Lasha smiled absently. Oleksei's valiant attempt at suppressing his sheer panic was endearing.

"Because I don't care to chafe my cock on your marble ass, you telamon."

He uncapped the tube and eased the gel into his palm, letting it absorb his body heat for a moment.

"A stroke needs both friction and glide, nyet?"

Most men knew that much from the special time they spent with themselves.

"Relax, Tarasha."

He applied his palms to Oleksei's ass, slicking him well and sensuously, massaging the cleft and outward, then back in. He was generous with the vehicle; he knew from experience on both sides of the equation that a liberal application made sensation more acute, and pleasure more decadent.

"There," Lasha whispered. "You see? Harmless as a kiss."