Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate - Season 1 Episode 95

Ella

“Bed rest?” I repeat, glancing nervously at Sinclair. “You mean until the baby comes?”

“No, I don’t think we have to do anything quite that extreme yet.” The doctor replies with a kind smile, “For now let’s start with a few weeks. Beyond that we can take it as it comes.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Sinclair inquires, his large body looming over me. His heat, which sometimes reminds me too much of a blazing furnace when we’re curled in bed together, is a welcome balm now, washing over me in a tide of cozy comfort. “She can’t get out of bed at all?”

“No, it’s not that severe.” The doctor a*sures us. “Ella can get up to go to the restroom, or move around to switch positions. She can take two short walks every day – one in the morning, one in the evening but no more than twenty minutes and if you find yourself getting tired or overwhelmed before then, you need to stop. Absolutely no stairs or physical exertion though, and no standing for more than twenty minutes at a time – for any reason.”

My heart sinks, and I try not to let my disappointment show. It’s not the end of the world after all, it just means I’m going to be a bit bored. “Do I have to be completely on my back, or is sitting up okay?”

“Choose whatever position is most comfortable for you.” He continues, looking back and forth between us. “More importantly, no stress whether you’re in bed, on the couch, or wherever you choose. That means no campaign events, no excitement.”

“And if she does get excited, despite our efforts?” Sinclair inquires, an odd note in his voice.

“I’m going to send you home with some sedatives in case of emergencies, and while I would advise you keep S**ual activity to a minimum, if the tension is building up it’s better to indulge it than to resist – just remind your wolf to be gentle with her.”

I blink. Who said anything about S**? Is that what Sinclair was getting at, but I just didn’t understand the nuance? How is that not physical exertion?

Don’t be daft, you know orgasms are the best stress relievers. The little voice in my head remarks.

Oh Goddess, when was the last time I had one of those? I think back, recalling the last night I slept away from Sinclair, when I was finally free to get some relief from the fire he keeps constantly lit inside me.

Too long, and you have to admit it would be nice to have one you didn’t give yourself. The voice answers.

That would be a first, I snort. Mike is the only man I’ve ever been with, and he’d never seemed to understand that women can’t just magically get off with a few thrusts. I always enjoyed S** for the intimacy, and though it always felt good, orgasms had always been my own responsibility – mine to seek once he rolled over and fell asleep.

You know it wouldn’t be that way with Sinclair. My conscience intimates, sparking memories of the few times we’ve gotten carried away – when I’ve had glimpses of the pleasure he could give me if I would only succumb to his charms. His words the day of the ball – after the incident, as I’ve decided to call it – ring in my mind: Now, would you like me to make you feel good? Nothing about his own desires, nothing about going further – just a selfless offer to fulfill my needs.

Shut up. I think sharply, unsure whether I’m speaking to the memory or my inner voice. Sinclair is watching me like a hawk, and the hungry expression he’s wearing makes me worry that my expression is giving away my lurid thoughts. Before he can say a word, I lean into his side, turning my face towards his shoulder so I can breathe in his scent. I’m doing it for comfort yes, but also to hide my blushing features. Sinclair purrs softly, still stroking my nape, and thanks the doctor.

“I appreciate you coming on such short notice. Can I take her home now?” He asks bluntly, as if I’m the injured party here, rather than him.

“Dominic, you’re in much worse condition than I am.” I remind him sulkily. “We should be asking your doctors, not mine.”

He raises one dark brow at my challenge, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge my words. He looks back to the OB, who smiles warmly, “she’s free to go as soon as I write this prescription. I’ll come and check on her the day after tomorrow, but call me if anything comes up before then.”

“Oh fine, ignore me, talk about me like I’m not here.” I grumble. “That will keep me calm.”

“Don’t worry Ella, you’re in good hands.” The doctor replies, completely unphased by my petulant words. “I’ll see you soon.”

The moment he turns away, Sinclair moves in front of me, sliding his muscular arms around my middle and burying his face in my neck. I’m so surprised by the gesture, that I barely notice I forgot to thank the doctor. Sinclair isn’t growling, or scolding me, he’s not even kissing me or trying to sneak an intimate caress, he’s simply hugging me – squeezing me with barely restrained force.

Sensing that this isn’t his usual mischief or bossiness, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, returning the embrace and nuzzling his scruffy jaw. “Hey, what is it?” I murmur, holding him as tightly as I can so that he knows I’m asking out of concern, not some desire to be released. It’s only when I feel the bandages beneath his shirt that I remember his wounds, but as soon as I try to take my arms away, Sinclair rumbles in protest.

He lifts his face from my neck, only high enough to speak into my ear. “Today was horrible.” He says, his voice like gravel, “every last minute of it. And now this.”

“I’m okay, though.” I answer softly. “And so is the baby – this is just a precaution.”

“I don’t like it.” He insists, sounding as sullen as I was feeling a few minutes ago. “You shouldn’t have to worry about this on top of everything else… and I hate that I can’t… I can’t protect you from this.”

And here I thought I was the one on a roller coaster of emotions. In a matter of a few hours, Sinclair had gone from rabid protector, to bossy nurse, and teasing, would-be lover. Now here he is, clinging to me like a child might cling to a teddy bear, beside himself with feelings of helplessness in light of my condition. I suddenly realize that his day started off even worse than my own – waking up drugged with a psychotic ex, then finding me missing, tracking me down and weathering a tantrum he did not deserve.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him, my voice sounding smaller than I’d like. “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier, and I’m sorry I scared you when I ran, and with the accident, and fainting that way. I wish I could turn back time and undo this entire day – and yesterday for that matter.”

“It’s certainly been an eventful week.” He jokes, his deep ba*s dripping with irony. “But none of it has been your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.” I repeat, kissing his neck. “You’ve been killing yourself taking care of me, and I’ve been a brat. You deserve better.” I hate that I’m near tears already, but I don’t think my wild emotions are going to even out any time soon. “I think it’s time you let me return the favor.”

“You already did.” He purrs, rocking me ever so slightly as he strokes my hair. “You kept me calm today when no one else could. You probably saved the lives of some of these nurses.”

At first I take it as a joke, but after more thought I realize he’s probably being completely literal. “It’s not enough, I want to do more.”

“You just got put on bed rest, little one.” Sinclair reminds me, pulling back to take my face in his ma*sive hands. Despite his stern tone, his green eyes soften as he looks down at me. “I appreciate that you want to help me, Ella. But the only thing that could possibly fix this would be for the doctor to walk back over here and tell me his diagnosis was a mistake. I’m afraid I’m going to be feeling this way until our baby is here and you’re both safe and healthy.”

“You’re right.” I acknowledge, clasping his wrists and giving him my best puppy-dog eyes. “I can’t fix this, but there must be something I can do to make you feel better – even on bedrest.” I plead, a devious thought occurring to me then. “You know I won’t be able to truly relax if I’m worried about you.”

Sinclair huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me, trouble.”

I peek up at him from beneath my lashes. “Is that a yes?”