Page 57 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Cyrus’ hips snap up in a violent thrust that does Alana in. His dick settles against her sweet spot, and she cries out with a moan that shakes the trees. With it, she comes undone.

“Shit!” he hisses, and his muzzle finds the side of her neck. His orgasm hits like bursts of lightning. An earth-shattering flash of light that sends a current of electricity surging down every limb. His hips stutter, chasing and chasing until he’s able to press his knot into her with a lewd pop. He spills rope after rope of himself inside her, while his jaw vibrates with the need to bite. Finding the junction at the side of her neck, he does just that. Cyrus sinks into her supple flesh, and blood pools across his tongue. Iron and salt and copper invade his senses, and for a short time, it’s like he’s been drugged. Alana screams, and he feels her clench and shake around his knot as she comes a second time. But it’s all in slow motion, muffled as though his head is underground. The voices in his mind hush, his muscles relax. The constant itch that swims beneath the surface of his skin subsides, too. All he feels now is unfathomable peace, and once again, he’s found himself tucked in a pocket of reality that only exists for the two of them.

Cyrus releases his hold on Alana’s shoulder. He laps up the excess blood and dirt until it’s as clean as it can be. He eyes the violent mark left behind with a gleam of pride that sends his tail wagging lazily behind him. As the forest settles into repose, Cyrus sinks into it. Into warmth that travels up his worn-out limbs, and the fuzzy static in his mind.

“Are you still with me?” he rasps. Sitting up, he cups the side of Alana’s face. She smiles at him when he does, though her expression tells him she’s hanging onto consciousness by a thread. He licks her chin, the corner of her eyes. Alana giggles at the affection, an airy, breathless sound he wishes so badly he could capture.

“Mhm,” she responds, eyes half-lidded. “I think you punctured a lung. But I’m…I’m okay.” She smiles. “You’re incredible.”

Cyrus chuckles. “Was fixin’ to say the same thing to you.”

His lover’s smile broadens. She inches a hand behind his ears, and his eyes flutter to a close as he tilts his head to the side to lean into it. Behind them, the thumping of his tail increases.

“You got a bathtub in that big house of yours?”

“I do. I’ll draw you one, if you’d like.” It’s the least he can do.

She’s taken a lot more than he’d expected.

Alana shakes her head. “No. I’m asking for you,” she says.

“On the way to see you, I read up on aftercare for ruts. Warm baths can encourage regulation. I’ll get your food heated up, too, and we can wind down together while I take care of you. You and me.”

The amount of affection in her gaze trips up his recovering heart. It shouldn’t. Since he’s known Alana, she’s been nothing but kind and generous in everything that she does. He’s yet to be an exception, clearly. But it feels so…alien. It’s his responsibility to take care of his partners, not the other way around.

“Alana, you’re the one who just took my knot. I should be taking care of—”

Her brows pinch in a flat expression, and she clenches around him, and it knocks the air out of his lungs.

Cyrus buckles, head in her chest and hands flying to her waist. “Alana…” he whines.

“Cyrus,” she counters. “Are you really going to sit here and argue with me about taking care of you after this? I told you before. I’m here for you. And you agreed.”

“I know that, but—” She squeezes again and rocks her hips.

And this time, it makes his eyes cross. A whimper slips out, high-pitched and pathetic with over-sensitivity. “C’mon now. You keep doin’ that, and I’m—”

Knowing full well he’s in her mercy and hell-bent on torturing him, Alana rolls against him again, but doesn’t stop this time. She squeezes and shifts, and a secondary orgasm hits him like a bus. Something between a gasp and a hiss rolls past his lips. When it subsides, he collapses, face buried in Alana’s chest. He pants with loud, labored breaths.

“So,” she continues with a laugh. She runs her delicate fingers across the top of his head. “A bath after this?”

“You’re the devil.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ALANA

“Is the water okay?”

Alana’s voice is a gentle thrum as she sinks further into the bath she’d drawn for them. It’s pleasantly warm, offering notes of spearmint and citrus—courtesy of the bath salts she found tucked in the cabinets. It serves well to soothe the deep-rooted ache in her muscles, and she closes her eyes to savor it. There isn’t an inch of her that doesn’t feel sore.

Cyrus overworked areas of her body she didn’t know existed.

At least she’d avoided the need for a full pelvic brace.

Behind her, the werewolf shifts his weight. He’s human now, having turned back after their tie wore off. Good thing too. As massive as his claw-foot tub is, Alana isn’t sure it would’ve held up against all that fur. He opens his legs to give her more room, then curls his arms around her to pull her closer into his chest.

As if she might attempt an escape if he didn’t.