Ella
Sinclair kisses me until I forget my anger and regret, until I forget why I was upset and how terribly I acted. He kisses me until I forget this is a dream, or that there has ever been a world beyond this enchanted forest. Only when my mind is so fogged with wanting that I can no longer think, and my body has been reduced to one giant tangle of quivering nerves, does he relent. He stretches out beside me on the bed, propped on his elbow and gazing down at me with languid desire.
“I missed you, mate.” Sinclair tells me, idly caressing my belly. I can tell he’s channeling our unborn son’s feelings through their bond, because I can feel their mutual happiness to be together. The baby flutters, and Sinclair clucks good-naturedly, “Someone’s up past their bedtime. Hello sweet pup.”
“I m
