Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 72

Ella

Yes, yes, yes! The little voice in my head chants, so forcefully the words almost spill out of my mouth. I stop them just in time, even though I can’t stop my hips from jerking up towards Sinclair’s hand. Still, I manage to clasp my fingers around his wrist before he can make contact with my aching clit, even as my blood sings for release.

I desperately want to let Sinclair’s give me the pleasure he’s offering, but I feel so overwhelmed by all this. Too many things have happened in the last 24 hours, and I’m beyond confused by my reaction to Sinclair’s discipline. All my emotions have been thrust together, smashed up and blended into a violent, swirling maelstrom– too muddied to differentiate. It’s as though I’ve been completely unmoored, no long understanding my own heart or mind.

I look up at Sinclair, my eyes wide and still stinging with leftover tears. He’s wearing that ravenous expression that makes me feel like he’s about to gobble me up, but there’s a softness in his eyes – an understanding that my body’s base instincts are not on the same page with my distraught mind.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that.” I confess, my voice very soft. How surreal is it, that twenty four hours ago I was ready to give myself to him completely? To let him make love to me right there in the middle of the forest, despite all our efforts to keep our relationship platonic?

Maybe the Prince did us a favor with his attack, I think bitterly. He kept us from taking a step we wouldn’t be able to take back – from making a terrible mistake.

How can you say that? My conscience demands. Look at what Sinclair just did for you.

What? Spank me like a child? Make me cry like a baby? I bite back.

You know you feel better now, The infuriating voice replies, It hurts, but hurting is better than feeling nothing.

I’m not so sure about that. The feelings that flowed out of me after the spanking provided an entirely different kind of release than the one I need now, pouring out pent up emotions with no other outlet than tears. However I’m acutely aware that those feelings were only a drop in the bucket, the surface waters of a bottomless well of anguish I am not prepared to face.

Ignoring my conscience, I peek up at the huge Alpha. “Is that okay?”

“Ella, of course it’s okay.” Sinclair answers, studying me closely. “Do you want me to leave you, so you can take care of it yourself?” He offers, though there’s a low, growly quality to his voice that makes me think his wolf doesn’t like this idea one bit.

“No.” I object immediately, grasping for his shirt before I can think better of it. I don’t want him to leave, to lose his soothing touch– but I also have a sneaking suspicion that staying in his lap is a bad idea. I can feel his hardness digging into my sore backside, and I’m both squirming to relieve the sting of my punished flesh and the ache between my legs.

“Easy sweetheart.” Sinclair chuckles, “I’m not going anywhere.” He kisses my hair. Then, seeming to sense the problem, he sets me beside him on the bed. I wince, preferring the feel of his warm thighs over the cool silk of the duvet, but before I can feel too sorry for myself Sinclair slides his palm to my bare belly, feeling for the pup.

“How is he?” I ask, feeling both guilty for not asking sooner, but also afraid of hearing the answer. How much of my ordeal was the pup able to feel? Surely if he can sense my feelings he can feel my fear and pain. Is he also aware that his father just put me over his knee? Oh that is so wrong – no child should have to know those things about their parents.

“I wish you could see your face right now.” Sinclair teases, “But I promise he’s much too young to understand any of this. All he knows is that you were sad, and that you feel better now we’re together. He feels better too.”

“Was he very frightened last night?” I inquire, closing my eyes and leaning into his side.

“He was distressed, because he could feel your fear, but everything he knows is in response to you. And his own feelings haven’t become more complicated than sad or happy – they won’t until after he’s born.” He explains.

“But you could tell what he was making me crave.” I remind him, striving to understand.

Sinclair nods, “Hunger, pain, tiredness, those are all reflexive instincts, not emotions.” I sigh, taking this in and pressing my nose to his chest and breathing in his scent. “You see?” I can hear a smile in his voice. “You’re soothed my scent, so he’s happy.”

“But I thought I liked smelling you because it’s what he needs?” I murmur.

“That’s the way with mothers and pups – that’s why I say you have a connection every bit as magical as my own. Your wants and needs become one in the same.” Sinclair shares.

“Okay.” I breathe, knowing that the harder I think about this, the less sense it will make. The more time that passes, the more I’m learning that magic and logic do not always mix.

We pass the next few moments in silence, and though I’m still so needy I think I might scream, I also haven’t forgotten the reason we fought. My ball gown remains in a puddle on the floor, it’s gauzy, gemstone studded skirts glinting up at me in the low lighting. “Dominic?”

“Yes?” He prompts, running his fingers up and down my arm in the most distracting way. His touch is featherlight, and I know it’s intended to comfort me rather than excite, but I’m beginning to think that it’s impossible to be in physical contact with this man without being turned on. Hell, I was even turned on when he was spanking me – and it hurt like hell. On some level I understand it was his dominance I liked, rather than the pain, but it still seems so wrong.

“I think I need you to stop touching me.” I whisper, hating myself even as I say it.

“Okay.” He agrees, reluctantly shifting my small body away from his. I instantly feel cold and incomplete, and my feelings must show on my face because Sinclair laughs and taps his finger on my nose. “You asked for it, beautiful.”

“I know.” I complain, pulling the duvet up around me so that I won’t feel so exposed. Sinclair watches my movement with narrowed eyes, and I can see he’s holding back some bossy statement. Probably something about not hiding myself from him, though he seems to understand I won’t calm down as long as his gaze is raking over my naked skin. “I want to talk about the ball.”

“Ella–”