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“You think I’m an asshole,” Rozanov said. “You are an asshole.” “I would not leave you like that.” “No?” He kissed him again. “No.”
He’s better at blow jobs than me. The thought crashed to the front of Shane’s brain, and he quickly grabbed for his water glass, nearly knocking it over.
But Rozanov was gazing down at Shane, who was still fully clothed, like he was trying to decide where to take his first bite, and Shane felt...vulnerable. And he was kind of into it.
This, he realized, was why people were so wild about sex. He had never, ever felt like this with anyone before.
Hollander had bought them a fucking building.
“I think I’m gay,” Shane blurted out. Ilya looked at him, startled, for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh yeah? What gives you that idea?” Shane glared at him, which made Ilya laugh more. “The last time my dick was in your mouth, I thought you might be a little gay,” Ilya teased.
“Mm. I did not like you. Just your freckles.”
“We’re not alone,” Shane slurred. “Ilya. They can see us.”
Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.
“Don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane blurted out.
“Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?” Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead. “Not anymore.”
“If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”
And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’” Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

