Page 55 of Cognac Secrets

“Not at all,” I told her, and I made good on what I said I would do, I left her to her own devices and the bathroom door open so I could listen out for her and keep an eye on her if I needed to.

I heard her rustling about, getting herself cleaned up a bit more and situated as I moved around the bedroom and plugged in the heating pad behind the nightstand and turned it on to get it warm for her.

By the time she came out, I was naked and between the sheets, the heating pad was warmed up, and I had a triangle of bedding opened up and inviting her to get back into bed with me.

She moved carefully, her arms crossed over her stomach and her body hunched a bit self consciously and I hated that for her when I honestly thought she was sexy as hell, even in the damn diaper – which I know sounds way fucking weirder than it actually was. I’m just saying she could be wearing a burlap sack and she would still be hot as hell to me.

“There you go,” I murmured encouragingly as she settled under the blankets with me and the heating pad against her stomach. She sighed in what sounded like a little relief and I said, “I have it on medium, feel free to crank it higher or lower.”

“Higher, please?” she asked and I found the control and maxed it out. I settled her against my chest and held her close, stroking lazy patterns over her back.

“Feels good after outside,” I said as the heat from the device radiated out under the blankets.

“Might get too warm,” she warned.

“Fine by me,” I told her. “A little sweat never hurt anyone.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked and her voice wavered again.

“Why are you being so hard on yourself, baby?” I countered. She lay on her side facing me and I searched her face in the dim glow of the beside lamp.

“I didn’t think I was,” she whispered.

“I’ve never had any woman freak out or apologize so hard over getting herperiod, beautiful. What’s going on in there?” I asked, smoothing a hand over her long, deep brown hair.

She closed her eyes and sniffed and when she opened them back up again, I could see the internal war she was having with herself on whether or not she should say anything.

I smoothed a thumb along her upturned cheek and finally said, “You’re safe with me, Sandrine. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m not… normal…” she said.

“Normal is boring,” I said dryly, “but why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”

“Because it is,” she whispered. “Most girls get PMS and they get a little snappy or short, have a few cramps, some bloating, and it’s whatever… but I have this thing that’s called PMDD. It’s like PMS’s bigger, uglier, and much meaner sister.”

“Okay,” I drew out the word. “I’ve never heard of it… what’s it do?”

She sniffed and wiped at a tear.

“Makes it feel like anything and everything is hopeless. Turns any and all of my emotions up past eleven on a scale of one to ten… I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. I cry, and I get irrational, and irritated, and I’ve been told I’m miserable to be around and so I try to just not be around people when I feel it start to amp up, you know?”

“Okay,” I said carefully. “I haven’t seen anything so awful yet.”

“You haven’t?” she asked, and sounded genuinely surprised.

“No,” I assured her, shaking my head against the pillow.

“I don’t understand that,” she said.

“Is that why you panicked when your period started?” I asked. “You were afraid what I would think?”

She nodded dumbly and I smiled at her and pulled her close to me, wrapping her up in my arms.

“Immature little boys lose their shit over a woman’s monthlies. I’m not a stupid little boy, I’m a man and you’re a woman, and you’regonnaget your period every month unless, you know, you get knocked up.”

She snorted, “That’s what the condoms are for.”

I smiled at her, a bit of a reckless grin and asked, “Not on birth control?”

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