Catharsis

Ella barely had time to close the door before Sinclair slammed her against it. She felt no pain; she needed this as badly as he did—she wanted him, intensely, immediately. Sinclair grabbed her low behind the thighs, lifting her and wrapping her legs around his waist. Eager and already panting, she shoved her skirts aside as he moved a hand between them, fumbling with his pants button before pulling them down and freeing himself.

He then returned his hand to her. A single, deft movement tore the delicate fabric. Sinclair groaned, fiercely and wildly, as he drove his hard, thick cock deep into her with a single, powerful thrust. Her own moan mirrored his.

She wanted him—needed him—as badly as he needed her, especially after that horrible surprise.

They spent two more hours in the hall, outwardly composed while greeting delegations, playing the parts of happy king and queen. Their inner turmoil—rage, panic, and the desire to destroy that horrible man and every Atalaxian (who clearly planned this)—surged between them through their bond, building to a fever pitch.

When the delegations were finally finished, they both knew they needed this—only this—to release their rage and frustration. Roger and Cora had accompanied them, and Cora looked confused when Ella hastily handed her the baby. Cora, naturally, assumed Ella wouldn't want to be away from Rafe for a moment. But Roger, sensing their need for privacy, took Cora’s arm and pulled her away, allowing Sinclair and Ella to hurry ahead.

They needed this space, to tear each other apart and find each other again, as always. Ella’s back arched with want and need, her hips pulsing with each of Sinclair’s long, steady thrusts. He didn’t restrain himself for a second, wrapping his fist in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. As he pounded into her, venting his rage, she moaned encouragement, urging him to go harder.

Her mate, ever willing, complied, slamming into her again and again. Panting, as eager as he was, she reached her peak, her body clenching around him. Sinclair roared, low and deep. He then lowered his face to her throat and sank his fangs into her mating mark, sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He found his own release, spilling into her—thick, heavy, warm, and rich—making her moan and cling to him, panting, the echoes of her completion reverberating through her.

Moments later, still pressed against the door with Sinclair leaning heavily on her, Ella’s eyes fluttered open. Both were still panting heavily. She buried her hands in her mate’s hair, trying to regulate her breathing.

Sensing the shift in her breathing, Sinclair shook his head slightly, pulling back to look at her face. "Ella," he said, his voice thick.

"No," she murmured, sensing his apology. She nodded, making him understand. "I needed it too. I wanted it, Dominic. Just like that." He murmured something unintelligible, pulling away from the door and carrying her to a nearby chair where he settled into it, taking her onto his lap. His shoulders still shook slightly from the aftershock.

They remained like that for a long moment before he shook his head again, clearing it, and looked at her, appearing more composed. "Are you all right?" he asked, his gaze dropping to the blood on her neck and shoulder. "Shit…" he murmured.

She chuckled softly and closed her eyes, placing a hand over her mark. A flare of lavender light appeared behind her eyelids, but the wound vanished when she removed her hand. "I'm fine," she said, smiling. "Goddess-born, remember? And like I said—I needed it too." He looked toward the door to the rest of their suite, worried. "We should get to Rafe—"

"A minute," she murmured, turning his face back to hers. "Dominic, I know why I needed that. It…it gives me comfort to relinquish control, to let you take charge and care for me. But…how are you? Was it enough? Are you…all right?"

A growl rumbled in his chest, revealing the depth of his pleasure. "Ella," he murmured, pulling her closer so he could lower his face to hers, nudging her with his nose. "You are my entire comfort in this world. But yes, I was…so angry, and frustrated, and wanted to—"

"To kill them all?" she murmured, smiling slightly.

"Yes," he growled, before pressing a long, lingering kiss to her mouth. "I shouldn't have let them rile me so. But they played their cards perfectly."

"Well," she murmured, wiggling suggestively, eliciting a low growl that sent pleasure through her, "anytime you need to release that ferocious energy and avoid an international incident…you know where to find me."

His growl deepened as he ran a hand down her body, kissing her neck and chest.

"You joke, Ella," he murmured, "but…you have no idea how much you steady me. Because that—I mean, some people might not understand, might think I was just taking my anger out on you, but—"

"No," she said seriously, placing her hands on his cheeks and tilting his face up. "I understand, Dominic. I feel…precisely the same. I want to be that for you, as you are for me."

He kissed her then, a different kind of claiming than the one against the door, but equally powerful. Their physical connection had always been more than just sex; it was a refuge. This was a vivid example.

A gentle knock came at the door.

"Cora," Ella sighed. Sinclair grunted in agreement as she stood and moved to the door, scooping up her ruined panties and tossing them in a trashcan while Sinclair did up his trousers.

She opened the door to find her wide-eyed sister and her mate, who smirked knowingly. Rafe, still upset, cried in Cora's arms.