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Ilya’s eyes flashed like embers in a hearth. “Do not shower.”
“What are you talking about?” Shane spluttered.
Ilya took Shane’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger, and with his lips just a mere breadth away from a kiss, said, “I have listened to you, reporters, and stupid management argue about ‘The future of Ilya Rozanov’ for a whole week. I do not give a shit. Right now, I want you here, in my arms. I want you to think about nothing else. I want you to beg a little. For me.”
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