Accidental Surrogate for Alpha

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 l 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 che.st.

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 1?” 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

bre-asts are still aching, and my se*x 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 h!ps 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 int!mate and

ar0using than another man k!ssing me.”

“And when I do k!ss you?” Sinclair prompts, encouraging me to move against him, guiding my h!ps 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 we.tness has already seeped through my pa*nties 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 l!ps over my pulse point.

“Of course it is.” I whine, so frustrated that I feel like 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 cl!t.

“Well that doesn’t mean anything. You’re in bed with a half-na*ked 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 s3x.” He raises his head at last, taking a break from leaving 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.” l 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 powèr 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 bre@st,

finally allowing one taut n!pple to meet Sinclair’s bare che.st, 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 l!ps 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 k!ss 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 k!sses and questing hands.

“I don’t do casual either, Ella.” He catches my h!ps 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 l’m not serious

about, or relationships that aren’t going anywhere.”

“1 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 k!ss 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.”

“l don’t understand.” l 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 find 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 l’m a skittish horse.

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