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"I loved how you took care of me, but I'm still a bit scared... what if I do something wrong? What if you realize I'm not a good enough Little?" I voiced my concerns, biting my lip nervously.
Daddy shook his head, "You were perfect today. I loved every moment of it. You're a good girl, and I couldn't have asked for a better Little."
His words sent a warm feeling coursing through me.
Halfway through, Daddy broke the comfortable silence that followed. "Lina," he began, his voice a little shaky, "I want to tell you about something about my past."
The seriousness in his tone made me sit up straighter, clutching my wolf stuffie tighter in my arms. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Bianca wasn’t like you,” he said, his voice low. “I drew parallels between the two of you. Thought you were similar, but Joe was right. You are your own individual. She didn't respect my rules, didn't respect me. She broke my trust and left me feeling inadequate. Like I wasn't a good enough Daddy."
I reached out, placing my hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. But you're not inadequate. You're the best Daddy I could've asked for."
He glanced at me, his blue eyes filled with surprise. I leaned in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "I mean it, Daddy. You've been nothing but respectful and understanding. You've constantly put my needs and wellbeing first and I can't thank you enough for that."
After he parked, he carried me out of the car and into his arms, I found myself not wanting to say goodbye. Our casual conversation, our easy laughter, the warmth shared between us made the idea of parting hard.
Daddy seemed to understand my thoughts. "We'll have many more such playdates," he said.
Yet, I found it hard to let him go. In a bid to make him stay a little longer, I put on my best pout, "But Daddy, it's so lonely in there without you."
He chuckled, "Well, I guess I can't leave my little princess all alone, can I?"
I couldn't help the giggle that escaped my lips as I did a little victory dance in his arms, shaking my bottom in pure joy.
As we stepped into the apartment, Daddy lowered me to the ground, but his hands lingered on my waist for a moment longer. A shiver ran through me at the contact, a whisper of desire that I quickly pushed away.
"Haven't you promised me a cooking lesson, Little Miss Chef?" he teased.
"Yeah," I laughed, leading him into the kitchen. Handing him an apron, I couldn't help but quip, "Careful, Daddy. You're about to embark on a culinary battle."
He playfully saluted me, making me chuckle, but as he tried to put on the apron, his fingers fumbled with the ties. He somehow managed to put it on backwards, and I couldn't hold back my laughter.
"Hey, no laughing at the new guy," Hank playfully scolded, making a show of pouting. I approached him to help, my laughter subsiding as I stepped close. My hands brushed against his broad chest as I adjusted the apron, and something stirred deep inside me.
I could see us cooking together, laughing together, living together... except, in my fantasy he was wearing nothing but the apron. Hank's voice brought me back. "Are you alright, Little one?" he asked, his voice soft.
Flustered, I nodded, my cheeks warming. He looked at me knowingly, a hint of a smile on his lips. Then, leaning in, he captured my lips in a passionate kiss. Our bodies melded together, every nerve ending alight with the sensation. But, as suddenly as it began, the moment was broken by my traitorous stomach growling loudly. We broke apart, both laughing.
"Guess we better get cooking, huh?" he chuckled.
Nodding, I handed him a basket full of brightly colored bell peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes.
"Wash these," I instructed.
He saluted again and turned to the sink. I watched as he began to peel the tomatoes, a frown of concentration on his face.
"Daddy!" I exclaimed, laughing at the sight. "I said 'rinse', not 'peel'!"
Hank looked at the peeled tomatoes in his hand, then at me, and joined in the laughter. "Well, maybe you should make your instructions clearer, Little one," he teased, tossing the peeled tomato at me. I dodged, my laughter filling the kitchen.
When it came to chopping the vegetables, his culinary prowess seemed to falter again.
"Daddy, that's not how you chop a bell pepper!" I exclaimed, giggling as he looked up at me with an innocent, wide-eyed expression.
"But I thought-"
"Nope," I interjected, playfully shaking my head. "These are for a salad, not a stew. You need to make smaller, more precise cuts."
