Ella nearly jumped out of her skin when Sinclair burst through their bedroom door. She spun, baby in arms, her eyes wide. Sinclair was clearly agitated, slamming the door behind him and instantly fixing his gaze on her, taking her in from head to toe.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he demanded, his voice angry, though she sensed his anger wasn't directed at her, but rather stemmed from a stressful day.

"Like what?" she asked, glancing down at herself. She was wearing what she considered her most conservative dress—a black, floor-length gown with a slight train, long sleeves, and a crew neck that grazed her collarbones, revealing nothing.

"Well, you look beautiful, Ella," Sinclair snapped, his glare accusatory.

Ella blinked, raising her eyebrows. "Is that a problem, Dominic?"

"Why are you all dressed up?" he growled, approaching her.

"I thought I'd get ready, in case I was supposed to go to dinner—"

"And you decided to wear that!?"

"Okay," Ella said calmly, striving to maintain her composure, because her mate was pushing her buttons. She placed a hand on his chest. "All right, Dominic. I'm going to give you a minute to rethink your words, and then we'll start again."

He narrowed his eyes, disliking her kindergarten-like approach. She cocked her head, inviting him to consider the irony of the situation.

After a long moment, he sighed, turning away, hanging his head and placing his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry," he murmured, composing himself. He then rested his face in his hand. "It's been a long day, Ella."

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, stepping forward and placing a hand on his back, stroking it soothingly. "Tell me." Her mate turned and embraced her as he recounted the events of his meeting.

She sighed when he finished. "I'm sorry, Dominic," she said, looking up at him. "I know you tried."

He shook his head, gazing down at her with his gorgeous green eyes. "It doesn't matter what I tried—they've already decided."

She nodded, understanding, knowing he would take the blame regardless of the logic. Then, she bit her lip thoughtfully. "Does this mean I'm going to dinner?"

He sighed deeply, stepping away and placing a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. She obeyed, and sighed slightly as he grasped her zipper and hastily lowered it.

"Yes," he said, and she sighed in disappointment—but then frowned. Wait, what?

"I'm going?" she asked, trying to turn, but her mate held her still until the zipper reached her waist. Then he began to loosen the gown at her shoulders.

"You are," he said. "I've already informed the Prince, accepting in your stead." A shiver ran through her at the warmth of Sinclair's palms against her shoulders and upper arms, but she asked, "Then what are you doing?" She frowned at him as he tried to stop her from turning around. "I'm already dressed! I—"

"I'm taking this damn dress off you, Ella," he said gruffly. "Don't you have, like, a dirty old sack you can wear? Or a saggy sweatsuit?"

She laughed, stepping back and starting to pull her dress back up. "Dominic! I'm not going to dinner with our enemy looking like a slob. This dress is so matronly—"

"Matronly?" he said, putting his hands in his pockets and raising an eyebrow. "Ella, I was hard the moment I walked in the door and saw you in that dress—"

"Yeah," she said dismissively, "but that's every dress—"

"Damn right it is," he growled, approaching her again, his predatory instincts surfacing.

This made her laugh, even as it aroused her. She liked Sinclair like this. Perhaps they should keep the Atalaxian Prince around if it got her mate this worked up. "No, Dominic, I'm wearing this," she said, struggling to pull her dress back up while holding the baby.

"Fine," he sighed, taking the baby from her. "But take it off anyway. Just for a few minutes."

"What?" she asked, confused, as Sinclair kissed Rafe, murmuring a greeting as he carried him to his crib and placed him down. Sinclair then stood by the bed, beckoning her closer with his fingers in a way that further aroused her.

"I'm going to scent mark you," he said as she slowly approached.

"What?" she repeated, though she didn't stop moving, wanting to be in his arms as he shrugged off his suit jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Dominic, you haven't had to scent mark me in months—I'm your mate; I already carry your scent all the time—" Her words faltered as Sinclair removed his shirt, revealing his broad, muscled chest. Her mouth went dry as his hands moved to his pants, unbuckling his belt and dropping them to the floor.

"Do it, Ella," he commanded, his voice low and bossy.

She obeyed, raising her hands to her shoulders and slipping the dress off, letting it pool on the floor.

"On the bed," he ordered, nodding towards it, his voice brooking no argument.

She obeyed, stepping out of her dress and onto the bed. She slowly began to crawl across it, wearing only her black pumps, panties, and lacy bra.

A growl rumbled in her mate's chest as he watched her crawl to him, as she sat up with her knees apart, looking up at him with her hands resting on her thighs.

"Well?" she said, glancing down at her nearly-naked body. "If you're going to do it, Dominic—"

He didn't let her finish, climbing onto the bed, grabbing her, and slowly laying her down, stretching her beneath him as he had at the beginning of their relationship, taking his time to rub his body over every inch of hers.

She moaned softly as he began the ceremony again, pressing a lingering kiss to her neck and moving downwards, pressing his skin to hers, ensuring every inch bore his scent.

She did her best to stay still, not because she couldn't touch him, but because part of her enjoyed reliving this experience, remembering when she was too scared to touch him, when she tried to deny what he did to her physically, and how desperately she had wanted him.

"Dominic," she said quietly as his hips settled between her legs, pressing against her as he worked his hands slowly up and down her arms. "Not that I'm complaining, but…why are we doing this?"

"Because," he murmured, lifting his body and sliding a hand beneath her before swiftly flipping her onto her stomach in a move that made her laugh slightly, before he began on her shoulders and back. "If I'm going to send you out there with him, I'm going to make sure he damn well knows you're mine."

She laughed again, shaking her head even though it rested comfortably against the pillow. Sinclair worked his way down her back, ensuring every inch received his attention.

"He already knows that, Dominic," she murmured, almost undone by the pleasure. "Everyone does—the world does. A man would have to be a fool to try to take me away from you."

"Because he knows that I would kill him in a second," Sinclair growled, possessive, territorial, and hers.

She turned slightly, looking up at him, reaching out to touch his arm, making him listen. "No," she said softly, holding his gaze. "Dominic, because everyone knows that no one could ever convince me to walk away."

Something in him yielded at the realization that he didn't have to hold onto her because he knew nothing in her wanted to leave. It wasn't that he didn't know, buthe was an Alpha, and she was his Luna, his mate. This instinctual urge to hold her tight, to snarl at anyone who got too close, was inherent.

But as she held his gaze, Sinclair sighed and laid down beside her. "All right, Ella," he murmured, nodding and pulling her close. "You're right."

"Am I stinky enough?" she murmured, giggling.

"No," he growled, sliding his fingers into her hair and taking a firm grip. "Not ever."

"Well then," she whispered, leaning close and pressing her lips almost against his. "I guess I'm going to be late to dinner then, aren't I?"

"Good," he growled. "Make him wait." And then her mate kissed her, pressing her down into the mattress, and she relished every moment in his arms.