As soon as the elevator opens on my floor, I step into the living room and hurry toward the bedroom. I need to get this coat off her and make sure she’s not injured beneath.
I ease her onto the giant bed I’ve been sleeping in for two weeks and tug her mittens off first. Holy hell, her hands are small. I unzip her coat and pull the sleeves off her next, surprised to see that underneath she still has on a few layers of clothes.
My girl is wearing a thick sweater that has tears and holes in it. She has on jeans that are too large for her. Her shoes look too small. She’s cold to the touch, and the need to get her out of these clothes and warm her up is strong.
The first thing I do is quickly remove all of my clothes and change into the soft black pants I’m far more comfortable in. When I’m done, I pull off her shoes and socks before easing the sweater and two more long-sleeved shirts over her head. Finally I ease her jeans down her slender frame.
I’m grateful that she’s still unconscious because my breath hitches when I set eyes on her almost naked body. She’s got a small frame, but she’s also far too skinny. She’s underweight. Undernourished. And cold. So cold. No wonder she didn’t take off her coat.
I waste no time removing her threadbare panties, holding my breath to avoid inhaling her sweet scent. Now is not thetime to bury my face in her pussy. I need to warm her up. She’s trembling, and goosebumps rise all over her skin as she whimpers.
After slipping a diaper under her bottom and fastening it around her narrow waist, I gently lift her into my arms, cradle her against my body so that our naked chests connect, and tuck a blanket all around her.
My body heat will warm her in no time. So will a warm bottle. I hurry back to the main room and over to the fridge to grab one. I heat it more than I normally would so that the formula can warm her.
I realize I don’t even know my Little girl’s name. That won’t do. I need to know her name. I pray she had ID in one of her pockets.
Still cradling her, I return to the bedroom, keeping her plastered against me as I grab her coat. I’m relieved when I find her ID in the second pocket I check.
Janelle. My Little girl’s name is Janelle. What a pretty name. I stare at the ID for a few minutes, noting that she weighed more in the picture. Her hair was glossier and her cheeks were fuller. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes weren’t as sad as the brown orbs that stared up at me before she fainted.
I tuck the ID in my pants pocket and return to the living room. Every inhale confirms she is mine. All of the inhales for the rest of my life will be filled with the scent of my mate because I will never let her get far enough away from me that I won’t be able to scent her.
Her lips part, and she squirms, whimpering in her sleep. Her tiny breasts rub against my chest. Even though I’m worried about her health, this is the most precious moment of my life.
I will get her healthy, and I will see her smile.
I grab the bottle, sit in my recliner, and bring the nipple to her lips. It will be easier to feed her while she’s still mostlyunconscious, so I rub her lips with the nipple, pleased when they part wider for me, and she accepts the rubber tip into her mouth.
She’s so fucking pretty. I stroke her cheek to get her to suckle, and my heart soars when she draws in the first sip of formula. She doesn’t open her eyes as she finds her rhythm and eagerly sucks.
My heavens. I have no words. My heart is in my throat, and it nearly stops altogether when her tiny hand comes to mine so she can wrap her fingers around my pinky.
She’s my everything. My world. My life.
And she doesn’t know it yet.
In no time at all, the bottle is empty. She was starving, and I consider heating another for her, but then decide against it. I don’t want her tummy to be so full that she ends up vomiting. I’ll fix her another bottle in a while.
Her pretty lips are still suckling, though, and I’m slightly shocked when she brings her thumb to her mouth. I know from my studies that adult female humans do not suck their thumbs. It’s fucking adorable, and I’m loathe to stop her, but I also know she should learn to take a pacifier, so I snag one from the end table, guide her thumb gently out of her mouth, and replace it with the pacifier. Her breathing evens out, and she slides into a deep sleep in my arms.
I hate that she has not regained consciousness and will probably panic when she finally awakens, but for now, my instinct tells me she needs rest more than anything else. She’s obviously exhausted.
I hold her close and rock her, rarely blinking because I need to stare at her at all times. Precious. Mine.
Janelle.
Chapter Three
Janelle
I’m warm. So warm. And so comfortable. It takes long seconds for it to compute that it’s not possible. I haven’t been warm and comfortable for a few years. How am I suddenly cozy?
I refuse to open my eyes and risk breaking the spell. In the back of my head, I realize I’m dreaming. I have to be. There’s no other explanation for the soft blanket or what seems to be arms enveloping me.
When was the last time someone hugged me? I don’t remember. It would have been my mother. She wasn’t a hugger as I got older, but I assume she hugged me when I was a child.
Something smells…right. I can’t make sense of it. A masculine scent fills me every time I inhale. It’s powerful and heady. It’s…home. What does that even mean? It doesn’t compute.
