chapter 8

The man's words were flat and stifled as he spoke against the girl's lips, reluctant to move away. Her hands were warm against his skin, sliding to the base of his neck as his touch lingered against her mouth, lips regretfully falling from hers. "What do you want to eat—early dinner or a snack?"

"How hungry are you?" She simply replied, quirking an eyebrow with her question, an instinct and a reflex. Her eyebrows moved a lot as she spoke, telling of the expression her lips spared when she spoke. They were darkened presumably by the contact of the man's lips, careful to form her words, never lazy.

"Quite hungry,"

"Then I guess we'll have dinner,"

The man spoke once more, his voice low as he lifted a hand of the girl's from his neck and brought the grip to his lips, clasped with his. Idly, he brushed his lips where the girl's knuckles lay, the exhale from his nose warm against her skin, their eyes remaining connected. "We'll eat and then we can have a bath, how does that sound?"

"Buhth," Genevieve mimicked the man, scrunching her nose playfully.

The man simply shook his head with a broad smile, a word of his own falling from his lips. "Bahth," He watched the girl's smile grow, a playful grin against her lips before he spoke again. "You sound like a sheep with a misplaced lisp when you say bath,"

The girl instantly dropped her hand from his, placing a weak hit against his chest, eyes narrowed to a smile, the paper of her skin beneath freckles coated by an innocent, light pink. "It's not my fault you don't know how to pronounce a's,"

"I could say the same about you, Missy," He spoke down to the girl, though his voice remained one affectionate, eyes peering down the length of his nose, the girl's return through a line of dark, thick lashes.

"Yes, I would love to have a bath," The girl gently nodded with the same smile, wrapping both her hands in his, her eyes wide and bright as they remained against his own. The blue never failed to be a colour refreshing, something both numbing and sobering, blunt and sharp—an echo of tones like a dull throb in a song, twisted by clicks and melodies. "But let's just focus on dinner first, yeah?"

He pressed his lips to hers a final time, following her words, before finally breaking away from the girl and dropping his hands from hers. Not much time had passed as the duration of the exchange did, and the sun remained high and warm in the muddy sky—threatening to sink from the cold line of residential horizons, flat-topped rooves and tall buildings alike.

It was an odd sight as the pair made their way lazily towards the kitchen that stood at the heart of the house, but the fact of the early rising sun remained forgotten behind them as Genevieve took a seat at a stool by the bench, tiredly resting her head against the surface of the counter. Jasper smiled at the sight, her arms crossed beneath her resting, turned face and back hunched to a relaxed posture, stomach and groin resting with the dull satisfaction that left her eyes weighted.

"What do you feel like?" The man spoke only after a moment, raking a hand through his hair as he stifled a yawn of his own, watching the girl lazily trace patterns along the waxed surface as her eyes followed. Her wrist bent delicately as her fingers danced along the countertop, the bones that connected her knuckles to her wrists flexing and rising to the surface of her skin as her hand moved, creating pale shadows in the form of strummed guitar strings...

"Whatever we have," Jasper's smile only grew at her use of the word 'we'... The sensation was something new, something that associated her to himself so lazily, something they found would take a long time to get used to.

"Well..." Jasper pulled open the door to the fridge, his eyes scanning the contents. "-We could have chicken salad or grilled sandwiches..." He then bent over, propping the fridge door against his shoulder before he pulled open the freezer door and began to scan the contents much like he had the fridge. He then reached for the lower drawer, gently digging through what sat inside, the girl lazily sitting up behind him, an elbow against the counter's surface and her chin filling the bank in the palm of her hand. "... Pizza, Empanadas-"

"What's an empanada?" her question was brief as she watched the man by the freezer cast her an amused glance. His eyebrows were furrowed to the light that spilled from the windows to her back, eyes squinted but the blue still sharp.

"They're..." The man paused, straightening up, nudging the fridge door closed by his side, a hand lifting to push his fallen hair from the frame of his forehead. "-stuffed pastry with beef and vegetable elements—not to suck my own díck but I make them all the time and they're exceptionally good,"

The girl only laughed, the sound loud as the man's eyes held her's through a small smile of his own. Her chest swelled with the amusement that ebbed away to the affection the man's words coaxed, an affection that pondered how typical the man's words were of him. "Sometimes you're no better than a boy my age—it was a very articulate sentence until you threw in that little phrase," She paused as the man's smile grew, teeth bright, an eyebrow of his quirking challengingly. "What do you put in them?"

The girl's question arrived with a hint of interest, her smile still never failing, figure climbing to her feet once more as she approached. She peered through the frost-glazed lid of the chilled container, her eyes falling on what appeared to be semi-circles of bloated pastry, her shoulder brushing the man's chest gently.

Her hands were clasped behind her back as she stood, eyes wide and following his, lips pursed meekly. The girl never looked absent behind her eyes. She had the certain look that said she was constantly considering, calculating—never impatient.

"Let me think... chorizo, garlic, onion..." The man trailed off as his eyes held hers. It was in that moment that he noticed just how large the girl's brown eyes were. They were large and feline, the colour of the brown stood gentle and softening. He loved the aspects—the same aspects that made her eyes so bravely unique. "-olive, lard—for the pastry—eggs, flour, coriander, chicken stock..." He paused once more for yet another spell of thought as the girl pinched her lips together, his gaze drawn to the action. "-sun-dried tomatoes, paprika, cumin, chicken... I think that's it," His listing were of a relative pace, even, eyes lifting to hers once more where they rested happily.

"Sounds good—let's have that," The girl spoke with an eventual, eager smile, her fingers wrapped in the fabric that hung around her wrists, eyes bright and starry as they studied the man's.

"Okay, once we get the oven going with them in, it should be easy enough to do the salad-"

"Salad?" Genevieve groaned the word quite loudly, her head tipping backwards with a sense of dread, her eyes flickering downward to his, lips glossed with a formed pout. "Why salad?"

"Because it's good for you and it's also the best part—it's good salad, more of a relish," 

Genevieve deepened her voice mockingly as she rocked her head forward once more, eyes lifting to the man's at a sweet, soft angle, lips puckering to greet the words—"Because it's good for you,"

The man smiled a small expression, a hand lifting daringly. It seemed to be his go-to punishing action, the hook of his thumb cupping beneath her jaw, thumb resting roughly in the hollow of the girl's right cheek, other fingers in the left.

It was the harsh grip that excited Genevieve. It flared something inside of her, his fingers rough and careless in the moment, holding the girl's eyes to his own—"Hey,"

The girl smiled innocently as she soaked up the man's word and what force came with it, his fingers squeezing her skin as their eyes held libidinously. Her heart lurched in her chest as he viewed her, his eyes a silent dare, her toes curling and her stomach tightening. "I'm sorry, Daddy,"

"What are you sorry for?" The man's voice was rough and low, her jaw shifting against his skin as she spoke, tongue flicking against her teeth to form the words harsh where needed. His grip tightened as the girl's smile grew, shy and excited.

"Being rude, Daddy,"

The man raised his chin to the girl with a bright, satisfied shadow of a smile, her lips resting parted as her eyes lay fixed to his. "Are you gonna say something like that again?"

"Probably," The girl offered the man a small, innocent smirk as he suppressed a chuckle, his fingertips tightening against where they lay, jerking her head upwards and her eyes strongly to his, effectively wiping the small smile from the outlines of the girls lips—he struggled to remain firm before the girl and her playful, young nature... she was simply infectious. "No, Daddy," The girl's heart stuttered from a beat within her chest, her cheeks warm and deepened with an odd, excited blush. 

"Mmm..." The man sounded something deep and sweet from his throat, their eyes locked, his hand warm against the softness of her skin. After a long moment of stillness, the man lowered his hand from the girl's face, his other sliding the stiff, cold container onto the surface of the bench behind them, their chests meeting briefly for the pace to accommodate the gesture. 

The girl stood patiently, eyes bright and beneath sultry, lowered eyelids as the man settled before her once more. She admired the way his every movement was always fluid, never jerking or sloppily careless. He always seemed to move in a way unnatural; either cool, gentle, casual, calculated, romantic... the list continued. He moved between moods so easily and she found he suited each one brilliantly.

"You know what to do," His words were soft as he waited, waited for the girl's lips to flicker with a knowing smile she found hard to suppress. Waited for her to step towards the man without a pause for thought or hesitation. Waited for her eyes to fall behind her lids as she slid her arms around the man's neck and delicately lifted her lips to his.

The kiss was instantly curious, her lips exploring each angle and shadow of his own, twisting and tilting, capturing and infiltrating, mirroring and giving way. His tongue sought hers quickly, begging a sharp pang of something in the pit of her stomach as she returned his movements, her fingers twisting through the man's longer hair.

The girl stood on her toes as they kissed, the man's hands strong against her bare ass, her chest and lungs quick and breathless... "You're a bad girl sometimes," His voice and breath were low into her opened mouth, her exhale warm against his own as he continued to speak in a way only and delightfully lecherous. "I'd punish you but we have dinner to make,"

"You can punish me later,"

"Oh, I will," The girl blushed as the man's lips left hers, the action smooth and slow, his hands sliding away from the warmth of her soft, soft skin. For a moment, left without his touch, she felt naked. "And I can punish you whenever I want, Little One," The girl smiled a small, nervous expression, leaning to the touch of the man's hand as the warmth gingerly cupped the girl's jaw. "You're mine, just mine,"

The girl's eyes held his daringly, a reckless gaze. Her lips were dark and rounded from the firm touch of the man's, thick lashes fluttering to the quick, shy expressions of a blink, the same lips parted for speech, the same eyes wide as they held the man's before her. "Will you say it again, Daddy?"

The man's smile grew, an expression broad and bright against his lips. Jasper could only compare the language of the girl's eyes and their vocabulary to a petrichor. It was comforting and nostalgic at all times—so empty unless related to a deeper meaning but even then, still soothing. "You belong to me, baby," The man paused as the girl inhaled slowly, her chin raising to the man though somehow in a way not even resembling something hostile or challenging—she raised her chin in a way affectionate and confirming, her eyes holding his own; as wide and as sweet as ever.

"Mmm... yes I do," She felt oddly small in the moment, but small in a way that only said she had never been any happier. She felt fulfilled as the man viewed her challenginly—fulfilled that she had found a man as bad enough of a motherfücker he'd handle her body as roughly as he wanted but still handle her heart with the uttermost care and affection.

The girl had always thought about how she wanted a man who'd bruise her, bite her, spank her, own her because she needed a bad motherfücker just like herself—and only someone just like that would love the weaker girl.

Genevieve was not a weak girl; to Jasper, she was a weaker girl. For Jasper.

It seemed impossible she had managed to find each and everything she had ever decided she wanted in one person without her having to 'train' the partner in any way. It was a bloody miracle.

"Who does Daddy own?"

"Me -- Daddy owns me,"

"And who's your Daddy?"

"Jasper, you're my Daddy,"