He stroked faster, with his forehead resting on Rozanov’s shoulder. Shane was very close, and judging by the way Rozanov was thrusting his hips and babbling in Russian, he wasn’t far behind. “You like that?” he growled. “You gonna come for me, Rozanov?” “Fucking make me, Hollander.” Shane gasped, and his stroking became frantic and sloppy and he was so close...
