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“Hmm.” He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth. I pulled them out, and he whined.

“Tell me, and I’ll make you come from my fingers inside you.”

“Mancini wants to meet with me.” Stas lowered his back, offering up his ass.

I grabbed the lube from the shelf and applied a generous amount onto my fingers. They slipped inside him with ease, since he was still pretty open from last night.

“Are you going to meet him?” I asked.

“No fair. You’re using sex to get your way.”

“So what? You want to come, Stas, you better sing like a fucking canary.”

“Do you think I’m such a slut that I’ll tell you everything just for an orgasm?”

Grinning, I sink my teeth into his neck. “Yes. You and I know you’d do anything just to make me put my dick inside you.”

“Fuck you, you big dick bastard.”

Laughing, I lined up and pressed the head of my cock inside him. He moaned, but I paused.

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Yes, to be fair, we should have given him a courtesy call before we came out in public. It’s their turf. Now shut up about Mancini and fuck me!”

“Keep your panties on.” But that wouldn’t make sense. “Or off is better. Speaking of panties, your ass would look so fucking sexy in a thong, Stas. One of those with the lace on them.”

“I’ll wear any damn thing you want me to wear, Yuriy. Just fuck me already!”

“Happy to oblige.”

I dug my fingers into Stas’s sides, holding him steady as I drove my cock and buried myself inside him in one thrust. He cried out, head thrown back, as water cascaded over us.

He wanted me to wreck him, so I did, relentlessly fucking him hard up against the glass, each stroke pushing him higher while his nails scraped over the glass walls as if it was his only lifeline.

“Oh god, fuck,” he gasped out, his voice broken and desperate. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Feels so good. Yuriy, fuck me!”

The sense of control I felt at that moment, seeing Stanislav Zhukovsky, the pakhan, come unraveled beneath my hands and on my cock, one word tumbling from his lips over and over—my name—it was euphoric.

His body clenched around my cock as his orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave, pulling me under and dragging me along with him. Stas cried out again, his voice raw and guttural as I spilled inside him, filling him until we were both spent and panting. Water splashed against our bodies in a near scalding rhythm.

Fuck.

That had to be a record for the fastest finish I ever had, but damn, being inside Stas just felt so good I couldn’t last.

For a long moment, the only sound was the water beating against the glass and our uneven breaths. Stas was the first to move. Not far, just enough to brace a trembling hand on the glass while he stroked the other down to my forearm, holding on like he needed the anchor. His back rose and fell too fast, steam curling around him, the muscles under his skin shivering with the aftershocks he was trying—and failing—to hide.

I dragged a hand up his spine, slow, steady, letting his body settle under mine. His breathing eased by degrees. He dipped his head forward until his forehead touched the glass, fogging it with each exhale.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re welcome.”

A soft huff of laughter shook through him. He turned his head to look back at me over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes—god—his eyes had that softened, wrecked warmth he only ever let me see after he came undone.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he murmured.

“Not today and never before breakfast.” I brushed my thumb across the bone of his hip. “I’m not heartless.”