The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

Chapter 30

Chapter 30 – Food Fight

Ella

The flour collides with Sinclair’s face in an explosion of white powder, covering his features in dense grains and fluttering through the air around us. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and fear slices through me as I wonder if I’ve made a grave mistake. Sinclair takes a moment to open his eyes after the flour hits, but when he does, his wolf is glowing bright in his irises, and my instincts take over.

I try to duck under his arms, to evade his hold anyway I can. However the moment I begin attempting escape he leans forward, crushing my body between him and the counter. At once I’m reminded of how much larger Sinclair is. Sometimes it’s easy to be fooled when I’m dressed up in heels or there’s space between us, but now I can feel how helpless I am beside him. The top of my head barely reaches his sternum, and next to his muscles, my slender limbs feel terribly frail.

Sinclair’s breath is coming in heaving gasps, and I have the good sense to remain frozen as he tries to gain control of his wolf. When I look up at him, I can see only the wild animal fuming beneath his skin, and I realize exactly how dangerous this man is.

I’m not sure if he’s going to attack me, or yell at me, and my heart is racing a mile a minute. I instinctively flinch when he moves, but he doesn’t raise a hand against me. Instead he reaches past be towards the bowl of chocolate cake batter, and the next thing I know, a river of the thick, sweet mixture is dripping down my face.

I gasp in shock, realizing that Sinclair is pouring the batter over me, and try to jerk away. “Dominic, no!”

A dark laugh rolls through the big wolf like thunder, “Oh baby, you asked for this.”

I raise my arms over my head, trying to protect myself, but when that doesn’t work I reach for the bowl too, returning fire with handful of batter straight into Sinclair’s expensively tailored shirt. Soon we’re wrestling over the bowl, trying to retrieve more sweet ammunition to splatter each other with, and I’m laughing harder than I can remember laughing in a very long time.

The sound of Sinclair’s own cozy chuckles fill my ears as I trade out cake batter for icing, reaching up with two hands and smearing it over his face as he playfully nips at my fingers, before positively squealing as warm, melted chocolate is drizzled over the low cut top of my dress, seeping down between my breasts and into my bra.

We’re both absolutely covered in the various cake components, giddy with laughter and still searching for new ways to combat one another. The bowls on the counter are already empty, and I narrow my eyes at Sinclair as I contemplate moving to the pantry or fridge for more ammo. His white teeth flash, and the next thing I know he’s racing towards the fridge faster than I can even comprehend.

I dart to the pantry, pulling open the door to use as a shield and disappearing inside, zeroing in on a bottle of caramel syrup, even as I see Sinclair plucking a can of whipped cream from the fridge. Soon we’re stalking around the kitchen island, trying to get close enough to squirt each other with our chosen item, and inevitably laughing and racing away when the other gets too close.

I try to feint around the edge of the counter, making him think I’m going to go in a direction other than the one I intend, but I’m outmatched in this game in every possible way. Sinclair is bigger, stronger and faster, and he can read my intentions far better than I can read his.

He sna tches me easily, spraying me with cold whipped cream until I manage to wriggle free, even though I know he’s letting me escape. If he wanted to he could have easily pinned me in place, but we’re both having too much fun with our game.

It’s making an unholy mess, but I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Sinclair has completely surprised me too – I never expected him to have a playful side, and it’s so different from the men I’ve known before. Mike and I certainly never did anything like this, and I doubt my ex would have had the inclination or the confidence to let a woman defy him this way. Sinclair, on the other hand, has no doubts about his masculinity. He can gladly let me tease and defy him without feeling threatened, because he knows at the end of the day his dominance is complete.

Too late I realize I’m thinking about Sinclair in comparison to my past lovers, when I know he doesn’t see me this way at all. Yet I can’t help it, the more time that passes the more certain I feel that Sinclair is attracted to me. I know it’s only physical and that I could never be anything but a plaything to him, but it feels nice to be desired – even if it is superficial.

When the bottle of caramel is empty, I try to make my way back to the pantry, but Sinclair has other ideas. “Come here you.” He purrs, snat ching me up. “Such a bad girl.” His fingers are digging into my sides, tickling me ruthlessly and making me giggle and squeal uncontrollably. I try to wrestle him for dominance, but I know it’s a lost cause.

We tumble to the floor together, wrestling and writhing against one another, getting more and more dirty with every minute that passes. Sinclair lets me pin him to the tiled floor, straddling his middle and trapping his hands above his head. ‘Ha!” I declare triumphantly, secretly needing him to prove my victory false, to take control and make me forget my own name.

“Oh, you think you’ve won, do you?” He taunts, grinning up at me.

“You’re not so scary, you know.” I counter, smiling widely. “What would all those big tough wolves say if they knew their leader was letting a weak little human throw food in his face?”

The next thing I know I’m on my back with Sinclair looming above me. The air leaves my lungs in a great whoosh – I didn’t even see him flip me, but suddenly our situations are completely reversed. I’m

still straddling Sinclair, my legs spread on either side of his body so that his hardness is pressed to my most sensitive flesh through our clothes. “They’d say, lucky Alpha.” He answers smugly, looking down at me with undiluted hunger.

The little voice in my head has me metaphorically squirming, needing to apologize for reasons I don’t understand. It’s almost as if I feel compelled to submit now that Sinclair has physically bested me, but why would that be the case? I try to hold the words back, but I can’t stop them no matter what I try. “I am sorry I snuck out.” I confess, peeking up at him from beneath my lashes.

“You’re forgiven.” Sinclair rules gently, “As long as you promise not to do it again.”

My metaphorical squirming becomes very literal now, though I freeze almost immediately when I realize the way my nervous movement rubs my sensitive sex against his. Softening, I agree, “I promise.”

I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I have all of these strange emotions bubbling up inside me. Is it all just the pregnancy, the pup making me feel and behave more like a wolf, or is it something more than that. “That’s my girl.” Sinclair praises, looking down at me with obvious pride.

“What are you doing to me?” I murmur, before I can stop myself.

“What do you mean?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know.” I huff, “I just feel like a different person since we met.” Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Maybe you’re becoming the person you were always meant to be.” Sinclair suggests, shifting so that my wrists are captured between one of his strong hands, while the other slides down my body. “It’s finally safe to come out of your shell, so you are.”

“I think you’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit.” I respond primly, even as I fight the desire to lean into his touch. “And it’s a shame you were such a jerk.” I add pointedly, “now you won’t get to taste the

cake I made.”

Sinclair arches his brow, gazing down at my batter covered body and adopting a devilish expression. Before I know what’s happening, he’s lowered his mouth to the swell of my breast and is licking the cake batter from my skin, groaning with delight. “Delicious.” He praises, rising up over me again. His eyes drift to the curve of my full lips, then the whipped cream splattered across my clavicle – as if he can’t decide what to taste next. A low purr vibrates against my skin, “I want more.”