Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 47

Sinclair

I’m resolved to buy Ella a ring tomorrow, but we still have to get through tonight first.

She was distant on the ride home, sitting across from me in the back of the limo rather than tucked up against my side the way I prefer. Moreover she didn’t say a word until we got back to the house, and then her only message was that she wanted to sleep in her own rooms this evening.

“Are you angry with me?” I ask, furrowing my brow in confusion.

“No, I just think a little space would be good for us.” She answers, hugging herself in a clear defensive move.

Maybe she’s right, I think, though it’s not easy to hear my thoughts with my wolf snarling in protest. I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of her reluctance to indulge our shared desires, and I don’t want to press her if she really isn’t interested. Even if she is, I think it would be a mistake to push her too hard or fast and risk spooking her. “Okay.” I agree eventually. “I’ll notify the guards.”

My wolf is whining like a pup as I stride away from her, and I can’t believe how attached I’ve become to the sweet human in so short a time. I don’t like letting her out of my sight when I know she’s under threat, but this is so much more than that. I’ve gotten so used to sleeping with her warm little body snuggled in my arms or sprawled out on top of me, that I’m not sure I’ll be able to rest without her.

As I prepare for bed, I try to make my wolf settle, but it’s nearly impossible. In the end, I realize I didn’t scent mark Ella tonight, and if anything will calm my wolf, I imagine that will. I pull on a t-shirt over my pajama bottoms and set off towards her rooms, knowing precisely how ridiculous I’m being and not giving a damn.

However when I arrive outside Ella’s rooms I immediately pick up on a strange tension among the guards. I look around at them curiously, but their stiff postures are only compounded by their refusal to look me in the eye. A moment later a soft whimper emanates through Ella’s door, and I understand. It’s not a sound of worry, sadness or fear, but one absolutely dripping with sex. My ears sharpen towards her door and I hear more sounds: the slight rustle of the bed sheets; the gentle glide of deft fingers sliding over wet flesh; uneven and excited breathing; and pounding pulse. It’s obvious what Ella is up to in my absence, and I have to stop myself from groaning aloud.

I silently order the guards away – knowing Ella would be mortified if she realized my men can overhear her touching herself. My own mind is divided over what to do – I doubt she wants me to hear this either, though she probably wouldn’t mind if she realized just how open shifters are about sex. Even my men weren’t embarrassed, simply nervous over my reaction to them being near Ella at an intimate moment. She might not be my mate, but she is carrying my pup, and that’s a claim every bit as powerful and sacred to our kind. They know how possessive I am of her, how protective. They probably thought I’d rip their ears off just for standing in hearing distance. Still it was their duty to guard her, and now it has to be mine until this private moment has passed.

I’m confident that I’m the least objectionable audience to Ella, considering the intimacies we’ve already shared. Still, I have to keep telling myself this reminder as time passes. Every time I begin to wonder if I’m using her protection as an excuse to eavesdrop, I put myself in Ella’s shoes and recall how humiliated she would feel about so many strangers hearing her in this state. Leaving her unguarded isn’t an option, so this is the lesser of two evils.

Nonetheless, it’s absolute torture to listen to Ella finding her pleasure this way, because every small pant and moan fills my head with a thousand explicit images. I can imagine exactly what she’s doing, and the tiny sounds she emits every now and then egg my wolf on. He’s in a near frenzy, demanding we go in and put a stop to this immediately. I should be the one pleasuring her, she shouldn’t have to take matters into her own hands. This is a mate’s job. If she were mine I would march in right now, give her lush bottom a few swats for not making her needs known to me, then bury my face between her legs and feast until she’s begging me to stop.

But she isn’t mine. I remind myself furiously, trying not to get so carried away by the fantasy that I give in. Still, she’s clearly worked up because of the kiss, my wolf reasons, she’s probably thinking of us this very moment.