Yes, yes, yes! The little voice in my head chanted so forcefully the words almost spilled from my mouth. I stopped them just in time, though I couldn't stop my hips from jerking toward Sinclair's hand. I managed to clasp my fingers around his wrist before he could touch my aching clitoris, even as my blood sang for release.

I desperately wanted to let Sinclair give me the pleasure he offered, but I felt overwhelmed. Too much had happened in the last 24 hours, and I was utterly confused by my reaction to his discipline. All my emotions were a violent, swirling maelstrom—too muddied to differentiate. I felt completely unmoored, no longer understanding my own heart or mind.

I looked up at Sinclair, my eyes wide and stinging with tears. He wore that ravenous expression that made me feel like he was about to devour me, but there was softness in his eyes—an understanding that my body's base instincts weren't aligned with my distraught mind.

"I don't think I'm ready for that," I confessed softly. How surreal that 24 hours ago I'd been ready to give myself to him completely? To let him make love to me in the forest, despite our efforts to keep our relationship platonic?

Maybe the Prince had done us a favor with his attack, I thought bitterly. He'd prevented us from taking an irreversible step—from making a terrible mistake.

"How can you say that?" my conscience demanded. "Look what Sinclair just did for you."

"What? Spank me like a child? Make me cry like a baby?" I retorted.

"You know you feel better now," the infuriating voice replied. "It hurts, but hurting is better than feeling nothing."

I wasn't so sure. The feelings released after the spanking were different from what I needed now; they were pent-up emotions released only through tears. However, I was acutely aware that those feelings were only a drop in the bucket, the surface waters of a bottomless well of anguish I wasn't prepared to face.

Ignoring my conscience, I peeked up at the large alpha. "Is that okay?"

"Ella, of course it's okay," Sinclair answered, studying me closely. "Do you want me to leave you so you can take care of it yourself?" he offered, though a low growl in his voice suggested his wolf disliked the idea.

"No," I objected immediately, grasping his shirt before I could think better of it. I didn't want him to leave, to lose his soothing touch, but I suspected staying in his lap was a bad idea. I could feel his hardness against my sore backside, and I was squirming from both the sting of my punished flesh and the ache between my legs.

"Easy, sweetheart," Sinclair chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere." He kissed my hair. Sensing the problem, he set me beside him on the bed. I winced, preferring his warm thighs to the cool silk duvet, but before I could dwell on it, Sinclair slid his palm to my bare belly, feeling for the pup.

"How is he?" I asked, feeling guilty for not asking sooner, but also afraid of the answer. How much of my ordeal had the pup felt? Surely, if he could sense my feelings, he felt my fear and pain. Was he also aware his father had put me over his knee? That's wrong—no child should know such things about their parents.

"I wish you could see your face right now," Sinclair teased. "But I promise he's too young to understand any of this. All he knows is that you were sad, and that you feel better now we're together. He feels better too."

"Was he very frightened last night?" I asked, closing my eyes and leaning into his side.

"He was distressed, because he could feel your fear, but everything he knows is in response to you. His own feelings haven't become more complicated than sad or happy—they won't until after he's born," he explained.

"But you could tell what he was making me crave," I reminded him.

Sinclair nodded. "Hunger, pain, tiredness—those are reflexive instincts, not emotions." I sighed, pressing my nose to his chest and inhaling his scent. "You see?" I heard a smile in his voice. "You're soothed by my scent, so he's happy."

"But I thought I liked smelling you because it's what he needs?" I murmured.

"That's the way with mothers and pups—that's why I say you have a connection every bit as magical as my own. Your wants and needs become one and the same," Sinclair said.

"Okay," I breathed, knowing the harder I thought about it, the less sense it would make. The more time passed, the more I learned that magic and logic didn't always mix.

We spent the next few moments in silence, and though I felt needy, I hadn't forgotten why we'd fought. My ball gown lay in a puddle on the floor, its gauzy, gemstone-studded skirt glinting in the low light. "Dominic?"

"Yes?" he prompted, running his fingers up and down my arm. His touch was featherlight, intended to comfort, not excite, but I was beginning to think it was impossible to be physically close to him without being aroused. Hell, I'd even been aroused when he'd spanked me—and it had hurt like hell. On some level, I understood it was his dominance I liked, not the pain, but it still felt wrong.

"I think I need you to stop touching me," I whispered, hating myself.

"Okay," he agreed, reluctantly moving me away. I instantly felt cold and incomplete, and my feelings must have shown on my face because Sinclair laughed and tapped my nose. "You asked for it, beautiful."

"I know," I complained, pulling the duvet around me. Sinclair watched with narrowed eyes, holding back a bossy statement. Probably something about not hiding from him, though he seemed to understand I wouldn't calm down while his gaze raked over my naked skin. "I want to talk about the ball."

"Ella—"

"No!" I insisted. "Please just hear me out."

Sinclair exhaled heavily. "Go ahead."

"Look, you were obviously right that I wasn't okay," I began, feeling resigned. "But I wasn't wrong either. We can't let the Prince win."

"We're not," Sinclair promised. "But you need your rest. You've been through a lot."

"I've been through worse," I announced, surprising us both. I hadn't intended to share that with Sinclair, but I needed him to know I wouldn't fall apart at the first sign of danger. He didn't look surprised; he merely grimaced, wanting to ask for more details. Sensing this, I continued before he could act on his impulse. "You made such a big deal about the Solstice, about how much these events mean. If we skip it, the Prince will have an advantage."

"The Prince doesn't have a breeding mate," Sinclair countered. "Pregnant she-wolves get more free passes in our society than those who aren't."

"But he'll know," I stated stubbornly. "He'll feel emboldened, like his plan is working. We have to show him it isn't."

Sinclair studied me. "Is this truly what you want, or are you trying to prove something to me—because I promise you don't have to."

"Not everything is about you, you know," I answered saucily, feeling more like myself.

Warmth flooded me at his laughter. "Careful, little one, or I might think you didn't learn your lesson the first time."

"Please, Dominic?" I requested. "I want to go to the ball."

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully. "If I agree, will you do something for me in return?"

"That depends," I answered warily. "What do you want?"

"Will you promise to tell me about those worse things you've been through someday?" Sinclair inquired, grazing his knuckles over my cheek.

I went very still. "I've never talked about those things with anyone. I'm not sure I know how."

"I could help you," Sinclair offered. "Like I helped you today."

"If you think I'm going to let you spank me again—" I began indignantly.

"Oh, so you let me, did you?" He rumbled, sliding his hand to my nape, making my toes curl. He grinned wolfishly. "I hate to break it to you, baby—but that was far from your last spanking, whether it's to help you tap into your feelings or not."

"You're a tyrant, you know that?" I remarked, glaring at him.

"Is that a no?" He asked, arching a brow.

"But why bother digging into all of that?" I questioned. "It's in the past. Surely it's better to leave it there."

"I think we both know these things never stay in the past, Ella," Sinclair answered gravely. "I could see them weighing on you before you ever said a word."

"You could?" I squeaked, hating to think I was so transparent.

"Yes," he affirmed gently. "And I don't want you carrying all that alone."

"But it's my burden to carry, not yours," I reasoned, avoiding his eyes.

Sinclair caught my chin, pulling my eyes up to his. "And I suppose you asked to carry it? You sought out the pain and heartache?"

I saw his point, though I didn't want to. I also saw the advantage of keeping this deal a vague promise. The ball was tonight, so I could agree to share and then postpone indefinitely. It wasn't a lie—not really. I knew I'd never be ready to talk about those horrible things with Sinclair, so I'd just have to tell him as much when the time came.

"Okay," I finally confirmed. "You have a deal."