"Liar," I murmured, glancing over my shoulder as he positioned himself between my legs, teasing me with his head. "You haven't been starving. You've been f*cking me in my dreams. Wasn't that enough to keep the hunger at bay?"

He chuckled, returning his cock to my center and slowly pressing into me. "You tell me," he gasped. "When I f*ck you in your dreams, does it feel anything like this?"

Suddenly, I gasped too as he filled me, stars exploding in my vision as I squeezed my eyes shut and moaned into my pillow. Every inch of him stretched me, the feeling of unending fullness intensified by the swell of his head as he moved deeper inside. The sensation was like a storm, pleasure surging through me. My hips bucked against him, urging him on, demanding more.

Sinclair shuddered as he reached his full depth. Then, he rocked his hips back, eliciting another groan as he pulled out slightly, only to thrust home again. He wrapped himself around me, one hand finding my breast as he repeated the motion—a rough, feral pounding beyond either of our control. The sensation built as his other hand slipped over my hip, pressing against my swollen clitoris, and I cried out as he increased his pace.

"I'm sorry," he gritted through his teeth, undone by the intensity after months of wanting, abstaining, and holding back. "Fck, Ella, I'm sorry—I can't last—you're so fcking—"

He gave a final spasm and cry, and I felt him spill inside me—warm, thick, and rich. The sensation of him bursting inside me triggered my own orgasm, making me rock my hips back hard against him, forcing him deeper into my most sensitive spot. I shook and shivered.

We lay there, spent, my back against his chest, panting quietly. "Ella," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Are youare you all right?"

I nodded, my eyes closed, still trembling.

"No," he said, gently shaking my shoulder. "I meanthe baby."

My eyes snapped open, and I looked down, quickly assessing myself.

But

"No," I groaned, disappointed. "No, no change, Dominic," I whispered, pouting slightly. "He's stillin there. Determined never to come out."

"Well then," my mate growled, turning my face toward him with a feral grin. "We'll just have to keep trying."

I sighed and smiled, knowing Sinclair understood. It was wonderful to be with my mate like this again, but was the purpose of all this to somehow dislodge the baby? "I don't know, Sinclair," I said, running a hand over my stomach. "I'm not feeling anything like labor. I think we're in this for the long haul."

He shrugged unconcernedly. "Fine by me," he murmured, beginning to kiss his way down my body. "Just gives me more time to enjoy these sexy curves, while you've still got them."

I laughed, awash with happiness as he kissed me. He was right—even with weeks to wait, we could redefine "bed rest."

We went to bed a few hours later, sated and content after a long afternoon of intimacy. It wasn't all sex—though, of course, some of it was. But we spent a great deal of time simply holding each other close, our bodies falling into old rhythms, our breaths and heartbeats aligning as they hadn't in weeks.

I drifted off feeling completely comfortable, not needing to invite Sinclair into my dream space tonight. I knew he'd be there when I woke. It wasn't that I didn't want him there; it was simply a peaceful interlude, where he dreamt his dreams and I had mine—separate but together. My body relaxed, I eagerly drifted off, anticipating my first truly restful sleep in a long time.

So it surprised me, a few hours later, when I woke to a deep ache in my lower back. I moaned, twisting to ease my aching muscles, but the ache only intensified. I gasped as a sharp pain shot through me, starting in my middle and radiating outwards. I frowned at my belly, running my hands over it, wondering what was wrong. Was it something I ate?

Because, of all things, it felt likewell, like I was very gassy, or maybe starting my period?

The pain subsided, and I drifted back to sleep.

Ten minutes later, however, I was jolted nearly upright as the ache returned, this time deep and echoing through my muscles. I cried out as the pain intensified, traveling down the inside of my thighs.

Sinclair woke, sitting up and placing a hand on my shoulder. "Ella?" he asked, worried.

"I'm okay," I murmured, looking at him over my shoulder, rubbing my stomach. "I just think—"

"What?" he pressed, worried.

"Well," I said, turning and smiling at him, "maybe our afternoon wasn't such a waste after all." I smiled broadly and let him place his hands on my stomach.

"Really?" he breathed, staring at my abdomen, fascinated. Then, his gaze lifted to mine. "Did you ask the baby?"

I laughed and shook my head, the ache and pressure in my lower stomach easing slightly. "No," I said. "I didn't think to." Then, I closed my eyes and reached for the baby. I immediately sensed his discomfort and eagerness for change—not in a bad way, just

"Wow," I said, my eyes snapping open to Sinclair's serious face. His eyes were closed as he too reached out to Rafe, sensing his feelings. Then, Sinclair's eyes opened, and he smiled.

"I think you're right," my mate whispered. "I think he's ready."

My face broke into a wide grin. I expected my mate to reciprocate, but he leaped from the bed, rushing to the closet. "Where are you going?" I asked, confused.

"I'm getting the hospital bag!" he called. "We have to go!"

I laughed at his panic. "Sinclair," I called, holding out my hand as he emerged from the closet, bag in hand, a look of panic on his face. "We have time—the contractions are still far apart."

"How far apart?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," I said, looking down. "But they just started, and they don't hurt much yet. It takes some women hours—"

"You're not human, Ella," Sinclair said, coming to my side. "Wolves are different."

"Are they faster?" I asked, looking up at him, suddenly worried and wishing I'd asked Hank about this.

Sinclair ran a hand through his hair, glancing anxiously toward the door. "I don't know," he responded. I leaned over and took his hand, pulling his attention back to me.

"Let's time them," I said, a little excited. "And we'll text Cora and Hank. I'd rather be here, comfortable in my bed, if it's going to take a whole day for the baby to come."

"Ella" he hesitated.

"Please, Dominic," I said, smiling up at him. "It's just a few minutes to time the contraction. What's the worst that can happen?"