Summary:

“What’s this one again?” he asked, gesturing to the orange monstrosity. “Porsche 718 Cayman.” “Right.” Ilya smirked. “You hate it.” “I didn’t say that!” “You don’t have to,” Ilya said. “You are looking at it like it is McDonald’s breakfast sandwich.” Shane scrunched his nose. “Gross.” Ilya sidestepped Shane and circled the front of the car. He wore a leather jacket and tight- fitting black jeans that probably cost as much as the car. But with the way they hugged his ass, Shane wouldn’t be complaining about them any time soon. “You know,” Ilya said, dragging his fingers across the shiny hood. “I used to think about fucking you in one of these.” Shane’s gaze snapped up. “How would that even work?” Ilya put his hand on the driver’s side door handle. “Want to find out?”