Page 55 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Cyrus dips lower to the ground. Behind him, his tail flicks.

This motherfucker isn’t joking.

The grin stretched across his muzzle widens, teeth flashing.

When he speaks, his voice is as rough as steel. “You heard me.” he snaps his jaws for emphasis.

Alana’s heart hammers. Smoldering heat settles between her thighs in a blinding rush, and her legs threaten to give out already. The idea of being chased by someone—something—like Cyrus makes her mind foggy with want. It’s not a matter of if he’s going to catch her. It’s a matter of when.

“And once I’m caught?” she whispers. Cyrus’ tail thrashes harder.

“Then you’re mine for the taking.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ALANA

After a gracious ten-second head start, a howl rips through the night. It shakes the birds from their trees, and hibernating wildlife scatter from their hiding places. Excitement pours through every nerve as Alana chases the moonlight, worn-out sneakers pounding against the earth as fast as her body will allow. The forest blurs, and her lungs burn against the chill of the air. But she doesn’t care. Gods, how she doesn’t give a single fuck about the pain in her chest or the ache in the soles of her feet. A smile stretches across her features, mildly crazed but hopelessly excited. The earth vibrates with every massive step Cyrus takes from behind her, and Alana can imagine the look in his eyes, that merciless gaze of a hunter locked on its target. A growl ripples through the trees, rattles against her eardrums. A reminder of exactly what she is—prey.

For the second time tonight.

Only this time, she’s not as afraid of being devoured. Alana’s breath hitches with panicked laughter. If she could tell her past self that she’d willingly become some kind of sexual sacrifice for a werewolf’s rut, she’d probably threaten to lock herself up. Because this? This was without a doubt the craziest shit she’s ever done. Crazier than hiring a werewolf sex worker. Crazier than telling off her grandmother in the middle of her birthday party. And definitely crazier than the content she used to scroll through on those bored Sunday evenings with a hand down her pants.

The thumping of Cyrus’ paws against the forest floor intensifies the closer he gets. He’s impossibly fast, weaving through the trees as if the forest bends to his will, and before she can so much as blink, a massive shadow cuts in beside her. She gasps and tries to pick up her speed, veering to get away. But it’s too late. She makes two more steps before he slams into her. Her entire worldview is flipped as she hits the ground with a surprised cry, pinned beneath pure muscle and fur. Both wrists are forced above her by a single, oversized hand, while the other plants itself firmly by her head. Alana’s eyes widen as Cyrus straddles her, making it impossible to escape.

Not that she wants to.

His muzzle hovers inches from her throat, breath ghosting over her thundering pulse. Cyrus growls at her, something low in his throat. It isn’t threatening, but a far more satisfied sound that has Alana’s hair standing on end.

“Got you,” the wolf rumbles, chest heaving from exertion. Those massive jaws twitch with a sharp grin that sends another shiver down the base of Alana’s spine.

“Seems that way,” Alana whispers. Her body warms like the sun’s surface as she lies there, powerless. Arousal pools in her core, more overwhelming than she thought possible. It nearly hurts.

A soft chuckle rolls from Cyrus’ chest. He kisses her jaw, then her neck. He inhales her there, and another low growl shakes through her entire chest. “Sweetheart—” He nips at her skin, and Alana cries out. “That scent of yours has a way of driving a man insane.” Another deep inhale, another rumble of laughter. “None too good at hiding it either, are you?

You’re sweeter the more turned on you are. Did you know that? Why, you smell like you could come from the simplest touch.” Alana whines as one of his hands trails up her shirt. Calloused paw pads cup her aching breast and pinch her raised nipple. Somehow, the idea of Cyrus being able to smell her arousal at any given time hadn’t occurred until now. Her face erupts with crimson.

Cyrus pulls away from her neck, and there’s a hunger in his expression as his grip tightens around her wrist. “What should I do with my prize now, hm?”

Alana looks up at him, her heartbeat erratic. But without hesitation, she arches into him.

“Use her.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CYRUS

Those two singular words unravel Cyrus, layer by layer, until he’s stripped bare. I don’t need you he had told her.

What a lie that’d been. Cyrus can’t recall a time when he’d needed anything as much as he obsessively needed Alana Darling. From the first night they had sex, he was a doomed man. The way her body felt against his, and how they had fit so perfectly together. Her scent, even then, had been intoxicating. As though she were designed by the gods just for him. His mate. His everything.

A deep, rumbling purr emits from Cyrus as he lowers himself to resume his assault on her neck, lapping across that patch of skin he can’t seem to get enough of. Each inhale pours gasoline on an already blazing wildfire. Alana gasps and squeaks with each pass of his tongue, sweet and needy and raw. The idea that Alana was this worked up over him sends him preening.

“Cyrus, please,” she begs, having finally found that lovely voice of hers. So soft, her pleas for him. As if he could ever think about denying her.

“Hush now, I’ve got you.” His voice is low, a promise threaded through every word. He squeezes her breasts again, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing across her nipple until her back arches. “I’ve got you, baby. Don’t you worry, I’ll get you there,” he pinches the raised bud just to hear her cry out again, before traveling down the curves of her body. Soft, plush, and absolutely perfect. He finds the hem of her pajama pants, where he makes quick work of shredding them apart. They greet the forest floor in ribbons of red and black flannel, and she whines in complaint. A smirk lifts at the corner of his muzzle. “Add them to my tab.”

He watches as those eyes go wide, and her heart-shaped lips fall open. But he doesn’t give his human a chance to respond. His grip tightens around her hips. He forcibly positions Alana on her hands and knees, instructing her to present for him. Face into the ground, ass in the air. She does so, his obedient girl, with flushed cheeks and mumbles of embarrassed complaint.