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Cymmie was working this night, dancing her part of the burlesque show. Her corset that encased her bosom and spread out into a tiny white lace skirt, caused her fur covered cleavage to grow at least two cup sizes. Her tail swayed provocatively, and her movements were so natural that no one could tell if she practiced or not. Which honestly, each dance, even if it was to the same song, came out different. It's what made her so good.

She moved off the stage and wandered through the crowd as she danced, brushing up against certain patrons that caught her interest. She breathed deeply of the familiar scent of alcohol, musk, and a light smattering of cigarette smoke.

That was funny, none of the normal patrons, all of which she could see and name at the moment, smoked. But that barely there scent, meant that only one person was smoking, yet she couldn't figure out who that would be. A barely perceptible frown creased the fur between her brow and she moved back onto the stage to end her scene.

Why did it matter if someone was smoking in the club? Most people would brush it off as no big deal, but Cymmie was a wolf who was hyper-vigilante and constantly looking for trouble. Plus, those who smoked cigarettes... well she tended to have a fetish for them.

She stepped into the back changing room, and her paws quickly went to work on the lacing of her corset. As she slipped out of it, she turned around to see a single stem with a pink camellia perched at the top, on her table. She raised an eyebrow, a camellia? That's an interesting choice, she thought to herself, as she picked up the card placed carefully over the leaf.

Usually when she got flowers they were very cliché roses or lilies, or something. She opened the card, and in very loopy calligraphy that had obviously been paid for, it read: "Longing for you."

Her ears flattened, there was no signature other than a fancy "G" at the bottom. Her skin under her fur flushed and she wasn't sure if it was from flattery and embarrassment or if it was from anxiety and uncertainty. She nibbled her lower lip, and shrugged, sniffing the camellia lightly to enjoy the gentle and barely noticeable floral scent that mostly smelled of pollen and freshly cut greenery.

She slipped back into her normal day clothes, which today consisted of a pair of tight jeans and a white camisole. Then picking up her black leather jacket she glanced at the trash can with the flower in paw. Cymmie thought for a moment, just a split second, that she should throw out this strange flower. It could be from some weird stalker... but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was such a creative choice of bloom, and so she walked out the back door of the club with the stem clasped safely in between the pads of her fingers.

She was reaching the building of her loft, when she was hit with a familiar scent she thought for sure she'd never in her life smell again. Her nares flared, her blood boiled with excitement and her gut twisted in a nervous knot that made her feel like vomiting all over the pavement. She inhaled again, narrowing in on the scent, her ears twisting around to see if she could catch his accented voice.

Cymmie's golden eyes searched the throng of people surrounding her desperately, his smell was too strong, it was confusing her. It called to her, made her ache for him, but she couldn't focus on it enough in the air to be able to search him out. Then... right as she was about to turn the corner and head into her building in defeat, he was there. His huge form leaning against the wall of bar on the other side of the street. She swallowed and a tiny whine left her, as she noticed he was smoking, his paw coming up to his muzzle with a rolled cigarette in between two fingers. The mastiff took a long drag, his eyes locked with hers as he did this, and she nearly fell to her knees right then and there with the force that was behind that stare.

He looked at her in a way that said he wanted her to come to him. Part of her fought it, the rational part, she hadn't even properly met him yet, just sucked his cock. Yet when he tilted his head in that way that said it wasn't a question, she was moving before she even realized what she was doing. It's like he was a magnet and she couldn't stop the pull that was making her walk dangerously into the street without even checking for cars.

Once she was on the other side of the street and much, much closer to him, he took one more long drag on his cigarette and then ground it on the wall before flicking it away. He watched her the entire time, his eyes half-lidded and cock-sure.

His attire was barely publicly acceptable, he wore jeans (which because of her weird fetish for them Cymmie was practically drooling over) and dress shirt was buttoned half way, showing off his thick chest and the fawn colored fur underneath it.

"Hey, babe. I see you got my token of appreciation," he nodded to the flower, his English accent made her practically cream right then and there as he called her that dangerous nickname.

A tiny and unbidden whimper left her throat, which made her ears flatten in annoyance and her forehead pucker in a frown. He smirked, his lips lifting up to show a glint of canine.

She swallowed, and stopped her movements toward him. She was only a few feet away, but her demeanor was suddenly stand-offish. Cymmie was trying to fight his energy, his dominance, with every fiber of her submissive being. She was quite good at hiding her submissive nature, but his stance, the way he stood with such confidence, the slight scent of cigarettes, his devil-may-care attitude had her inner sub begging to suck his cock once again.

He could smell it on her she was sure. Smell her slickness, she was sure of this especially when his nostrils flared and his smirk grew more confident. He then shifted his stance and she noticed an obvious thickening in his crotch.

"Strange choice of flower... Most admirers choose something simple," Cymmie said to distract herself from the excessive saliva collecting in her mouth.

"I'm not most admirers," his answer was simple, he offered no reason as to why, no justification for the choice of flower. Like she was just supposed to accept his word on faith, and gods knew she wanted to.

Though it was against her inner nature to question such things, it was what she expected of herself. So she did. She didn't trust him, how was she supposed to? He had this unbelievable pull on her and she'd be willing to give him anything right then and there. Everything except maybe her collaring rights, but she could easily see herself falling for him. But she knew his type, all he wanted was to sleep with her, and though at the moment she would say yes in a heartbeat, her morals wouldn't allow her to do it.

Damn morals, she thought with a frown.

"Cymopoleia, I wondered if you'd grace me with your presence tonight?" He said, his voice flowing so easily she almost wasn't paying to what he was saying.

She blinked, frowned deeply and shook her head, "I will not sleep with you tonight, I don't even know your name."

"Ah yes, I always forget that part when talking to someone as beautiful as you. My name is Grgur, and I wasn't referring to fucking you, darling. I merely wondered if you'd like to eat dinner with me?" He waved his hand with airy dismissal as he introduced himself, and then focused his powerful mahogany stare back on her as he proposed the question.

The way he tossed out nicknames so naturally, the way he spoke of sex with her so crudely, it made her heart quicken and the throbbing between to her thighs turn into an insistent ache. She ignored it as best she could, but was taken aback by his request. She narrowed her eyes, turned her head slightly and thought for a moment before glancing back at him suspiciously from the corner of her eyes.

"Alright... but I will not sleep with you after," she said with firm resolution and a nod of her head, whether she was saying that for her benefit or his, was unclear.

"Wouldn't even think of asking," he said with a smirk that said that the thought of sleeping with her wasn't far from his mind though.

He offered her his arm, and she frowned, crossing hers and regarding him with a distrustful look. Even though he tried his best to look innocent, she didn't believe him for a second. As he pushed his arm out toward her in an insistent manner, she gave a resigned sigh, and looped her arm with his. Which ended up being far too awkward with her short stature and his much larger size, so it somehow ended up with his paws stuffed in his pockets and her arms hugging onto his one.

As they walked to gods knew where, she didn't even focus on anything but his scent, his presence, and the feel of his strong arm in her tiny ones. It felt so natural, so calming, so... safe? She hadn't felt safe with another person, especially right off the bat, in such a long time. She couldn't even remember who it had been with and she hadn't had many relationships, and she never did one night stands.

What was it about this mastiff that could just calm her so much, that could bring out her desire to please so much, and that could make her want to worship him? She had begun to hum as she watched the people hurry by them, Cymmie was lost in her own musings. She didn't even notice when Grgur turned to look at her with the warmest smile breaking out across his muzzle as she hummed a completely unrecognizable song.

Finally, they turned into a small restaurant. It served amazing Italian dishes that made her nose quiver in anticipation. When they sat and began to delve into their night together, getting drinks and ordering, it was amazing how much they got along and how much they had in common yet were completely opposite in. It was that balance, that perfect balance that she had been searching for, for so long.

It made her anxious, Cymmie wasn't sure she could trust what he was saying was the truth. What if he was just saying what she wanted to hear? But the way he laughed, smiled, and indulged her in certain passions and yet found no interest in some of her others... she couldn't help but feel he was genuine. Yet, the trust wasn't there, she couldn't just throw herself in right away. That always ended in disaster for her.

So she guarded her topics. She cherry-picked what they talked about when it came to her, even though her heart was hopeful, her instincts and logical mind squashed those hopes. Too many scars from the past reared their ugly heads.

Then they reached the topics of their sexual interests. Cymmie was always very open about her interest in BDSM, when he announced he was a Dom and only that, it made her stomach bottom out because she had known that first night. When she described what she was like, the way his voice caressed the word Submissive when referring to her, it made her shiver. If he took notice, he never mentioned it.

He paid, much to her frustration, when she tried to go Dutch and he absolutely refused. They left and he walked her the short way back to her apartment.

"Well I guess this is where I say goodnight. I had a really nice time. I hope we can do it again sometime," Cymmie said and turned to walk into building.

Grgur growled for a moment and grabbed her wrist, spinning her back to look at him and then backing her up against the wall away from the slight crowd on the sidewalk.

"Wha-... What are you doing?" she asked, her golden eyes wide.

"Just needed to finish the night correctly," he murmured into her ear.

He laid a long lick on the side of her neck, gently nipping her scruff. She groaned tilting her head to the side to allow better access. He was biting her neck in not-so-gentle nips now. Making her moans grow louder, and his hand came up to cup her breast just enough to add pressure. He was soon grinding against her thigh as if he could rub out his orgasm if he tried hard enough.

"You smell so intoxicating when you're like this," he whispered hoarsely.

Large paw flicked open her jeans with practiced ease, and quickly made use of the extra space. His padded fingertips went to work on her clit. She was whimpering, biting her lower lip and bucking into his hand, forgetting all about public decency and the fact that she wasn't supposed to be doing this tonight. Then she came, too fast for her liking, and so hard. Her vision whited-out a bit at the edges, and he was withdrawing, lazily licking her juices from his pads and fur.

"Payback for the other night," he said with that over-confident smirk, and walked away with an uncomfortable looking bulge in the front of his pants.

Cymmie, even though she was panting like a bitch in heat, carefully zipped up and buttoned her pants with a frown. No one on the streets seemed to even take notice of the two of them, which is quite normal considering that kind of thing happened regularly in the big city. However, it was not a regular occurrence with Cymmie, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

With a slight grumble about males, she stooped to pick up the camellia that had gotten dropped sometime in the middle of that, and gently brushed off the dirt and loose petals. It wasn't too worse for wear and she moved to her apartment so that she could find it an appropriate vase.