Summary:

Ilya is so caught up in the hot squeeze of Shane's tight ass around his cock, the way he grinds down trying to take all nine inches even deeper as if he'll die if he doesn't, that it takes a moment for him to realise that Shane is staring at him with a quizzical tilt to his pretty, freckled face. Like sweaty, flushed bird. 

Shane doesn't stop riding him completely, but roll of his hips is slower now. Almost torture where he clenches around Ilya, like he can't help it.

"What, Hollander?" Ilya grunts; fingers digging into the soft fat of Shane's ass.