Page 44 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Connor moves his bangs out from his eyes, and when he does, there’s a flicker behind them that Cyrus can’t quite place. But just as quickly, it’s gone. Connor allows his hair to fall back in front of his face before shifting his attention to Alana, an arm still over her shoulder. His body practically swallows hers, and as she giggles at him, a hot, prickly sensation simmers below the surface of Cyrus’ skin.

“Right on! Let’s get this game started then, shall we?” Connor roars, far too enthusiastic for Cyrus’ patience right now.

Citlalli joins them to go over the rules of the game. The objective is simple; it’s basically just regular volleyball, with the addition being that each group must balance on their partners’ shoulders. Easy enough. However, whichever party missed their shot had an opportunity to win their point back in an impromptu wrestling match. If the person riding the shoulders could knock the other off, they get their point back plus one. The first team to five points wins.

Cyrus gives an affirmative nod once all the rules have been explained, eyeing Alana as Citlalli announces she’ll split them into pairs. There’s a twitch in his fingers in the few passing seconds it takes for her to haul Connor over the other side of the net, claiming him as her partner.

Cyrus’ shoulders visibly relax.

“Looks like it’s you and me,” Alana says. She extends her fist out to him, and Cyrus chuckles before connecting it with his own.

“You and me.”

When Alana smiles up at him, it makes his tail want to wag. Absent-mindedly, he adjusts his watch to make sure his glamour is secure. An accidental shift is the last thing he needed in these shorts. Kneeling into deeper water, Cyrus lets Alana slide into place on his shoulders. Her thighs rest on either side of his neck, and when he stands to his full height, his hands hold her in place so she won’t topple over. Alana squeals as she balances, arms out, briefly causing them to sway.

“Damn. You got me right? It’s going to be a solid mile to the water if I fall.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. I always got you.” He pats her thigh and does his best to dismiss the consciousness of having his face square between them. But then, Alana’s running her fingers over his scalp, and it’s enough to keep his mind right. This may be the most ridiculous game he’s ever heard of, but damn if he wasn’t going to win this for her anyway.

It isn’t long before Citlalli and Connor are all settled. One of her partners throws the ball, watching idly by over on the dock, and Cyrus doesn’t hesitate to rush into action. The resistance of the water makes this whole charade harder than he’d imagined, but he manages to keep up fairly well for the first couple of passes. The ball flies back and forth between them until Alana manages to strike it down fast enough for Citlalli to miss. Alana cheers, aggressive and boasting and clearly evoked by a competitive spirit. It sends a prideful warmth swarming around in Cyrus’ chest. He’s never seen this side of her. It’s cute, he must admit.

Per the rules of the game, the wrestling commences after

Citlalli’s loss.

Alana and Citlalli lock hands from over the net, while Cyrus and Connor hold their stance so neither woman falls. They’re laughing the entire time, but Connor glares at him with a taunting determination that Cyrus mirrors, his own competitiveness easily provoked. If only he could toss his glamour. He’d love to see the determination in Connor’s eyes fade as all 6’9 of his wolf made its appearance. A smirk tugs across Cyrus’ mouth. What would be even more satisfying, however, is besting him while looking like this.

Cyrus firms his stance and tightens his hold on Alana. He pushes forward to give her the extra leverage she needs to shove Citlalli off balance, and the jaguar shifter goes falling back with a surprised screech. One that Alana responds to with a whoop of victory.

“Double point!” she exclaims. “Heck, yeah!”

She extends her hand to Cyrus for a high-five, and it sends another sense of pride radiating through his chest. At least, until he looks up. Now, the only thing he feels is panic from the fatal mistake he’s just made. The angled view of Alana’s breasts from this position is diabolical. He can’t even catch her face. Just a complete view of under boob peeking out from that damn red bikini. He may as well be a teenager with how fast something so basic gets his blood pumping. Thank the Gods the water is waist-deep.

Swallowing, Cyrus squares his shoulders, eyes ahead, blatantly ignoring the squeeze of Alana’s thighs around his neck and how they’d done similarly on that night he’d eaten her out for the first time. How they trembled around him as she came, the heat of her sex on his face as he lapped up every last drop that her body allowed him the privilege of tasting.

At some point, Citlalli serves the ball again. And Cyrus’ body travels on its own, but his mind is horrendously occupied. He can hear the world around him, but it sounds distant and out of focus. He makes out Alana’s laughter, though, as pretty as a picture while the game continues. But even then, his mind has to ruin that, too. He pictures himself attacking her neck, that same laughter erupting from her before filtering into a quiet, breathless moan. He pictures her nails digging into his back as he bites her, pictures her crying out his name as he sinks his teeth into—

“Cyrus! Hey, look alive!”

The panicked yelling of his name draws Cyrus out from the depths of his imagination, but not quickly enough to dodge the ball hurtling towards his face.

The world goes black immediately after.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ALANA

The crack of that volleyball making direct contact with Cyrus’ face could bend the rules of science and be heard from the depths of space. Alana winces, her expression twisted as if she could feel the pain of the impact. Everyone else who witnessed the ordeal mimics a similar expression, a collective series of “oooohshiiiiit” sounding from the crowd. Cyrus stumbles back and sends them both toppling into the water. When Alana emerges, she rushes to Cyrus’ side with panic-stricken eyes and open arms.

“Cyrus! Shit, are you okay?” Blood is pouring out from where he tries to hide behind his hand, and dread roots itself in her chest.

He waves her, Citlalli, and Connor off when they swim over. “M’fine. I’m good.”

“That’s not fine, man. You’ve got, like, a face period.” Connor’s expression twists in discomfort, but he sounds equally as concerned despite the string of words that just left him.

Cyrus’ glare is seething. “I’m. Fine,” he repeats in a strained, nasally voice.

Alana’s hands skirt over his sides, his ribs. As if checking to see if he’d somehow been injured anywhere else from the fall. “Let me see.” She coaxes Cyrus’ hand away, and when his mouth opens with an argument, one glare is all it takes for him to close it again.