Page 3 of His Little Morganite

She’s fighting the magnetic pull. She’s fighting it because she’s nervous and rightfully scared. Understandable. And yet I’m anxious for her to turn around. I’m sure I’ve only been standing here a few seconds; it seems like longer.

Her arms are tanned and bare. The tight dress she’s wearing has tiny straps at her shoulders. By human standards, I know this is sexy. Human males love this sort of clothing. It’s out of an Eleadian male’s realm of comprehension because we would never cover our female’s bodies in any clothing at all, but I’m aware how attractive she is.

I take a step closer, leaving only inches between us. I’m breathing her in, savoring every moment of this first meeting. I’m guessing she’s five-ten, and she stands over six feet in the heels, but I’m seven-six, so I tower over her.

I can see her friend over the top of my mate’s head, but she has backed up, scrambled really. She’s shoving herself into the corner of the room, putting several feet between her and her friend.

I know why. She has sensed my friend Surgient who has come to claim her. She seems even more panicked than my own Little girl.

Several females fill the space between my girl and Surgient’s, blocking their view of each other. My Little is breathing heavily, a hint of arousal already filling my nose as she too inhales my pheromones.

Our matings are powerful and undeniable. Her body is aligning with mine even though we haven’t looked each other in the eyes, and she hasn’t seen any part of me.

When I can’t take it any longer, I set my hands gently on her bare shoulders. “I know you sense me, Little one,” I say in a deep voice.

She’s panting. Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Now that I’m close enough to look over the top of her, I can see the front of her dress. The material is tight across her chest. She’s not wearing a bra. She doesn’t need one. For one thing, her breasts are obviously high and pert—the kind human females covet, and males, too. For another thing, the thin straps of the dress prevent her from being able to wear a bra without the straps showing.

I’ve gathered from my extensive research that human females have the oddest relationships with their clothes but especially their bras. They have so many style preferences, but most of them have a tendency to spend a lot of money on the article of clothing that covers their breasts and props them up.

Eleadian males do not permit our females to make any such choices. Not about anything, but especially not with regard to clothing. That fact is one of the hardest things for human females to understand and come to terms with when they arrive on Eleadia.

Little girls on Eleadia do not live in a hierarchy with other girls. Whatever their place was on the human food chain, itvanishes after they are claimed. The female I’m touching will never wear makeup again. She won’t fix her own hair. She won’t wear clothes after I remove these. She won’t be in competition with other females she befriends when we arrive at home—including her friend who is currently being claimed by Surgient.

I can’t know for sure if the two of them lived on the same level of the human hierarchy or not, since they are so vastly different, but either way, that ends now. The only two things my Little girl will wear on my planet will be the soft, absorbent material made from the sumach plant that will cover her bottom and the dainty gemstones I choose to adorn her nipples.

The thought of selecting those stones makes my mouth water. I can’t wait to see her nipples and the rest of her body. The tone of her skin and color of her eyes will help me decide what stones I’ll want to see dangling from her pretty titties for the rest of our lives.

I wonder if the bronze color of her arms and shoulders extends to her entire body. I’m aware that many human females intentionally expose themselves to the harmful UV rays from their sun or even artificial light. They do so for the express purpose of darkening their skin.

I’ll know soon if my Little girl has done so herself or if she is naturally this shade all over. By the time we get to my home after a six-month voyage, her skin will have returned to its natural shade. The formula I feed her will have everything she needs to protect her skin from our sun. She won’t darken, nor will I need to apply lotions to protect her.

My Little girl draws in a deep breath. “I’m scared,” she whispers.

I slide my hands down her arms and thread my fingers with hers, flattening my front to her back. When I fold our combined arms across her chest, she leans into me. “I know you are, Little one. Try to relax. I won’t rush you.”

“How…?” She swallows hard. “How do you know. Why…?”

“We’re fated, Little one. That’s how it works. It’s powerful. You know you’re mine without looking at me.”

She nods.

I can feel her pulse. It’s aligning with mine. “Breathe with me, Baby girl.”

She squeezes my fingers. Her hands are so tiny compared to mine. I knew it would be shocking, and she would be very small because all human females are small compared to my people, but it’s still startling now that I’m holding her. Her fingers, her arms, her bare legs. She seems fragile.

I lean down and bury my nose in her hair because I need to inhale her. Once again, I can’t wait to wash her clean of the artificial human scents. I want to smell her damp hair after I’ve bathed her in the water we bring from our planet, using the gentle organic, natural soap we use.

I will wash her clean of her prior life at some point tonight, but I remind myself to bide my time. Instead of rushing her off the dance floor and over to the elevators that will take us up to my floor, I sway with her to the beat of the music. We’re sort of dancing. It’s pleasant.

Now that I’m holding her, she’s calming slightly in my arms.

“Your friend is talking to Mia,” she whispers.

“Yes. He will take her upstairs soon.” I unravel our fingers because I fear I’m hurting her. My fingers are so large they’re spreading hers too wide. Instead, I wrap her hands in mine and hold them against her chest, stroking her knuckles. “So…your friend’s name is Mia. What’s your name, Little one?”

“Ava,” she murmurs.

“Ava…” I try it out. “I love that name. My name is Ganrax.”