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Summary
“Do you know why I scored nine goals, Rozanov?” Shane asks while playing with Ilya’s bottom lip, a finger gently sliding over it.
“No idea, Hollander.” Ilya tries to bite the finger.
“Because…” Shane leans close to Ilya’s ear and whispers, “I was promised nine inches of the cock I want.” He pulls away slowly, observing each microchange in Ilya’s expression.
