Summary:

“You wanted this, didn’t you? You want to choke on my come?” Ilya murmured. “Yes,” Shane gasped, taking the Russian’s cock off his mouth to breathe for a second. The admission ripped from his, surely soon, sore throat. “More. Harder, Ilya.” The request was a match to Ilya’s wick. His movements doubled in speed, his hips bucking hard. Shane was lost, his consciousness reduced to Ilya’s thick head constantly pressing on the back of his throat and the iron grip on his neck. or the one in which Ilya and Shane can't keep their hands off each other.