Shane putting his hand on Ilya’s throat, tell me more
“You good, Rozanov?” Shane asks, a cocky smirk resting on his lips and his brown eyes hazy with lust.
He’s looking down at Ilya who is on the couch, with Shane straddling his lap and the tip of his cock being clenched by Shane’s tight hole. He is dizzy with Shane’s strength, how he holds himself just above Ilya’s cock and rocks so slightly to swallow the head but never fully taking the whole thing. How his abs clench with the slow and control the rock of his hips.
A big calloused hand reaches up and lands on Ilya’s throat, wrapping firm across it just enough to feel a little struggle from his Adam’s apple as he gulps.
“I said—are you good, Ilya?” Shane repeats, using his grip on Ilya’s neck to push his chin up make eye contact with him fully. Ilya’s head drops onto the back of the couch and he nods small and fast, his hair scratching at the material.
“Ye-yeah, yes, good.” He gets out. He sounds drunk almost. Drunk on the strength of Shane, on the control he has.
He has Ilya at his mercy right now. He could ask him to do anything and he would without a thought.
Shane takes that dazed drunk look of Ilya in, eyes bouncing across his tacky sweaty skin, and he licks a tongue over his bottom lip before drop his hips down in a deep roll that has Ilya bottoming out as Shane pushes a little firmer on his throat.
“Fuckin—” Ilya’s eyes roll back in his head and his hands grasp for dear life on Shane’s hips.
Shane does an airy chuckle as he grinds back and forth in Ilya’s lap.
He loosens his grip on Ilya’s neck, but doesn’t remove his hand, just rubs his calloused thumb back and forth soothingly as he torments Ilya with his hips.
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