Page 65 of Jasper

I don’t want to ruin it.

But there’s something sitting heavily in my chest, something I need to say aloud. So I pull back just enough to look up at him. The room is dim, with soft shadows and golden streaks from the nightlight on his dresser. His eyes are already on me, as if he knew I was about to speak.

“Do you think I’m a terrible person?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His brows pinch together, confusion flickering in his expression. “What?”

“For stealing,” I continue softly. “All those years. All the things I took. From strangers. From people who never even saw me coming. Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He studies me, his gaze steady and serious, weighing up my words like he knows how much they cost me to say.

Then he shakes his head, firm and sure. “No. I don’t.”

“But—”

“I think,” he interrupts gently, “you did what you had to do. You were surviving. You were doing what you were taught to do by people who should’ve known better. That doesn’t make you bad. That makes youstrong.”

My throat constricts. I blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“But you don’t have to do that anymore,” he says. “You don’t have to steal. You don’t have to hustle for scraps or sleep with one eye open or wonder where your next meal’s coming from.”

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “It’s not that easy. You can’t just… take care of me, Jasper.”

His arms wrap around me tighter, like he’s afraid I might slip away.

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” he says, voice gruff and low. “I’m your Daddy, remember?”

I roll my eyes, even as my heart skips in my chest. “That doesn’t give you magic powers.”

He lifts a brow, smirking. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

He leans in close, the heat of his breath brushing my ear. “Do you want a spanking, Little girl?”

A bolt of electricity shoots straight through me. My breath catches, my entire body going still.

“No,” I whisper, too fast.

His chuckle is low and dangerous, curling around me like smoke. He shifts his hand beneath the blanket and delivers a swift, stinging swat to my backside. Just one. Though it’s enough to make me gasp.

“Then behave,” he murmurs, and before I can gather a single coherent thought, his mouth is on mine.

It’s not a kiss for comfort. It’s a claim. A promise. His hand fists in my hair, holding me close as his lips move over mine with intention, with heat. He kisses me like hemeansit, like he’s marking the moment, branding it into the space between us.

By the time we part, I’m breathless and flushed and clinging to him like I’ll never get enough.

He cups my chin, lifting my face so I can’t look away from him.

“You’re mine now,” he says, voice rough. “I’m going to take care of you, every damn day. You hear me? No more running. No more surviving. You belong with me, and I’m never letting you leave.”

I narrow my eyes and arch an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously like kidnap.”

He laughs, full-bodied and unguarded, the sound rumbling from his chest like thunder.

“Guess you better not try to run, then,” he quips, grinning and kissing me again.

And for the first time in my life, being someone’s doesn’t feel like a trap.

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