Summary:

Ilya’s eyebrows rose at that, “Oh, my little omega, aren’t you supposed to be good for me?” He lowered to his elbows, licking his way down Shane’s chest, before hooking his fingers gently in the fabric of his underwear, “Don’t you want to be good for me, sweetheart?” Shane’s heart, his body, was fracturing. He was splitting into a million pieces every place Ilya’s tongue, hands, and breath touched him. He was falling, falling, falling; he felt like a powder keg. “Look at me, moya zhizn'.” And with that, he burst into flames. OR... Shane loses his suppressants and what can he do except call Rozy !