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They’ve hooked up like this about half a dozen times by now, maybe more; often enough, apparently, for it to become something Shane eagerly looks forward to. Beat Boston, then get railed by Rozanov. Preferably on all fours.
He isn’t going to let a tweaked knee get in the way of that, goddammit.
(In which Shane and Ilya have to be careful with each other during sex for the first time.)
Shane tears his eyes away before Rozanov can say something obnoxious like “Like what you see?” or “Is rude to stare,” but Rozanov is towering over him now, and when Shane drags his gaze up, his entire field of vision is filled with rippling muscles.“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
“Like what you see?” Rozanov asks, looking down at himself.
“Yeah,” Shane says, resigned. No point in denying it.
Warm hands cup his face, tip his head back. “Is rude to stare, you know.”
Shane allows himself to melt into the touch. “I know.”
He feels the tension drain from his shoulders the moment their mouths meet.
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