Page 56 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

“Damn. You look real good like this,” he murmurs. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in some time.” His eyes roam her body like he’s admiring something priceless. And in a way, he is. Alana, naked and presenting that soaked, blushing pussy for him, is something he wouldn’t trade for all the money or fame in the world.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Alana mumbles. It’s every bit as sweet as she is. It’s unfortunate that Cyrus doesn’t plan to honor her request, though. Leaning forward, he licks a massive line from her clit to her asshole, reveling in the shocked gasp he managed to provoke. Alana shudders, her body rigid beneath him for a passing second before dissolving entirely. Then, a moan, long and degenerate and singing through the trees as his tongue laps up everything he can. She’s like honeysuckle against his tongue, warm and addicting and everything right about the world. Heat and desperation coil in his stomach, his inner nature springing to life with each moan or shrill cry of his name. It spurs at his wolf, his restraint thinning. He may not have much to offer her. But this? This he could do. He could make her cum. He could make her feel better than anyone else.

“Oh, Cyrus,” Alana’s hands dig into the soil, and she rocks her hips back to meet his efforts. Gone is the hesitant virgin from their first night together. “Fuck.”

Cyrus laps his tongue against her swollen clit, rolling over the bud with well-practiced skill. Fisting handfuls of her ass, he drinks from her, can feel how close she is already, smells the ebb and flow of her pleasure as it builds to its peak. When Alana is inches from the edge of her release, he dares to pivot, drawing back.

“Ah! Nooo!” Alana sobs. Her hips jut back in a valiant attempt to chase the fading orgasm. “Why did you—”

Wordlessly, his tongue glides against her inner labia before dipping inside of her. He curls around her spot just so, silencing her previous argument as he attempts to eat her from the inside out. He wants nothing more than to taste her when she unravels. Alana gasps as though she’s been struck, and Cyrus can envision the way her eyes flutter back as another satisfied cry echoes through the forest. Her body convulses around his tongue, evidence of her orgasm squeezing against him for several long seconds. Cyrus drinks her in as she leaks around him, a guttural groan rumbling from deep in his throat. Fuck. Fuck.

What little control he has snaps. Cyrus pulls away with a heaving chest and slick, painted jowls. He licks himself clean before returning to Alana, tail thrashing.

His cock hangs unsheathed and heavy against his thigh, leaking.

“Oh. Wow,” she stutters, eyes wide. Her gaze roams up and down his length as if she’s doing mental calculations on how this was supposed to work.

Cyrus chuckles, dark as the night sky that envelops them. He’s bigger than he was their first time, and even then, he’d hardly fit. She had squeezed around him like a vise, damn near shoving him towards his end before they’d even begun. The inkling of hesitation he smells behind her excitement is justified. And he’s ashamed to admit how much it fuels that heat in his belly.

“On your back,” Cyrus rumbles. His voice is unrecognizable, distorted, thick with unhampered arousal. Alana’s brows pinch with a measure of confusion, but Cyrus doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, he grabs her and maneuvers her onto her back. He takes her in; her dirt-caked knees and permanent blush along the entirety of her chest. He positions her legs around his hips, his eyes shining with a beastly hunger he’s no longer equipped to contain. “I want you on your back. So I can watch you cum on my knot for the first time.”

That rosy color that overlays her skin deepens. Gods, she’s so pretty like this.

Shifting, Cyrus’ dick slides between her thighs and splays out across her stomach. From this angle, the severity of his size couldn’t be more apparent. He looks big enough to reach her fucking diaphragm.

“Now breathe,” he murmurs, waiting for her chest to concave with a deep inhale before sliding his massive hands down Alana’s sides and curling under her leg to lift her. It’s leverage he needs to jut himself between her thighs. He thrusts his hips forward, and it catches at her entrance, just past the mound of blonde curls shielding her arousal. Then, he pushes in. The sheer heat of her has his tongue lolling out, where saliva dampens his fur. She’s so fucking tight that it makes Cyrus’ head spin. If the gods are real, he’s certain one of them is named Alana Darling. Black irises dilate, and Cyrus freezes, muscles quivering with the war between willpower and instinct. Instinct to snap his hips forward in a single, blinding thrust. To fill the forest with echoes of her cries. “Darlin’, you’re gonna—” he hisses and grits his teeth. So hard, his molars could crack under the pressure. “Be the death of me.”

“Yeah?” Alana’s response is hushed. She looks inebriated, face flushed, eyes glossy, untethered from this plane of reality.

“That pretty brain of yours all foggy already, sweetheart?” A low laugh rumbles out from his chest.

“Oh…fuck you,” Alana breathes.

His smile broadens in the corners. “I thought that’s what we were doin’.”

Cyrus waits for Alana to open her mouth again to guide himself deeper. Whatever she was going to say is replaced by a moan that’s sure to stretch for miles. A honey-dipped sound his wolf can’t wait to chase after. He licks his teeth and guides Alana’s hand to rest atop her belly. His hips roll, allowing her to feel the indent of his dick from inside as he sinks in the remainder of the way, his length disappearing inside her in its entirety. It’s comical, the way Alana’s brows shoot into her hair when she feels it—that protrusion of him right below her belly button. Teeth catch her bottom lip, and her eyes flutter to the back of her skull. Cyrus watches, fully consumed with his own need. The only thing left is his knot, red and swollen at the base of her sex.

“Oh, my Gods,” she sobs.

“You see that? I knew you could take me like this. Look how well we fit together.”

The swift wave of pure desire he catches in Alana’s scent matches his own. The forest reeks with it. Heat and ash and blood and sweat, intermingling into something so distinctively them. Had this been any normal circumstance, he’d allow Alana a minute or two to adjust to him. A hand on her hip, soothing her sweetly as he coached her through her breathing. But his body moves on its own. He rolls into her at a slow pace at first—so tortured that it forces his jaws to cinch shut, a deep, satisfied purr sounding from his throat. Both of his hands fall to either side of Alana’s face, where his claws leave indents in the soil, head hanging low as his body trembles.

Every nerve is alive, sparks of electricity coursing through them like live wire.

Alana curses from under him, her legs locked around his waist and her back arched while she digs into the dirt, caking her nails with it. Perhaps it’s the sight of her like this, all quivering and tear-stained. Perhaps it’s how she tries to rock back against his movements, or how she’s already crying his name like it’s the only one she’s been taught. Whichever the case, Cyrus is unable to keep his pace for long. Slick, wet noises fill the otherwise quiet forest as he fucks into her like a delirious dog—frantic and fast and intuitive in his very nature. His mind reels, his stomach tightens. She’s an all-consuming kind of warmth that has him losing what little shred of his humanity he has left. When has anyone he’s been with ever felt this good? Despite every rational thought he’s ever had about himself and his future, the only thing that fuels his mind is Alana.

Alana, with his scent permanently etched into her skin. Alana, as his mate. Alana, waiting down the aisle for him. Alana, Alana, Alana…

His balls twitch, and his movements stutter, growing more erratic. “Look… at you,” he grunts, an edge of a man losing himself. “You’re so pretty around me. Gods, Alana.”

He’s lost track of how many people he’s had underneath him, but none could compare to this. To her. She fits around his dick like she was designed for him and him alone. The way she clings to him, the way he no longer fears whether she can handle him. Of course she can, his girl. My perfect, perfect girl.

Leaning forward, he presses into her, forehead to forehead, anchoring himself as he angles just right. As Cyrus curls over her body, her mouth opens, lips parted in a silent gasp as she tries to find purchase on the fur around his neck. Fingers dig into him with a vise grip, but it doesn’t register.

“I’m not going to last, baby,” he warns. “You have to tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, fuck.” Even though he says this, his hips jerk forward at the same unrelenting, unforgiving pace. His knot swells, and a familiar heat pools deep in his core. God, it feels like he’s about to die.

“Don’t you dare,” Alana rasps. “Cum with me. Knot me. Please, Cyrus, just make me yours already; I need it. I need it. I—”