Accidental Surrogate

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.

“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

last night?” I inquire, closing

your fear, but everything he knows is in response to you. And his own feelings

was making me crave.” I remind him, striving to

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

you because it’s what he needs?” I

I say you have a connection every bit as magical as my own. Your wants and needs become one in the same.”

sense it will make. The more time that

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

than excite, but I’m beginning to think that it’s impossible to be in physical contact with

you to stop touching me.” I whisper, hating myself even

feel cold and incomplete, and my feelings must show on my

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

“Ella–”

I insist, cutting him off, “Please just hear me

exhales heavily, “Go

right that I wasn’t okay,” I begin, feeling resigned. “But I wasn’t wrong either. We can’t let

not.” Sinclair promises. “But you need your

going to fall to pieces at the first sign of danger. He doesn’t look surprised, he merely grimaces, as if he hates hearing this but also

get a lot more free passes in our society

“He’ll feel emboldened, like his plan is

a long moment. “Is this truly what you want, or are you trying to prove something to me – because I promise you don’t have

I answer saucily, feeling a bit

little one, or I might think you didn’t

“I want to go to the