Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

“You taste like that horrible gum you chew.” “Is so I don’t smoke!” “Shut up.”

“You been practicing that, Hollander?” “No,” Shane grumbled. “No? You been saving it for me?” Shane didn’t reply, which was as good as confirmation.

“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.” “Fuck off.” “Such a mouth on you.” “Don’t say it.” “I preferred it when it was on me.” “Dammit, Rozanov.”

He realized, as he was making this plan, that he was brushing his fingertips over his lips. They still tingled from the memory of the other man’s mouth pressed against them.

He passed the water bottle back, and this time he could swear Rozanov let his fingers brush Shane’s wrist on purpose. It was a moment that seemed to last forever, but was probably less than a second. Shane wanted Rozanov to touch him again. Shane wanted to touch him back.

You’re half hard right now. From sitting on the gym floor with another man.

But he could get in the shower and jerk off and try like hell to think about his girlfriend, or any girl. Anything other than those red, wet lips and that dark stubble and those hazel eyes...

For the rest of his life, Shane Hollander would have to live with the fact that he had ended his NHL draft day by getting himself off to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov.

His face and his freckles were everywhere:

“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.” “You’re painted up too.” Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.”

“You will. Screw Ilya Rozanov, right? That can be your mantra tonight.” Or not. Shane forced a smile. “Sure. Screw him.”

Under the table, he felt Rozanov’s foot tap against his own. It was the chastest contact in the world, but it still made Shane’s heart stop.

The idea that Ilya was probably the only one who ever saw him like this—that he was the only person in the entire fucking world who knew what it felt like to have those pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock...

With Rozanov safely out of the room, Shane grinned stupidly at the ceiling. He was maybe happier than he should be that his most successful sexual experience to date was with Ilya Rozanov.

And then, on a whim, pressing Shane against a wall and kissing him like he would die without Shane’s mouth on his.

Ilya liked it when Hollander was angry. He liked it when Hollander took out his frustrations on Ilya’s body. He liked him cursing him as he fucked Ilya’s mouth.

“You will move here?” “No. It’s just an investment, or whatever. And I thought it could be a safe place to...meet.” Hollander was damn cute when he was embarrassed. “Did you buy a building so we would have somewhere to fuck, Hollander?”

Hollander crossed the room and opened yet another door. This one led to... ...a fully finished bedroom. Like, a really nice one. “I, uh, I kinda made the bedroom the priority. And the bathroom. So we could—”

But Ilya didn’t let Hollander finish his sentence. He gripped Hollander’s arms and pushed him back against the closest wall and kissed him. Hollander had bought them a fucking building.

“Starving for it, yes, Hollander?” Ilya slid forward, positioning his body closer to Hollander’s face. To his mouth. Hollander’s chest was heaving beneath him, and he glared up at Ilya with dark, intense eyes. “Is okay,” Ilya said soothingly. He tapped the head of his cock against Hollander’s lips. “You can. Take it.”

“Hollander?” “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I just...you didn’t even touch me!” And Ilya just...laughed. Because it was fucking funny. “Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

“Holy shit, Hollander,” Ilya gasped when he was able to speak again. “I’m dead. You killed me.” Hollander was sitting up now, and staring at the mess on Ilya’s stomach. “That was really hot.”

Fuck him. Not even a text for five months and now he’s going to be all sexy and annoying like nothing’s changed?

“What?” “Show off for me. Let me watch you.” “You—what?” “Is my special night, Hollander. I want to watch you.”

And Shane left. He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.

Be the best blow job of your life, sweetheart. Ilya winked at him.

Ilya found himself smiling a bit too, on his bench in Philadelphia. Well, now he was going to have to score two goals tonight.

Shane gave him a flirty look. “Hayden, do you find me attractive?” “Look, pal. If I was a woman, I’d be all over you.”

Shane sighed. “Tell your dad to lay off my love life, all right, Arthur?” But Arthur had fallen asleep.

it was getting harder for Ilya to deny that there was something in his core that was drawn to Hollander. Instead of getting him out of his system with their hookups, each one just made him want more.

“Jesus, Hollander,” Rozanov said. He placed a hand on the side of Shane’s face. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

He never felt submissive, doing this. He loved reducing Rozanov to whimpers and Russian profanity. And, god help him, he especially loved doing it here, in Rozanov’s home. In his bedroom.

Later, when they were fucking, Shane braced himself with a hand flat on Rozanov’s chest. Rozanov covered that hand with his own, which surprised Shane.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Rozanov panted, and Shane didn’t even have a chance to be shocked by the pet name before Rozanov was coming too. When it was over, he dropped to his elbows over Shane and kissed him messily.

And there was something that was far too soothing about the way Rozanov’s fingers combed through Shane’s short hair, and curved down to trace the bridge of freckles that stretched across his face.

“I got, um, ginger ale. You like that shit, right?” “Yeah. I do.”

Over the years he had developed an affinity for ginger ale as a substitute for beer. But it wasn’t like he’d ever talked about that to Rozanov.

“You want to make me a tuna melt?” Rozanov shrugged. “I’m making one for me. I can make two. Ginger ale is in fridge.” He seemed to really want Shane to drink the ginger ale. As Shane took one from the fridge, he wondered if it might be poisoned.

Ginger ale good? Cold enough?” “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.” He looked pleased.

Rozanov grabbed himself a bottle of Coke out of the fridge. Shane realized that he knew that Coke was Rozanov’s beverage of choice. So maybe they had picked up things about each other over the years, without really trying.

“I like girls.” “Yeah, no shit.” “But I also like you.” “Well, lucky me,” Shane grumbled.

“Not as a person, of course,” Rozanov teased. “But you have a good mouth.” He took a suggestive bite of his dill pickle.

No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.

“Why do I need this so much?” Shane muttered the words against Rozanov’s lips, and hoped the other man hadn’t heard them. “Need what?” Rozanov asked, as if he didn’t know.

“You like that?” he growled. “You gonna come for me, Rozanov?” “Fucking make me, Hollander.”

Shane gasped, and his stroking became frantic and sloppy and he was so close... “Come on,” he gritted out. Then Rozanov went very still and said, “Oh god. Shane...” and he came in hot bursts, coating Shane’s hand and allowing Shane to use the slickness to bring himself off almost immediately, with the sound of his first name being spoken in a breathless Russian accent still ringing in his ears.

They held each other, both breathing heavily as they waited for their hearts to stop racing. But Shane didn’t think his heart would ever stop racing. Shane. He called me Shane. He pulled back so he could see Rozanov’s face, and was shocked to see him staring at him with the same wid...

Ilya didn’t answer. Instead, he crushed their mouths together and kissed Shane in a raw, uncontrolled ...

Shane’s heart was racing, and it wasn’t from taking the stairs. Every fiber of him wanted to run right back up those stairs and into Ilya’s arms. To wrap himself around him and go to bed with him and wake up with him.

He’d love to catch a glimpse of Rose Landry, but he was sort of enjoying looking at Maxime.