Page 33 of Stars Like Confetti

Shea’s finger left his mouth with an audible pop. “I didn’t pee.”

Raising a brow, I fed a hand between his legs. I knew a wet diaper when I saw one, and Shea—although he wasn’t soaked, he was definitely wet. My boy giggled and squirmed, clenching his thighs around my hand. “I don’t think I’ll need a toy next time, Da.”

I’m ashamed to admit how long it took me to realize what he meant. While I was squeezing my legs together and praying to whatever deities existed that I wouldn’t soak my own pants, Shea came hands-free, shamelessly making a mess for me without risking anyone else’s comfort.

My lips curled slowly into a smile. I took a step forward, hooking a single finger behind the waistband of his diaper to haul him closer to me. “You dirty little boy.”

I swallowed his reply with my mouth on his. He grunted into the kiss and pressed himself into me. Kissing him, I dropped my hands to the tapes and released the diaper. “Get in the bath, sweetheart.”

I turned away before I could see the pout on his face but when I spun to face him again, he was rubbing his tired eyes. “Hm… maybe you’re too tired for a bath. I should just baby wipe you and put you to bed.”

“No!” I’d never seen a Little look so horrified.

I snickered. “Get in, sweetheart.”

While he got comfortable, I added some lavender bubble bath and knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth in the water. “Think you can stay awake long enough for this?”

His eyelids were drooping, but he nodded.

Glassy blue eyes peered up at me through dark lashes as I washed him from head to toe. I’d drench the cloth in the hot, soapy water, then let it run in tiny rivers down his chest. Judging by the gentle sighs that pressed through his lips, he approved. I began at his shoulders, scrubbing down each arm, then his chest and stomach. The farther south I got, the more his hips began to wiggle. “What’s wrong baby?” I asked casually.

“Feel funny.”

“What kind of funny?” I continued to bathe him like nothing was happening, strategically not washing between his legs. It was only partially to draw out his begging—I couldn’t use a scented, soapy wash cloth down there, after all.

“Da…” he whined.

I bit my lip to hide my grin. “I can’t help you if you don’t use your words little boy.”

Water sloshed as Shea slid down in the tub, widening his legs. I let go of the cloth and with a single finger, traced a featherlight touch down from his belly button, his squirming increasing the entire way

Then he whimpered in protest when I trailed back up. Back down, and my hand slipped beneath the bubbly surface of the water. I shuffled in place, ignoring the heat between my own legs. This wasn't about me. It was Shea's turn.

"C-could you maybe do something that only Das can do?" Another precious noise pressed free of his lips, and he attempted to guide my hand down toward his tiny dick.

"Can you give me a color?"

"Green," he panted.

Shea was wet for me, even in the water, and I bit back a moan. I couldn't remember the last time a partner had been so insatiable, or had brought out the same in me. Shea had always been ravenous, but if he was anything like me, years on hormones combined with the time spent apart made him downright desperate.

But as much as I wanted to draw this out, he was also dangerously close to falling asleep. I had to break out the big guns. Pressing hard with my fingers, I leaned in and dropped my voice low, but full of that breathy moan that drove him wild. "Come on, little boy. Come for your Da."

Shea was crying out his release before the words even left my mouth. It hit hard and strong, and he quickly grew sensitive—if the speed in which he shot his hand down to stop mine was anything to go by. His eyelids flutter, chest heaving with each hard-earned breath. "Good boy," I whispered, grabbing a new washcloth to clean him up. "You did so well for me."

As I suspected, the boy was barely conscious by the time I drained the bath water. I wrapped him in a fluffy white towel and lifted him onto the changing table to get him dressed. He shoved away the idea of a onesie or pajamas, instead opting to sleep in nothing but his diaper and the same T-shirt he’d been commandeering all week. The T-thing was old and tattered, used for little more than getting me between laundry days, but Shea made it look like something straight off the runway. I helped him down from the change table and watched his padded butt as he waddled over to the bed. Dropping my hand down beside me, I pinched my exposed thigh—hard.

I definitely hadn't imagined all of this. Shea was back, he was here and he was willing to be mine again. At the sight of Shea searching the bed and the nightstand, I grabbed a new pacifier from the collection beneath the changing. "Here, sweetheart."

I fastened a pacifier clip to the collar of the T-shirt that I never wanted him to give back to me, secured the soother to the other end, and placed it onto his tongue. His blue eyes shone, even in the darkness, a rosy hue to his cheeks that nearly made me forget what I was doing. When he cuddled into my bed like he belonged there, I nearly said to hell with the bottle and climbed in beside him.

Of course he belonged there.

He belonged wherever the hell he wanted to be.

Before I completely lost sight of myself, I moved over to the small kitchenette and fished through the provided bottles and sippy cups in the cupboard. Selecting one of each, I offered them to Shea and when he picked the bottle, I got to work heating up the milk. While he wasn't looking, I dropped a teaspoon of chocolate syrup into the bottle. Not enough to hype him up on sugar, but enough to give the milk a little more flavor.

Hell, I didn't even care if he was up all night with a sugar rush. He deserved it.