Accidental Surrogate for Alpha-Accidental Surrogate For Alpha Novel Chapter 30
Posted on February 08, 2025 · 1 mins read
Listen to this chapter:

The flour explodes in Sinclair's face, a white cloud covering his features and swirling around us. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and fear chills me. Have I made a terrible mistake? He opens his eyes; his wolf-gold irises glow, and my instincts take over.

I try to duck under his arms, to escape, but the moment I move, he leans forward, pinning me against the counter. His size overwhelms me. Heels and distance can be deceiving, but now I'm acutely aware of my helplessness. My head barely reaches his sternum; my slender limbs feel frail beside his powerful muscles.

Sinclair breathes heavily, and I remain frozen as he struggles to control his wolf. Only the wild animal's fury is visible beneath his skin, and its danger is chillingly clear.

Will he attack me? Yell at me? My heart races. I flinch instinctively when he moves, but he doesn't strike. Instead, he reaches for the bowl of chocolate cake batter and pours it over me.

I gasp, trying to jerk away. "Dominic, no!"

A dark laugh, like thunder, rolls from him. "Oh, baby, you asked for this."

I raise my arms defensively, but that's useless. I grab the bowl, retaliating with a handful of batter aimed at his expensively tailored shirt. Soon, we're wrestling over the bowl, flinging batter at each other, laughing harder than I have in years.

Sinclair's chuckles fill the air as I switch to icing, smearing it on his face while he playfully nips at my fingers. A squeal escapes me as warm melted chocolate drips down the low-cut neckline of my dress, seeping between my breasts.

Covered in cake, giddy with laughter, we search for more ammunition. The bowls are empty, and I eye the pantry and fridge. Sinclair's teeth flash; he's already racing towards the fridge.

I dart to the pantry, using the open door as a shield, grabbing a bottle of caramel syrup. Sinclair emerges with whipped cream. We stalk around the kitchen island, squirting each other, laughing, and fleeing when the other gets too close.

I try to outmaneuver him, but he's bigger, stronger, faster, and reads my intentions far better than I read his. He easily catches me, spraying me with whipped cream until I wriggle free—though I suspect he's letting me escape. He could easily pin me, but we're both having too much fun.

It's a chaotic mess, but I haven't had this much fun in ages. Sinclair's playful side surprises me; it's unlike any man I've known. Mike and I never did anything like this; my ex wouldn't have dared. Sinclair, however, possesses unshakeable masculinity. He lets me tease and defy him without threat, secure in his dominance.

Too late, I realize I'm comparing him to my past lovers, though I know he doesn't see me that way. Still, the more time passes, the more certain I am of his attraction. It's purely physical, I tell myself; I'd only ever be a plaything. But it feels good to be desired, even superficially.

The caramel is empty. I head for the pantry, but Sinclair intercepts me. "Come here, you," he purrs, lifting me. "Such a bad girl." His fingers tickle my sides, eliciting uncontrollable giggles and squeals. I try to wrestle him, but it's futile.

We tumble to the floor, wrestling, growing messier by the minute. I pin him to the floor, straddling him, trapping his hands. "Ha!" I declare triumphantly, secretly hoping he'll overpower me.

"Oh, you think you've won?" He grins.

"You're not so scary," I tease. "What would those big, tough wolves say if they knew their leader was letting a little human throw food in his face?"

In a flash, he flips me. I'm on my back, he's above me, our bodies pressed together through our clothes. "They'd say, 'Lucky Alpha'," he answers smugly, his hunger unmistakable.

The little voice in my head urges an apology. I feel compelled to submit, but why? I try to resist, but the words escape. "I'm sorry I snuck out," I confess, peeking at him.

"You're forgiven," he says gently, "as long as you promise not to do it again."

My metaphorical squirming becomes literal as my nervous movements rub against him. Softening, I agree, "I promise."

I'm overwhelmed by strange emotions. Is it the pregnancy, the pup's influence, or something more? "That's my girl," Sinclair praises, his pride evident.

"What are you doing to me?" I murmur.

"What do you mean?" He frowns.

"I don't know," I huff, "I just feel like a different person since we met."

"Maybe you're becoming the person you were always meant to be."