— You make your own partner smaller, Ilya thought, the words in his mind as cold and hard as a skate blade. You dull your own life on purpose. For ten minutes. ❤️❤️ A king!!
— Ilya’s heart did a painful, longing squeeze in his chest. He wanted to be on that couch, crushing Shane into the cushions, nuzzling his neck, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and tea. The yearning was so acute it felt like nausea. 😍😍 The yearning! They spent so long apart and now that they are together, maybe the yearning is worse because Ilya knows what he’s missing.
— He wasn’t a prude. He’d seen plenty in his life. But this felt like a violation of something pure he carried with him. The love he had was a quiet, stubborn, domestic thing. It was meticulously folded laundry and hissed warnings about smoking and facetimes in soft sweaters. This neon-bright, body-and-sweat show didn’t just fail to arouse him; it felt like an insult to the real thing. 😢😢
— Shane’s flush deepened, spreading down his neck. The mention of marriage, so blunt and certain, always did that to him. But he didn’t look away. His own possessive, obsessive streak, usually so carefully contained, glinted in his eyes. 🤩🤩🤩🤩
— Ilya’s mind was a white noise of sensation. The constant, gentle pressure. The focus it brought, centering him right here, in this room, under this gaze. The shocking, profound rightness of it. “Safe,” he breathed, the truth of it astonishing him. “It feels… like yours.” 🔥🔥🔥 Love this.
— He was gone. He was owned. And in the perfect, blank submission of his mind, Ilya Rozanov had never been more free. ❤️❤️❤️ Perfect!
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Imp1969 Tue 30 Dec 2025 08:59PM UTC
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