Accidental Surrogate

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.

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

touch sets me on fire.” I complain. “You holding my hand feels more intimate and arousing than

encouraging me to move

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

it’s different for me, do you?” Sinclair murmurs, lowering his mouth to my throat and brushing his lips

whine, so frustrated that I feel like I might

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?”

a half

last, taking a break from laving

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

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

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

Sinclair answers, his lips mere inches from

have taken over my very soul. I think Sinclair can sense my growing desperation, but for

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

talking about this.” I relate, “It’s not like this is even

“Goddess, sometimes I forget how much you don’t know about shifters, how