Page 17 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

“Mmhm! Yeah, sorry, be out in a second.” The crack in her voice gives away her attempt at nonchalance. She winces, takes a breath, and opens the door. When she does, Cyrus is already waiting in the entryway. She startles again, eyes wide and hand to her chest. “Oh, sorry! You scared me.”

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks a second time. Alana can tell he isn’t asking for the sake of wanting to rush her. She’s experienced that enough times to recognize it for what it is. No, Cyrus is genuine in his concern.

“I’m okay,” Alana promises. She offers a reassuring smile and rubs her arm. “Just freshening up.”

Cyrus tilts his head, a motion that has no right being as cute as it is. He looks like those dogs you see in viral videos when they hear a squeaker toy go off. “Is that what you were nervous about? Darlin’, believe me, you smell good enough to eat. Matter of fact, I’d like to try.” His hand navigates to Alana’s chin and, with gentle firmness, tilts it upwards. “If that’s still alright with you.”

Deep burgundy dances across Alana’s cheekbones. She nods, soaking him in. The heaviness of his gaze, his eyes glowing in the low light of the room.

“I’d like that.”

Alana doesn’t resist when he closes the distance between them, lips pressed gently against hers, doesn’t resist when he slides his hands beneath her thighs and effortlessly carries her back to bed. He lays her down on her back, and his mouth presses against hers with a tenderness she’s never experienced. It’s electric. Not in a violent, blinding surge like she’d been expecting. It’s a low, pulsing current that builds in the pads of her feet and spreads throughout her body in the same way lightning breaks across a night sky. She hopes her inexperience doesn’t show as she takes her time returning the gesture, learning the movements of his mouth before reciprocating. Her hands find the sides of his face, eager to keep him in place.

“Cyrus,” she moans against him, a pleading whisper. Cyrus’ ears twitch in response, and he deepens the kiss, Alana tilting her head to do the same. It’s as though he knows what her body is going to do before it does it and, fuck, it’s addicting. It’s addicting like the bourbon she can taste lingering against his tongue—this tepid smokiness that she eagerly drinks in, willing to inebriate herself with it all. When’s the last time she’s been able to make out with someone like this? Gods, she can’t even recall.

Cyrus leans away to trail kisses down her jaw, her neck. He lingers above her pulse point, and she wonders if he can feel just how rapidly her heart is beating. Hovering there, his breath is sweltering when he chuckles against her skin. “You still doing good?”

All Alana can do is nod, her voice failing her yet again. When he continues, her hands find purchase in his hair. Desire seeps deeper into her system with each passing second and every drag of sharp teeth across her skin. It’s maddening, this mix of desperation and neediness. It’s as if she’s fucking possessed, the movements of her body beyond control.

“It’s too hot,” she gasps. “I need this dress off. And these shoes. Please.”

Not needing to be told twice, Cyrus finds the zipper on the side of her dress and tugs it down with ease. He slips Alana’s arms through the shoulders, pulling it down past her tummy and ass until, finally, it falls down her legs. He tosses it on the floor along with her heels, and just like that, she’s left bare. It’s vulnerable, being half-naked in front of a man. But this kind of activity couldn’t be done without the necessary steps of undressing. While Alana had come prepared to do so, she hadn’t anticipated how exposed it’d make her feel. Her insecurities nudge at the barricade she built to keep them out, rattling against the inside of her head. There’s a temptation to cover up, to shield herself from any possible scrutiny. But…she doesn’t. It’s just as she told herself back at the lingerie store—this body is hers, and the way it looks is the way it looks. He doesn’t need to approve of it.

He just needs to know how to make it come undone.

“Pardon my language, but, damn,” Cyrus breathes. “Aren’t you a sight for a weary soul.” His canines shimmer in the low light of the room as he absorbs the sight in front of him. His eyes trace the soft curves of her body, the markings that decorate every few inches of her skin. “I see you went with the blue set,” he murmurs. “You really didn’t have to splurge just for the likes of little ol’ me, you know. Although, I was right. I will certainly be counting my blessings tonight.”

Alana shoves a pillow in his face. “Oh, shut up. Maybe this isn’t for you. Maybe I had another hot date just before this, did you think about that?”

Cyrus’ grin widens and he grabs the pillow, tossing it away. “No. Because we both know that ain’t true.”

Alana’s jaw drops, but Cyrus returns to his position on her neck before she can say anything else, his large hands gentle when they unclasped her bra and allow her breasts to fall free. She gasps as the cool air hits her chest, a shiver running down the base of her spine.

“You’re like a painting,” Cyrus remarks as he ventures further south. “Not sure there’s a museum alive that has anything quite this pretty behind their doors.”

Alana wants to ask if Cyrus talks like this to all his clients. If his tongue was just as smooth and quick-witted with everyone who walks through those elevator doors. Then again, maybe she doesn’t fucking care. She lets herself indulge in thinking she really is as special as he’s making her feel. “Cyrus, please,” she begs. The heat simmering beneath her skin is too much to bear now. “I need you to—”

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.” he kisses a pale area of skin just above her heart. “Just be patient.”

Patient, he says. As if she hasn’t waited years for this.

She’d pout at him for keeping her waiting if it weren’t for his hand dipping past the band of her panties. A quiet, strangled sound pulls from her in response. She clutches Cyrus’ arm, searching for purchase as he teases the seam of her sex.

“You’re so wet already,” he purrs. “Poor thing. When’s the last time someone made you feel good?”

Never, she wants to answer. No one has ever spoken to her like this, touched her like this. Nobody has ever made her feel safe enough to let them. The realization hits Alana like a ton of bricks, the vulnerability too much to handle. But then, Cyrus gently dips one finger inside of her. “Oh—” She rolls her hips into the touch, chasing the electric heat tingling through her limbs.

“Do you like this?”

Alana nods. “Yes.”

“Think you can handle more?” She nods again.

“Use your words.” Cyrus’ voice is firm this time. He withdraws his finger, waiting for a verbal acknowledgment. “Yes,” she gasps, shuddering and raw.

Satisfied, Cyrus inches a second finger in alongside the first.

His pace is maddeningly slow, a lazy drag that has Alana’s mouth falling open in complaint for him to move. Cyrus must notice the twist in her facial expression, because it doesn’t take long for him to pick up speed. Crass, wet noises fill the room, and a familiar pressure builds in her lower abdomen.