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I find glitter on my sleeve on day three.

That one pisses me off. Not because of the glitter itself, but because I told myself craft glitter was a manageable purchase and am now being punished for my arrogance.

It is everywhere.

There are flecks on the coffee table, in Kamden’s hair, embedded in one of the throw blankets, and somehow one shining pink particle stuck to the black casing of my prosthetic arm.

A better development is Kamden’s slight obsession with his pacifier. It all started the night of the nail polish. I’d already put him to bed and was about to lock him in for the night when he shyly asked if he could try it.

The moment I popped it into his mouth, his entire expression fucking melted. I mean it.

And by the time I shut the door, he was sucking rhythmically enough that I could see the movement in his cheeks.

Ever since, it’s like he’s surgically attached to the thing. He even called it his paci by accident.

I even end up buying him a second one, because he becomes visibly distressed when he can’t find one within thirty feet of where he is at any given time.

There are some other changes too, like how he calls me Daddy more often.

At first, only when he’s half-asleep, upset, or during our nightly stretching sessions when I’m fingering him open, inch by inch, in preparation for finally being able to take my cock. I refuse to hurt him, so yeah, I’m taking things slow, but I can’t complain. Almost every time, I end up jacking off to the sight of his pretty pink hole being worked open, shooting my cum onto it, and pushing it inside of him where it belongs.

But now “Daddy” has started to come from his precious little mouth in the most ordinary moments.

“Daddy, can I have more juice?”

“Daddy, where are my purple crayons?”

“Daddy, Rabbit fell behind the bed.”

The first time he calls for me from the other room simply because he wants to show me a dress he colored, I almost forget how to breathe.

Mathias has not contacted me about Kamden once over the week. He has called twice about work, both times perfectly normal, which is worse than if he were threatening me.

Mathias knows; I know he knows, and he knows I know that he knows.

Yet we’ve entered some unspoken stage where he’s just waiting for me to show him what happens next.

It’s fine.

Mathias is low on my priority list right now, and only time will tell if that’s a mistake or not. But right now, there’s nothing more important to me than helping Kamden explore age play. Well, finding that fucker who hurt him so badly that he panicked from just seeing nail polish nine years later is pretty high up there.

I know why Kamden is refusing to tell me the man’s last name; he knows I’ll kill him.

And he’s not wrong.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m looking into it myself, and as soon as I track Steven down, he’s a dead man.

No one hurts my little sweetheart.

Including me. Which is why I’m showering him in everything soft I can find.

Kamden tries each item I give him aside from the diapers—or at least until after dinner on his seventh day here.

Kamden is curled sideways against me, pacifier in his mouth, one foot tucked beneath my thigh while I read something on my laptop.

His nails are still lavender, although the polish has chipped slightly at the tips.

He’s been quiet for a while, tracing the edges of the prosthetic and suckling on his pacifier. Not anxious, but thinking.