Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
I’m aware of females all around me, but I ignore them as I take long strides across the room to get to my girl. It all happens so fast that I’m in front of her seconds after watching her cover her ears.
I take a deep breath, drawing her essence into my body as I set my palms on her shoulders. I need to touch her, but the moment I do, my breath hitches. She’s in distress. I could see that from the monitor, but now that I’m here, it’s wafting off of her in waves. I don’t like it.
I slide my hands to her face so I can touch her skin and guide her head back. “I’ve got you, Baby girl. Take a breath for me.”
The prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen slowly open, go wide, and then roll back in her head. She loses consciousness in an instant.
“Fuck.” I squat down and scoop her into my arms before she can hit the floor. Cradling her against me, I aim for the other side of the dance floor and through the door that enters into a white hallway.
The moment the door closes behind me, the noise is blocked. Thank fuck. It was annoying, and I suspect my girl thought so, too.
She’s dead weight—completely unconscious. Not that she’s heavy by any stretch of the imagination. She weighs almost nothing, shockingly less than I would have expected. Now that I’m holding her, I’m certain the coat she’s wearing is far too large for her. Her frame is so tiny under it.
I easily hold her with one arm while I call the elevator with the other. I’m worried about the fact that she fainted, but now that she’s unconscious her breathing is even. Her pulse is returning to a normal rhythm. I bet she passed out because I was so close to her, overwhelming her with my size and height.
Her heart rate was through the roof when I first approached, though. I suspect she was having a panic attack. I wonder if that happens to her often.
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 the time 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.