

And young .

So young.

Even though I’m physically bigger than Aaron, right now I feel small, huddled in his lap. And…I like it. A lot. Why did I spend a week denying myself this indulgence?

“Feeling better now, sweetheart?” he asks.

My brain feels like mush. I can’t really form words. “Mmm,” I hum and nuzzle my face into him more.

After a beat, he asks, “Is talking hard right now?”

I nod, making another “Mmhmm” sound.

“Huh.” His chest rises and falls quickly, and at the back of my brain, I register the light puff of air through my hair as a huff of dry amusement. “You feeling Little, baby?”

“Mmm,” I nod again.

“And sleepy?”

My eyes do feel quite heavy. I’m drained, but the floatiness that I spent all week trying to fight off in Australia is more intense than ever. I force another nod. “Mmm.”

“Okay,” he brushes his lips over the top of my head, then jostles me before holding up a picture of a traffic light, illuminated on his phone screen.

I squint at it, wanting to close my eyes and drift off, but Daddy has other ideas.

“Because words are too difficult right now, I need you to point to your color, sweetheart.”

Clumsily, I stab my index finger at the green circle.

“Good boy,” Daddy praises softly, then adds, “and what’s your color if I want to check your diaper and change you, honey?”

Another swat at the green circle, followed by a discontented whine when he makes me stand up. I was comfortable sitting in his lap!

Gently guiding me through his apartment, Daddy leads me into the nursery he told me about.

I take it in drowsily, smiling at the gaming station he has set up on one side of the room —which I know he installed this week, because his ex was into stuffies and race cars and I’m not— and then the adult-sized changing table on the other side of the room, which is where he takes me.

There’s a series of steps built against the side, so I can climb up easily. Once I’m settled on my back on the padded, plastic-covered surface, Daddy stands at the foot of the table, his hand splayed over my crotch.

Even through the thick denim, I’m sure he can feel the squish of the wet protection I’m wearing, but I don’t feel even the slightest hint of embarrassment at having been caught in a wet diaper during the day.

I’m still feeling that strange sense of detachment, where it actually feels kind of good to be in a diaper.

To know that I can let go and that Daddy is looking after me.

It cements that smallness in my head, but in a pleasant way.

“You’re being so good for me right now, Ro,” Daddy says, unbuttoning my jeans and lowering my zipper. “Can you lift your hips for me?”

I do as he says, then relax back as he launches into the routine I got so used to during our week at the resort.

The further into it we get, the more light and floaty my head feels.

I can’t even focus on the adult thoughts about how this table is the perfect height for him to rut his cock against mine for more than a brief moment before my eyelids are drooping shut as the comforting weight of a dry, padded night-time diaper is closed over my crotch and taped snuggly against my hips.

“I’m not big and strong enough to carry you to bed, sweetheart,” Daddy laments, rousing me from my near nap, “so climb down carefully and walk with me, okay? We still need to get you into comfy jammies, too.”

I do like the sound of comfy pajamas.

With limbs feeling like lead, I let him guide me down from the table and I waddle-walk into the bedroom across the hallway.

It’s a larger room, with a wide window looking out over the parkland and college grounds and the sprawling cityscape beyond, but I’m drawn to the plush-looking king-sized bed, and the even softer-looking blue pajamas emblazoned with sharks spread out on top of the comforter.

“Do you like them?” Daddy asks as I reach out to feel the soft fabric between my fingers. They’re going to be warm, but not too thick and constrictive in the climate-controlled apartment.

I nod. “Mmm.”

When I turn to face him, there’s a soft, affectionate smile on his face. “Let’s get you dressed, then.”

I stand, loose and pliant, as he helps me out of my jeans, jacket and long-sleeved t-shirt.

It’s a lot more work than at the resort, because of the extra layers, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Then, once I’ve climbed into the soft, long pajama pants and have the matching long-sleeved top buttoned, Daddy gestures for me to climb into bed, and then he joins me, spooning against my side with a satisfied sigh.

“I’ve missed this,” he says, while I press my cheek to his chest, tucked in under his chin.

Under my ear, I can hear his heart thumping away at a steady rhythm.

My eyes finally slide shut while I enjoy the ministrations of his fingers carding through my hair.

“My sweet Boy,” he coos. “Have a sleep, sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you wake up.

Then we can have a late dinner and talk. ”

For the first time in a week, I feel fully relaxed and so I drift off without any further encouragement.