Accidental Surrogate for Alpha
Chapter 59

Ella

In the end my exhaustion saves me. I hadn’t realized how tiring the evening was, but the added pressure of putting on our show for the reporters must have taken more of a toll than I expected. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, but as fate would have it, I can’t even escape Sinclair in my dreams tonight.

I know I’m dreaming from the very start. I’m still in Sinclair’s bed, but it’s no longer in his opulent mansion. It’s in the middle of a starlit forest, with nothing but trees and wilderness surrounding it as far as the eye can see. I’m wearing a simple white negligee

– more evidence that this isn’t real, I don’t own anything like it. A cool breeze flutters over my skin, carrying the scent of evergreens and moss, rich amber and… Sinclair. I would know that scent anywhere, even though I can’t see him yet.

He appears slowly, moving towards me through the darkness, his green eyes glowing through the trees. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of simply black slacks, and for the first time I don’t feel shy about appreciating his gorgeous physique. I’ve always averted my eyes when he undresses in front of me, not that this prevents me from feeling his muscles or the huge member between his legs when our bodies are pressed up against each other in bed. But now I look my fill, raking my eyes over the rugged planes of his face and the contours of his chest. His tall frame is padded with muscles most human men can only dream about – some of which I didn’t even know existed.

“Hello beautiful,” Sinclair greets me huskily, prowling closer with every ragged breath I take, his naked torso gleaming in the moonlight. “Didn’t you get enough of me when you were awake?”

“How could I?” I pout, feeling completely face to express my sullen mood. “You teased me all night long and I haven’t had any relief. It’s torture!”

“It’s not easy for me either.” He murmurs sympathetically, crawling up onto the big bed. He moves with such lethal grace, crawling over the plush covers until he’s close enough to reach out and touch me, which he immediately does. He lies on his side, encouraging me to come rest in the protective circle of his arms. I don’t resist. I slide into his embrace as easily as I breathe, feeling completely at home with this dangerous man wrapped around me. It seems strange to think he terrified me a month ago, now he’s my safe space.

“It’s not the same.” I insist, looking over at him from beneath my lashes.

“Why not?” Sinclair asks, brushing the hair back from my face.

“You don’t know the effect you have on me ” I confess, pressing a bit closer. I might be asleep but my breasts are still aching, and my sex is swollen and dripping with need. It’s rather freeing to be able to rub myself against Sinclair without fear of embarrassment or worries over opening a can of worms.

“Tell me,” He growls, his voice deep and rough. One of his massive hands tangles in my hair, forming a fist in the long silky strands while the other slides down over my bottom, hitching my hips closer, until the pulsing bundle of nerves at the apex of my things is right up against his hardness.

“Even the smallest touch sets me on fire.” I complain. “You holding my hand feels more intimate and arousing than another man kissing me.”

“And when I do kiss you?” Sinclair prompts, encouraging me to move against him, guiding my hips to rock against his.

“I might as well be molten lava. My entire body turns to liquid – figuratively and literally.” I confess, and I know he understands.

My wetness has already seeped through my panties and onto the sleek black fabric of his trousers. “You have a power over me I don’t understand, I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“You don’t really think it’s different for me, do you?” Sinclair murmurs, lowering his mouth to my throat and brushing his lips over my pulsepoint.

“Of course it is.” I whine, so frustrated that I feel like I might cry.

“Can’t you feel how hard I am for you, Ella?” Sinclair inquires gruffly, nuzzling my skin, grazing his fangs over the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “How hard I always am for you?” I’m shivering with need now, especially as his words combine with the feeling of his steely length against my clit.

“Well that doesn’t mean anything. You’re in bed with a half naked woman, it would happen with anyone.” I reason miserably.

Sinclair chuckles, “I think you’ve been around human men for too long, they’ve given you a very low opinion of my sex.” He raises his head at last, taking a break from laving the soft spot behind my ear. “Trust me, it doesn’t happen for just anyone, no matter what they’re doing or how lovely they are.”

“But I’m nothing.” I insist. “I’m just a human, I don’t have the kind of power you do.”

“You’re not nothing.” Sinclair growls, a dangerous edge in his deep voice. “And you might be human but you have a power all your own. Don’t you know how difficult it is for me to be near you without touching you? How impossible it is to hold myself back when you’re in my arms, when all my instincts are driving me to make you mine? Ever since we met I’ve felt like an addict, and you’re my only fix.”

“That’s probably just the baby.” I murmur, sighing when the fabric of my teddy slides off my breast, finally allowing one taut nipple to meet Sinclair’s bare chest, teased and tickled by the coarse black hair scattered over his pecs. “It has to be. It doesn’t make sense otherwise.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Sinclair answers, his lips mere inches from mine. “And you give me too much and too little all at once.”

“What do you mean?” I wonder aloud, not really wanting him to answer. I just want him to kiss me, to strip off my negligee and finally relieve the terrible ache which seems to have taken over my very soul. I think Sinclair can sense my growing desperation, but for some reason he isn’t giving me what I need. He’s holding himself back, taking away his kisses and questing hands.

“I don’t do casual either, Ella.” He catches my hips when I get so distracted rubbing myself against him that I stop listening, too intent on chasing my pleasure. I whimper when the delicious friction I’d been building ceases, and Sinclair clucks sympathetically. Still, he doesn’t show me any mercy. Instead he tilts my chin up so I’ll have to look him in the eye, “I don’t waste my time on people I’m not serious about, or relationships that aren’t going anywhere.”

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this.” I relate, “It’s not like this is even real, it’s just my imagination run out of control.”

Sinclair’s eyes shutter, and he leans his forehead against mine. “Goddess, sometimes I forget how much you don’t know about shifters, how much you can’t know.”

“Please, Dominic.” I beg, needing to move, to perform the carnal dance our bodies were made to create together. “Won’t you kiss me, won’t you touch me?”

“I’d like to touch you and taste you and all the rest.” He grumbles reluctantly, and suddenly his strong hands are gone from my body, and his warm limbs are pulling away from my own. “But I need to leave before I do something I’ll regret, something you’ll regret.”

“I don’t understand.” I admit, my nose crinkling up in confusion.

Sinclair pauses only long enough to lean over me and run his fingertip down my nose, straightening out the wrinkles. “You will when you wake up.”

Before I can say anything more, Sinclair begins stalking away through the dream forest, leaving me alone, and entirely unsatisfied.

When I wake up, I replace Sinclair watching me, stroking my hair and gazing down at me with a tender expression. “Welcome back.”

I blink and stretch, feeling as though I only just fell asleep. “It’s not morning already, is it?” I yawn.

“No.” He smiles gently, “You’re just coming out of the dream.”

“How did you…?” I stop short of finishing my sentence. Logic tells me he must be guessing, or that maybe I was talking in my sleep or some other explanation. However when I look into Sinclair’s eyes, I see the truth. He isn’t speculating, somehow he knows I was dreaming, and as the seconds tick by it becomes more and more obvious that he knows I was dreaming about him.

Worse, I fear he’s managed to decipher some of the details from the fantasy.

“It’s okay, Ella.” He soothes, petting me as if I’m a skittish horse.

No, oh no. He knows – he knows everything.