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The heat in Milan was the kind that settled into your bones, heavy and humid, but the breeze off the balcony offered a temporary reprieve. Shane was leaned against the stone railing in a pair of gray lounge shorts and a worn t-shirt, sipping water, when Ilya walked out behind him.
Ilya didn't just walk; he strutted. He was already showered, his dark hair slicked back, wearing a black silk shirt unbuttoned low enough to be borderline illegal.
"Get dressed," Ilya said, resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist. "We go out tonight."
Shane tilted his head back, suspicious. "Out where? We just ate."
"Dancing."
Shane instantly froze. He slowly turned around in Ilya’s arms, giving him a flat, unimpressed look. "Ilya. No."
"Yes."
"I don't dance," Shane said, his tone resolute. "You know I don't dance. I look like a wet folding chair trying to untangle itself. I have two left feet."
"I do not care about your two left feet, moy lyubimyy," Ilya purred, a dark, wicked grin spreading across his face. He plucked the water glass from Shane’s hand and set it on the small patio table. "I do not need you to be professional dancer. I just want to be on the floor with you."
Shane raised an eyebrow. "Why? So you can laugh at me?"
"No," Ilya said, stepping closer, his hands sliding down to rest heavily on Shane’s hips. His voice dropped, low and possessive. "Because I like when music is loud, lights are low, and everyone in the room looks at you and realizes you are mine. I like that you stand there looking stiff and awkward or sticking to me like glue, you still hot as fuck. I want to hold you while everybody else wishes they could."
Shane swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt dry. Ilya always knew exactly which buttons to press, sliding past Shane's defenses with shameless honesty.
Shane sighed, looking away for a second to fight off a reluctant smile before looking back up. "Fine. But we have a tactical problem."
"What problem?"
Shane gestured down at his ratty t-shirt and shorts. "I didn't pack for a club, Ilya. I packed for lounging, training, and walking around sight-seeing. I don't have 'going out' clothes."
Ilya blinked, then let out a sharp, booming laugh that echoed off the courtyard walls. He grabbed Shane by the wrist and yanked him toward the bedroom.
"Shane, my sweet sweet husband," Ilya laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "We are in fashion capital of Italy and millionaires. We go buy clothes."
***
The evening air had finally cooled down, replacing the afternoon humidity with a warm, golden breeze. Milan at dusk felt electric, the historic stone streets lined with glowing café lanterns and stylish locals out for their evening passeggiata.
Ilya led the way, his fingers laced tightly through Shane’s. He had zero shame about the public display of affection, occasionally bringing Shane’s knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss as they walked, utterly unbothered by the admiring—or envious—glances thrown their way. Shane, as usual, pretended to look straight ahead, though the slight flush on his neck betrayed him.
"Where are we even going?" Shane asked, jogging his arm slightly. "Most high-end places closed an hour ago."
"Not this one," Ilya smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I called ahead."
He turned a corner off the main avenue into a quiet, cobblestone alleyway lit by dim neon, pulling Shane through a doorway flanked by polished black marble.
The moment they stepped inside, Shane froze. The shop was sleek, minimalist, and smelled like expensive leather and cedarwood. But it was the displays that made Shane’s jaw drop.
The mannequins weren't wearing classic Italian suits. They were wearing sheer mesh, fitted fishnet tops, sleek leather harnesses, and tailored shorts so shockingly short Shane’s eyes darted straight to them—and he hated to admit to himself, even for a fraction of a second, that a tiny part of him actually wanted to try them on.
Shane glanced sideways at Ilya, who looked like a kid in a candy store. Of course.
Before Shane could say a word, a slim, immaculate man with slicked-back hair and a tailored vest swept out from the back showroom, offering them a warm, brilliant smile.
"Buonasera! Welcome," he said, stepping forward. "My name is Alessandro. Can I help you find anything tonight?"
Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulders, pulling him flush against his side, and gestured grandly to his reluctant partner.
"I want to go dance," Ilya announced cheerfully to Alessandro. "My husband has not brought anything to wear to club. We need everything."
Shane let out a low, long groan, dropping his chin toward his chest in defeat.
Alessandro broke into a soft, appreciative laugh, his eyes twinkling as he took in the dynamic between the two of them. "Ah, an emergency wardrobe update for a night out. I love it."
Alessandro stepped closer, looking Shane up and down. "Okay, let us get to work. Do you know your size here, Shane?"
Having worked with Italian brands before, Shane didn't even have to think about it. Without missing a beat, he rattled off his exact sizes like he was reading them off a sheet right in front of him—chest, waist, inseam, and European shoe conversions—crisp, effortless, and precise.
Ilya blinked, turning his head to stare at Shane in delighted surprise, while Alessandro’s eyes lit up with absolute approval.
"Magnifico," Alessandro beamed, clapping his hands together softly. "A man who knows his cuts. Stay right here, gentlemen. I am going to pull some pieces that will make sure no one takes their eyes off you tonight."
***
Alessandro disappeared into the back showroom with a cheerful nod, leaving the store quiet except for the soft ambient beat pulsing from the ceiling speakers.
Shane stayed planted in the center of the showroom floor, hands shoved into his pockets. Ilya slowly wandered around a display rack, eyeing a pair of boots, before glancing back over at Shane. Catching the hesitant, thoughtful look on his face, Ilya stepped closer, his teasing demeanor softening into something genuine.
"Is too much?" Ilya asked quietly, reaching out to gently touch Shane’s arm. "If you do not want, we can go when he comes back. Truly, Shane. We don't have to."
Shane looked up, meeting Ilya’s soft blue eyes. He shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips.
"No," Shane said softly. "I want to try the stuff on for you. I know how much you love to dance. And… we're in Milan. Why waste a night doing nothing?"
A wicked, familiar glint immediately returned to Ilya’s eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Well, we could do other things, but… we can still do that after club. You know when I see you looking hot like always, I cannot wait to get you into bed."
Shane’s cheeks instantly flushed crimson. He looked away with a chuckle, shaking his head. "I know, but we can talk about that later. I am not getting hard while I try on what I guess are going to be the shortest shorts I’ve ever worn in my life."
Ilya leaned in, pressing a firm, affectionate kiss to the side of Shane’s head, his voice dropping to a low purr against his ear. "I'm gonna want to rip them off you right on the dance floor."
Right then, Alessandro swept back out from behind a heavy velvet curtain, carrying an armful of sleek, black clothing that looked equal parts luxury and total sin.
"Fitting rooms are right back here," Alessandro announced smoothly. "Shane, you can use this large one on the left. Ilya, there is a very comfortable leather chair right here—you can sit and Shane can show you the items I picked. From our phone call earlier, I think you are going to be very happy."
Shane whipped his head around, shooting Ilya a sharp, suspicious look. What exactly had Ilya told him on the phone?
Ilya just sat back in the chair, crossing his ankles and giving Shane a completely unbothered, satisfied smile. Shane couldn't even stay mad; he rolled his eyes, let out a quiet laugh, and took the armful of clothes into the fitting room.
Inside, the dressing room was bright, lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Shane set the clothes down and took a breath before pulling on the first outfit.
When he turned around to look at himself in the mirror, his jaw nearly dropped. He already knew he wasn't going to need to try anything else on.
The shorts were leather, tailored with a absurdly short three-inch inseam that hugged his thighs like a second skin and left his bulge utterly undeniable. Above them, a sleek black leather harness hugged his chest and shoulders, perfectly overlaid by a fitted, translucent black mesh top that left nothing to the imagination, you could see every line and muscle. Shane turned, looking at himself from all angles in the triple-mirror setup.
He had to admit it, he looked fucking good.
Taking a steadying breath, Shane called out toward the curtain, "Okay... I'm coming out."
He pushed the velvet curtain open and stepped into the soft showroom lighting.
Ilya’s jaw practically hit the floor. He sat frozen in the chair, his eyes wide, running up and down Shane’s body in complete, stunned silence. Beside him, Alessandro grinned, bringing his hands together in a subtle, delighted little clap.
"Magnifico," Alessandro whispered softly.
***
Shane did a slow, deliberately teasing spin, letting the back of the outfit do the talking. When he turned back around to face Ilya, he couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped him. Ilya was staring, completely transfixed, his chest barely moving.
"Ilya, baby... breathe," Shane murmured, a fond smirk playing on his lips.
Ilya blinked, letting out a heavy exhale as if coming back to reality. Without taking his eyes off Shane for even a second, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his black card, and blindly extended it toward Alessandro.
Alessandro took the card with a smooth, practiced hand. "We still need you to try on what I pulled for you, Ilya, but I am guessing I got exactly what you wanted for Shane."
All Ilya could manage was a low, breathless, "Da."
Finally finding his voice, Ilya looked up into Shane’s eyes. "You like?"
Shane smoothed his hands down his sides, feeling the soft leather against his skin. "Yeah. I do. Do you?"
"So fucking much," Ilya growled softly.
"Okay, well... go try on what he pulled for you," Shane said, nudging him toward the second fitting room.
Ilya practically bounced out of his chair and popped into the room next door. Left alone in the main floor with Alessandro, Shane glanced over at the stylist.
"Your husband was very specific on what he wanted me to pull for you," Alessandro noted, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Shane chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I knew that the second you said you two talked on the phone."
A moment later, the curtain rustled, and Ilya stepped back out into the showroom floor.
He was wearing matching black leather shorts, but his was paired with a full-body black leather harness that snaked down his torso and disappeared seamlessly into the waistband of the shorts. Over top, he wore a short-sleeved mesh shirt in a sheer, deep shimmering red that caught the ambient store lighting with every move he made.
Shane stared at him, the air leaving his lungs all at once. "FUCK," Shane blurted out, instantly clapping a hand over his own mouth.
Alessandro burst into a delighted laugh. "You two are going to be the center of absolute attention at Club Domani tonight."
"Domani?" Shane asked, looking over.
"Si! And you are here at the absolute right time," Alessandro explained, adjusting the collar on Ilya's shirt. "They just changed to a massive new venue tonight, so every single 'who's who' in the city will be there. The theme tonight is Harness Your Power."
Shane smiled at the coincidence. "Are you going, too?"
"I am! Heading straight there after you guys leave," Alessandro said smoothly. "Ilya called and asked if I could stay open a little extra for you both tonight. I am so glad I did, you guys are going to completely kill it. Now, let us get you checked out."
As they moved toward the front counter, Alessandro offered, "If you want, you can leave your street clothes here. You are staying right up the street, yes? You can just swing by tomorrow afternoon to grab them."
"That would be amazing, thank you," Shane said.
Up at the front desk, Alessandro tapped Ilya’s card against the digital terminal with a soft beep and passed the digital screen over for a signature. "Perfect. Here is your receipt. If you want, we can even walk over to the club together, I just need to run into the back for two minutes to change."
"Okay," Shane and Ilya said in unison.
While Alessandro disappeared into the back staff area, Shane stepped in close to Ilya. He slowly ran his palms down Ilya’s chest, feeling the thick leather straps beneath the shimmering red mesh, letting his fingers trail down until they stopped right at the waistband of Ilya's shorts.
Shane hooked his fingers into the strap near Ilya's hip, giving it a slight tug. "Is that... hooked around your...?"
"Around my dick?" Ilya asked softly, a dangerous, filthy smirk taking over his face. "Yes. Has nice ring on it. You like?"
Shane’s grin turned entirely predatory. "I love it. That is definitely getting more use than just tonight."
"Yes it will," Ilya promised, leaning down to press a hot, firm kiss against Shane’s neck.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Alessandro stepped back out into the showroom, looking entirely transformed. He was wearing heavy black combat boots, skin-tight leather pants, and a thick chest harness fitted underneath an unbuttoned leather vest.
"Ready, boys?" Alessandro asked, flashing a bright, electric smile.
Shane and Ilya looked at each other, their eyes full of heat and adrenaline.
"Ready," they said together, and stepped out into the Milan night.
***
Club Domani was a sensory overload in the best way possible. The new venue was a massive, subterranean industrial warehouse with exposed brick, thundering bass that vibrated straight through the concrete floor, and crimson and violet laser lights slicing through the thick haze of the crowd.
They stood near the main bar with Alessandro, who was already nodding to half a dozen sleek people in the VIP section. Shane stood with his back against the solid polished wood of the bar, trying to ground himself. Between the booming bass, the flashing lights, and the sheer volume of bodies grinding against each other on the floor, his senses were working overtime.
Ilya knew Shane better than anyone. He knew the exact line between Shane feeling hot and confident, and Shane getting completely overstimulated. And he knew Shane needed just one sharp, burning kick to get out of his head and into his body.
Ilya signaled the bartender, holding up three fingers. "Three shots of tequila. Salt and lime."
The bartender popped three heavy glass shot glasses onto the bar, poured a top-shelf clear tequila, and set down a small plate of fresh lime wedges and salt. Alessandro picked one up with a suave, appreciative grin, winking at Shane.
Before picking up his own glass, Ilya stepped into Shane's space, blocking out the rest of the overwhelming room with his broad frame. He placed one hand firmly on the back of Shane’s neck, the leather straps of his harness warm under Shane's touch.
Ilya leaned down, pressing his lips close to the shell of Shane’s ear so his deep voice carried right over the pounding bass.
"I love you so fucking much," Ilya whispered, his breath hot against Shane's skin. "Thank you for coming with me tonight."
Shane felt his entire body instantly relax, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he leaned into Ilya's touch.
"We take shot," Ilya continued, brushing a soft kiss against Shane’s temple, "and we move to dance floor. Forget about everything and everyone here, Shane. Just get lost in the music with me, ok?"
Shane looked up into Ilya’s soft, devious blue eyes and felt the heat rushing back through his veins. He smiled, nodding. "Okay."
"To an incredible night," Alessandro toasted, raising his glass.
They clapped their shot glasses together. Before Shane could reach for the salt, Ilya grabbed a lime wedge, rubbed the fresh juice along the column of his own neck up toward his jaw, and sprinkled a dash of salt over the wet skin. He tucked the lime wedge lightly between his front teeth, looking down at Shane with heavy, hooded eyes and a daring smirk.
Shane didn't hesitate. He stepped in close, cupped the back of Ilya's head, and dragged his tongue up Ilya's neck, licking the salt clean all the way to his jawline. He knocked back the tequila, feeling the burn coat his throat, and immediately leaned in to bite down on the lime wedge still resting in Ilya's mouth.
They shared the sharp burst of citrus right there on the edge of the bar, the fiery alcohol hitting Shane's system instantly and taking the edge right off the room.
Ilya slammed his glass down, grabbed Shane’s hand, and pulled him straight toward the beating heart of the dance floor.
***
They cut through the sea of bodies, the crowd parting just enough for Ilya to pull Shane directly into the center of the packed dance floor. Right as they reached the sweet spot under the pulsing crimson lights, the heavy beat dropped out, shifting into the instantly recognizable synth melody of Glue by Bicep.
Ilya’s eyes lit up. He pulled Shane flush against him, chest to chest, his hands sliding low down Shane’s back.
"This is my favorite song," Ilya breathed against his lips, already swaying, his hips smoothly locking into the hypnotic rhythm and grinding directly into his husband’s body.
At first, Shane was still a little stiff, his mind trying to calculate the timing as he attempted to match Ilya’s effortless, liquid motion. But thirty seconds in, as the deep, ambient bassline kicked back in, Shane finally found the groove. He let his shoulders drop, his hands settling heavy and firm on Ilya’s waist, and started grinding back into him, his body rolling slowly against Ilya's to the beat.
The music began to swell, and Ilya’s movements grew hungrier. He slid his hands up Shane’s leather harness, burying his face in the crook of Shane’s neck. Without warning, Ilya bit down hard enough to leave a mark, causing Shane to stumble in his step for a split second, letting out a hot, gravelly moan right into the noise of the crowd before immediately locking back into the rhythm.
Shane could feel it now, the weight of dozens of eyes on them from every direction. Normally, he’d shrink away from that kind of spotlight, leaving Ilya to be the one to say let them look. But tonight? Tonight, Shane was right there with him. Tonight, he was going to give them a fucking show.
Shane grabbed Ilya’s hips and ground harder into him, then gripped his waist and smoothly spun him around so Ilya’s back was flush against his chest.
Ilya let out a breathless laugh, reaching his arms up over his head and wrapping them around the back of Shane’s neck, arching his back directly into Shane’s frame. Shane didn't hold back; he slowly ran his hands down the front of Ilya’s chest, over the shimmering red mesh and the tight leather straps, while his hips pressed and ground rhythmically into Ilya’s ass.
Every ounce of overstimulation, every lingering trace of hesitation, completely evaporated. Shane was completely lost in the music, just like Ilya promised, forgetting about the venue, the crowd, and the entire world, locked in a world of two, just dancing with his husband.
The track melted into a heavy, hypnotic industrial beat, the bass rumbling straight up through the soles of their boots and rattling in Shane’s chest. Ilya turned back around in Shane’s arms, his face flushed, dark hair clinging damply to his forehead. He was breathless, his blue eyes blown wide and dark under the swirling purple strobe lights.
He leaned up, grabbing Shane by the back of his neck, and dragged him down into a filthy, breathless kiss right there in the middle of the crowded floor. It was deep, possessive, and hot, tasting like salt, lime, and top-shelf tequila. Shane kissed him back hard, wrapping one arm tightly around Ilya’s waist and pulling him so close there wasn't a single millimeter of space left between them.
When Ilya finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Shane’s, his breath hitched. "You are incredible," Ilya rasped, his hands resting on the exposed skin of Shane's chest through the mesh top. "You see how everyone looks at you? I told you. Hot as fuck."
Shane let out a low, breathless laugh, his hands sliding down to rest heavily on Ilya’s hips, right over the tight leather of his shorts. "I don't give a damn about everyone else, Rozanov. I'm only looking at you."
Ilya’s smirk returned, sharp and dangerous. He reached down, hooking his fingers into the front of Shane’s harness, tugging him an inch closer. "Good. Because if we stay here much longer, I am going to ruin these very expensive clothes right on this floor."
Shane hummed against Ilya’s lips, grinding his hips forward just enough to make Ilya’s eyes flutter shut with a quiet gasp. "We paid for them. We can do whatever we want."
"Ah, spoken like true millionaire," Ilya teased, his voice dropping an octave as his hand trailed low, feeling the undeniable heat and hardness pressing against the front of Shane’s three-inch leather shorts. "Come on. Back to hotel. Now."
Shane didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Ilya’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and led the way off the floor. As they cut through the crowd toward the exit, Shane caught sight of Alessandro holding court near the edge of the VIP area. Alessandro caught their eye, flashing a sleek grin, giving them a knowing wink, and mouthing, See you tomorrow.
Shane smiled back, giving him a quick nod before pulling Ilya past the heavy velvet curtains and out into the cool Milan night air.
***
The hotel room door had barely clicked shut behind them before Ilya pinned Shane against the entryway wall, his hands hot and greedy on Shane's hips. He didn't even give Shane a chance to catch his breath before hooking his arms under Shane's thighs and lifting him effortlessly off the floor.
Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya's waist with an eager groan, locking his arms around Ilya’s neck as Ilya carried him across the darkened suite and tossed him heavily onto the plush king bed.
Shane hit the mattress with a breathless laugh, but Ilya was already over him, straddling his lap like a predator. Ilya leaned down, pressing a hard, bruising kiss to Shane’s lips while his fingers worked fast, unbuttoning Shane's leather shorts and peeling them down his legs, along with the mesh top.
Ilya reached for the straps of the leather chest harness, preparing to unbuckle it, but Shane grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
"Leave it on," Shane panted, his chest heaving, dark eyes fixed on Ilya’s.
A wicked, sinful smile spread across Ilya’s face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Shane rasped. "Leave yours on, too."
"Whatever my husband wants," Ilya purred.
He stripped Shane down the rest of the way, leaving only the sleek leather straps binding Shane's chest. Ilya backed off just enough to yank his own shorts off, keeping his body harness intact, before leaning over Shane once more.
"Roll over," Ilya commanded softly, his voice thick with intent.
Shane obeyed instantly, turning onto his stomach and arching his back, pushing his hips up into the air.
Ilya let out a low, guttural growl at the view. He moved in behind Shane, his large, warm hands coming down hard on Shane’s ass, gripping the firm cheeks and spreading him wide. Without a second of hesitation, Ilya leaned down and dived his tongue directly into Shane’s waiting hole.
Shane gasped, his fingers clutching tightly into the white hotel sheets as a loud, helpless moan echoed off the walls. Ilya was relentless, his hot tongue swirling, licking, and pushing deeper into him, coaxing Shane’s body to open up completely.
Within minutes, Shane was completely squirming, the sensation overwhelming as he felt the slick pool of Ilya’s spit gathering at his entrance.
Ilya slicked his fingers and slowly pushed one inside. Shane arched higher into the touch, letting out a ragged breath as Ilya worked the finger deep, quickly adding a second to stretch him out.
Ilya leaned his upper body down over Shane's back, pressing his chest harness flat against Shane's spine. He gripped Shane’s waist tight, burying his face in the crook of Shane’s neck, his hot breath washing over his damp skin.
"You were so fucking hot tonight," Ilya rasped in his ear, his fingers working inside Shane with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made Shane’s knees weak. "And when you spun me around... pressing your dick into my ass on that floor... I knew we would not be there much longer."
Shane let out a low, breathless groan, dragging his face into the pillow as Ilya’s words settled over him like heat. He pushed his hips back against Ilya’s hand, pleading for more. "Stop talking and get inside me, Ilya."
Ilya chuckled, a deep vibration against Shane’s spine. He withdrew his fingers, leaving Shane slick and achingly open, and reached around to stroke the thick head of his cock against Shane’s entrance.
"Patience, moy lyubimyy," Ilya murmured, though his own ragged breathing betrayed him.
Holding Shane’s hips firm, Ilya pressed forward, sinking into him in one long, smooth stroke.
Shane gasped, his fingers digging deep into the mattress as he stretched around Ilya's full length. The contrast of the cold leather harness binding his chest and the sheer, fiery heat of Ilya filling him up pushed Shane straight over the edge of sensory overload in the best possible way.
Ilya paused for a fraction of a second, letting Shane adjust, his chest heaving against Shane’s back. "Ah, fuck, Shane... you feel so good."
"Move," Shane rasped out, tilting his head back to look over his shoulder. "Ilya, please."
Ilya established a deep, relentless pace, his hips driving into Shane with heavy, rhythmic thuds that echoed through the quiet bedroom. Every thrust pulled the leather straps taut against Ilya's chest, the friction of their bodies and the slick heat between them driving them both wild.
Shane’s moans became completely unrestrained, ringing out through the room. He rode every stroke, pushing back to meet Ilya, completely undone.
Ilya reached one hand around Shane’s waist, slipping his fingers down to grip Shane’s slick, neglected cock, pumping him in perfect sync with his thrusts. Shane arched hard into the touch, his voice breaking on a sharp sob of pleasure.
"Look at me," Ilya growled softly, leaning down to press his mouth against Shane's jaw, his thrusts growing faster, harder, completely unhinged. "Look at me, Shane."
Shane turned his face, catching Ilya’s dark, blown-out gaze, and kissed him, a mess of hot breaths, bruised lips, and desperate quiet noises.
"I'm close," Shane choked out against his lips. "Ilya, I'm right there, "
"Go," Ilya demanded, thrusting deep and hitting that exact spot inside him over and over. "Come for me, Shane. Show me."
That was all it took. Shane shattered, his entire body going taut as he came hard across the sheets, his walls clamping tight around Ilya. The tight, pulsing squeeze sent Ilya straight over the edge; with a low, guttural growl, Ilya buried himself as deep as he could go, pouring into Shane as he held him tight against his chest.
For a long time, the room was quiet except for the sound of their heavy, ragged breathing.
Ilya slowly collapsed forward, burying his face in Shane’s neck, his arms wrapped around Shane's waist as their hearts hammered together in sync.
After a few minutes, Ilya pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of Shane’s shoulder, right over a strap of the leather harness.
"See?" Ilya whispered, his voice warm, lazy, and completely satisfied. "Told you we go buy clothes, we go dance, we have good night."
Shane let out a quiet, breathless laugh, rolling his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You were right. As usual." He shifted slightly, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Ilya, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "So... how long do you need to wait to go another round?"
Ilya let out a soft, low chuckle against Shane’s damp skin, his mouth curving into a slow, satisfied grin. "You are dangerous when you get a taste for Milan, moy lyubimyy."
Ilya shifted his weight, sliding out slowly with a heavy, lingering sigh that made Shane shiver. He rolled onto his back beside him, pulling Shane flush against his side and wrapping one long arm around his waist, his thumb lazily tracing the leather strap bound across Shane’s chest.
"Give me ten minutes and a glass of water," Ilya purred, sliding his hand down to rest heavily on Shane’s bare hip. "Then we see how much energy you really have left."
Shane smirked, leaning up to press a lingering, warm kiss to the underside of Ilya’s jaw. "With you, I have all the energy in the world, baby."