Page 8 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Screw it. This is a whole new chapter of her life, and she deserves this. Operation: Get Laid was officially underway.

“Okay,” Alana nods, firm. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Atta girl. Lily and I will pick you up at your place at sundown,”

Nakita says. Then, a glimmer of something ludic flickers behind her eyes. “But first, I’m giving you homework. Because tomorrow we plan on getting your mind right, but I’m telling you, you’re going to want to make sure you get your body right too.”

Alana’s brows furrow at that, mouth open in a question that doesn’t get the chance to form. Nakita pulls her down the hall to their room, where even more empty moving boxes clutter the floor. Alana steps over some stray hangers and clothes and pads to the corner to keep out of the way while Nakita shuffles through some unmarked duffel bags. Lilith stands beside her, buzzing with a sense of excitement that Alana can feel radiating off her like a heat lamp.

“Hah! Found it!” Nakita pulls out something that damn near sends Alana into cardiac arrest. It had to weigh a solid five pounds, hyper-realistic with a suction cup at its base. When she tosses it on the dresser, it’s heavy enough to send it wobbling.

“Oh my Gods.” Alana covers her sizzling face. “I know you’re lying. Where did you even get that?” She peeks at it through a gap in her fingers, too scared to look it in the eye, lest it jump out and attack her. She had her fair share of toys, but this? This was the biggest dildo she’s ever seen. She’s tempted to ask Nakita where in the hells it’s supposed to go. Because it couldn’t possibly be inside her.

The women both snicker at Alana’s reaction before settling beside her to marvel at it together. It’s a solid ten inches from base to tip, with sculpted balls detailed to resemble fur. Protruding from them is the thick dick, customized with a pretty mauve color that turns pink at the tip. And towards the bottom, a knot, as big as the one forming in the back of Alana’s throat.

“A beauty, right? Got it custom-made at this kinky little shop we found when we were traveling last year. Werewolf couple. Molded after one of the husbands, apparently.” Nakita smacks it like a prized show horse. The silicone jiggles with the movement. “Before moving here, we were on the road so much that we haven’t exactly been able to put it to use. So don’t worry, it’s new.”

Alana balks, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t use this thing!” Are they really all this big? Her concerns around size clearly weren’t exaggerated. Maybe she isn’t okay with dying this way.

“Well, girl, you better try.” Nakita plops down on her bed with a hyena-like laugh. “Because honestly? That’s probably considered small by wolven standards. If your mystery man is more endowed than this, you’re going to need to prep yourself to take him. Otherwise, you’re fucked. Literally and improperly.”

“She’s right,” Lilith adds. “If it’s too much, maybe you should hire another human for your first time or something.” She offers a sympathetic look at the horror Alana is too shocked to mask.

Briefly, she considers that option. The image of her bound in a cast from the waist down enters her mind, and she wants nothing more than to grab her phone and cancel, saving her an absolutely humiliating emergency room visit or worse—no. Her momma didn’t raise a little bitch. The human body was a resilient thing; who’s to say it can’t handle a few extra inches? Inhaling, Alana lifts her chin. She stalks over and snatches the toy off the dresser and haphazardly hides it in her sweater. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” she says, and marches to the door. She pays no mind to the laughter and calls of encouragement sounding from behind her as she does.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALANA

Porn is a Goddamn lie.

The next time Alana watches a video of someone’s pussy swallowing a foot-long sandwich worth of penis without so much as a wince of discomfort, she’s calling bullshit. Absolute bullshit. Maybe her momma did raise a bitch because there is absolutely no way…

Alana’s brows twist with pain and uncertainty as she tries sliding her new toy in from behind. She’d suctioned it to her headboard, allowing better leverage while having some cushion beneath her from her mattress. The added glide from the copious amount of lube she’d slathered on helps, as did getting off a few times beforehand, just not as much as she’d hoped. She attempts to reposition herself as best she can, spreading her legs into a wider stance. Shifting ever so slightly, she lowers into a downward stretch and she wiggles her hips back, hissing through gritted teeth.

Nakita was right; if she can’t handle this, there’s no way she’ll be able to go through with her appointment. If she wants the real thing, she needs to lock the fuck in. Dedicated, Alana closes her eyes and takes a slow, calming breath to steady her nerves. It’s just her—there’s no rush, no one’s expectations to worry about other than her own. With that in mind, she eases herself back, allowing the tip of the toy to inch its way inside her.

The mental image of her future werewolf provides some additional support; she thinks of the way he’d coach her if he were here, or how his hands would feel against her body as he eases into her.

“Shit.” Gods, she’s never felt more pathetic. Shame threatens to curdle in her stomach when the mere thought of him rutting himself against her ass sends a wave of arousal down her lower extremities. Or how his fur feels against her heated skin. Or how callous his hands might be.

Getting this worked up over someone she hadn’t even met yet was certainly high on her list of embarrassingly horny charades. Desire is steadfast in weighing out her ignominy, though. Molten heat swirls around in her abdomen and trickles down her limbs, encasing her in a blanket of arousal. It’s sweltering, and the images of this handsome werewolf that play like a movie behind her eyelids don’t help. She can practically hear his voice rumbling next to her ear while he presses into her. Was it deep, raspy? Maybe it held the same low, southern note as…

Another warm flush passes through Alana’s body. She fights back the mental image of Cyrus just as quickly as it appears, unsure what was worse: pining over the idea of a man she’s never met, or one who’s totally unobtainable. She does, however, allow herself to entertain the idea of her werewolf sharing a similar voice.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he’d tell her.

She envisions wide, strong hands roaming up the sides of her thighs, holding her steady while he moves. And Alana moves with him, pressing back. Her breath hitches as she makes it a few inches farther down her toy, stretching her fully. It’s a brutal sting, one that proves addicting the more intense it becomes. It encourages her to go further, to chase it, to push herself.

“Atta girl. You’re stronger than you know, takin’ me like this.”

Alana releases a soft whine, and adjusts, her head hanging low. With the image of her werewolf pushing full hilt, she allows the toy to do the same, pressing even further back. A gasp rips from her throat. Oh, fuck.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she can’t believe the sight. She’s managed to take the entire thing, minus that damn knot. It’s the biggest she’s ever taken. A self-assured smile pulls at her features. If she were being honest, she isn’t sure her Bachelor’s degree ever made her feel as accomplished as she does now. She nips her bottom lip and starts to fuck herself in long, slow strokes. The handsome stranger makes himself comfortable at the forefront of her mind, and Alana imagines he would be inclined to go faster if he were here—to grip her by the hips and growl into her ear while he ruts into her like she’s the toy.

Gods, what an image.

It’s comical, really, just how quickly feminism tends to leave her body in these instances. The idea of being used, talked down to, and degraded sends sparks of pleasure down every nerve, replacing the rage she’d normally feel in any other given scenario. Maybe she doesn’t need a dick appointment. Maybe what she really needs is therapy.