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    Summary

    “Shane,” he tried to say, but all that came out was a low moan. Shane responded with a little whine of his own, more a hiss of air through his teeth than anything, but it was enough to make Ilya dizzy. He wanted to lean forward, shove his face right at the darkening patch of wetness on the back of Shane’s shorts. He wanted to lick him clean, pull his underwear aside, stick his tongue into the source of that honey and cinnamon and apple scent. He wanted to bathe in it, drench his skin until the smell could never be scrubbed away, he wanted—

    He had scented his fucking boss. And Shane was still frozen in place.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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