The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

Shane loved Ilya so much it physically hurt to contain it some days. He didn’t want to be a gay icon, or deal with any of the attention they would get from the hockey world—both good and bad—if they ever disclosed their relationship, but he wished he could love Ilya openly without dealing with any of that.

Shane kept his hand on Ilya’s back for the rest of the show, removing it only briefly to applaud after each song. He felt like he was getting away with something, the way his palm pressed into the heat of Ilya’s sweat-soaked back. The way each of Ilya’s silent breaths felt loud against Shane’s fingers.

“Would you show me off?” Shane asked quietly. He could feel the heat of Ilya’s gaze even without looking. “I would never stop showing you off,” Ilya said. “If I could.”

I’m married to the best woman in the world and we have...four beautiful children.” Shane grinned. “Did you hesitate before you said four?” “No!” “Did you actually lose track of how many kids you have?” Hayden lightly punched Shane’s thigh.

Shane’s gaze went to the head of his cock. “Fuck. Fuck! I’m going to—oh shit.” Shane probably realized the same moment that Ilya did that his face was directly in the line of fire. It was a moment too late, if he wanted to do anything about it. His cock spurted ribbon after ribbon of come over his cheeks, chin, and lips. One stripe landed across his eyebrow. It was all too much for Ilya. He made a last-second decision, pulled out, and gently lowered Shane to the mattress just in time for Ilya to shoot his load all over Shane’s chest.

Shane glanced around the room nervously, but no one seemed to be paying attention. “I’m fine,” he said tersely. J.J. laughed. “If being wound so tight you seem like you are going to fly apart at any second is fine, then sure.” “I’m not!” Shane said in the tone of someone who was about to fly apart.

Evan Dykstra was dancing next to him, dressed like a bee. He did not look stunning.

“Been thinking about this all night,” Shane said, gazing up at him with dark, lust-drunk eyes. Then he flipped the front of Ilya’s skirt up and hauled Ilya’s underwear down. Ilya hadn’t even finished stepping out of them before Shane wrapped his lips around his hard cock. “Shane,” Ilya breathed. Shane didn’t need any costume pieces to look like a fantasy. He was absolutely beautiful, on his knees for Ilya. He was always so beautiful.

“Ilya,” he panted. “So perfect. Love this.” “Make yourself come,” Ilya ordered, somewhat frantically. “Now.” Shane stoked himself furiously, his gaze fixed on Ilya’s face. His eyes were huge and shiny and Ilya wanted to dive into them. He wanted to stay buried in Shane forever, making him come again and again and again.

“So how was he?” Shane asked. He was sprawled out on his hotel bed, completely exhausted after the game. “So cute, Shane. You should see him!” “What?” Troy Barrett was an attractive man, sure, but that was an unexpected reaction from Ilya. “He licked my face with his little tongue!” “Uh.” “His ears are so floppy, and he is so soft. I wanted to carry him around all practice.” Oh. “I meant Troy, idiot. Not the puppy.”

Quietly, in a voice that couldn’t disguise his pain, he said, “I already chose you, Hollander.” He stepped back, and watched Shane’s eyes widen. After a moment, Shane’s lips parted as if he had something to say, but Ilya didn’t want to hear it. “Go home,” Ilya said. “Please.” Then he turned and walked quickly upstairs.

“Or you could just be cool for once in your life.” Shane’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. Ilya is such a bad influence on you!”

Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand. And Shane hadn’t even bothered to look at it before. Not really. He looked now. He scrolled until his eyes were so blurry he had to give up and sob into his hands instead. How could Shane have doubted for a second how fiercely Ilya loved him?

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

Ilya pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the crucifix pendant through the fabric of his shirt. He prayed, quietly and with no real structure. He murmured requests for whoever was listening to keep Shane safe, to let him live a long, happy life.

They had lots of reasons to keep their relationship a secret, but those reasons seemed extremely unimportant now. What if Ilya had died? What if he had fucking died? Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly, and for the rest of his life. He clutched his phone to his chest, and turned his head to face the window so his teammates didn’t see the way his lip was trembling.

He’d once told Shane, years ago, that one day he would cover the dock at his cottage in candles. That he’d bring Shane down there, then ask him to marry him. It had been a joke, sort of. But now he was really standing in a room full of candles and— Shane sank to one knee in front of him.

“I choose you, Ilya. I promise I will always, always choose you.” Shane’s eyes began to shimmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”

Shane smiled at him when they were both naked, wide and bright and beautiful. He was staring at Ilya’s chest, and Ilya glanced down to see the ring there, glinting in the light of a million candles. “Yours,” Ilya said. “Mine.” Shane crashed into him again, kissing him hungrily.

Shane watched Ilya’s face as he pushed inside. His eyes were wide like the sensation still surprised him, after all these years. Like he hadn’t been expecting Shane to welcome him inside so easily. Like he somehow didn’t know he belonged there. “I love you so much,” Shane whispered.

“What if they could see?” Ilya’s voice was low and quiet and his words made Shane’s cock twitch. “If that wall was a window.” Shane squeezed his eyes shut, which only helped him to imagine it. “Fuck,” he said. “They could see how well you take it. How much you love it.” “Stop,” Shane said weakly, not meaning it at all. “They would be so jealous of me. Getting to have you like this.” Shane opened his eyes. “They’d be jealous of me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Shane extracted his finger and kissed Ilya’s spine while he waited for him to come down. Finally, Ilya said, “I hope you did not like that pillow.” Shane laughed. “That bad, huh?” “My whole body just shot out of my dick.”

They both laughed, and then kissed until exhaustion made their mouths sloppy and slow. Ilya fell asleep first, and Shane listened to his steady breathing as his own body fizzed with happiness.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He bent over Shane so he could speak directly in his ear. “I feel like I am fucking a king right now.” “Ilya—” He grabbed a handful of Shane’s hair and tugged his head back. “Do you know how powerful this feels, fucking a king in his throne room?” “Fu—fucking hell, Rozanov.”

“You are Shane fucking Hollander,” Ilya growled. “If you ever forget that, I will drag you back in here and fuck you until you remember.” “We—we’ll share a trophy room someday,” Shane stammered. Ilya smiled. “Yes. A fucking empire.” Shane tilted his head back against Ilya’s shoulder. “A dynasty,” he breathed. “Oh, fuck, Ilya. I love you.”

Shane grinned up at him, all flushed skin and freckles and bright eyes. Ilya wanted to, like, crawl inside him somehow.

“Can I take you to bed now, then? And you wear only that jersey?” Shane leaned in and kissed him. “Is this a hazing thing?” “Yes. I do it to everyone.” “Shut up.” “Troy was incredible.” Shane shoved him with both hands. “You’re the worst. Come ravage me.” Ilya grinned and chased him up the stairs.