Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

And that was the last word Shane got out before Rozanov’s mouth crashed into his. Shane gripped his leather jacket with both hands and pulled him closer as he kissed Rozanov breathless.

“Don’t worry, Hollander,” Rozanov said, his lips brushing Shane’s ear, “I am going to fuck you like you want, yes?” “Yes,”

Part of him wanted to lie back and close his eyes and let himself believe that it was anyone other than Ilya Rozanov making him feel so good. But most of him wanted to see exactly who it was.

Shane fucking hated him. But Rozanov was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing.

the interviews he saw on television where Rozanov mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone. But here, in this bed, Rozanov’s tone was patient and gentle, his voice soft and his accent wrapping elegantly around boxy English words.

“There. This is what you wanted, yes?” “Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.

“Fuck, Hollander. You love it.”

This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.

“You are very beautiful,” Rozanov said suddenly. It was said very matter-of-factly.

It was bad enough that he loved being fucked so much, that he

loved having a dick in his mouth. But for it to have to be this son of a bitch, to the point that on the extremely rare occasion when it wasn’t, Shane was left wanting...

“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 knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Shane would never be able to say no.

This fucking country. Bad enough he couldn’t smoke indoors anywhere—he needed to go sit in the fucking snow while he did it?

“I’m surprised you smoke,” Hollander said.

“Okay,” Ily...

“You’re an awesome player to watch,” Hollander said.

“I know.”

“What’s he like?” his mother asked. “Kind of a dick,” Shane said.

Every face-off he had taken against Rozanov, the Russian had looked him dead in the eye and smirked. Shane was not easily shaken by anyone, but that goddamn smirk threw him off balance every time.

The only difference between them was that Shane had a silver medal at home, and Rozanov had gold. And now Shane had come in second place again. After a life of always coming first in hockey. This fucking guy.

Rozanov ran a hand through his damp hair in a move that was more interesting to Shane than it should have been. Rozanov was so...masculine.

Shane pretended he was only looking longingly at the way his throat worked because he had forgotten to bring a bottle for himself. It wasn’t until Rozanov’s Adam’s apple stopped bobbing and his lips were dark and glistening that Shane realized he was staring.

It was the first time that Shane felt it. It was like the air in the room had thickened. Everything inside him was buzzing and on edge, like he was about to jump out of a plane.

But in that moment, Shane wanted...something. He couldn’t even name it.

Shane wanted Rozanov to touch him again. Shane wanted to touch him back. Maybe Shane wanted to kiss him.

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

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.

In his makeup, with his carefully styled hair, and in this dramatic lighting, Rozanov did not look pretty. He looked stunning.

Shane blushed hard. He couldn’t...why would he want to check out another guy’s ass? That was just weird. But it was a really impressive ass. Not that he was comparing it to others. It was just...perfect.

Just another goddamn thing for you to hold over me, Shane thought. He was so busy being mortified that he didn’t immediately notice that Rozanov’s own dick was starting to swell.

“What were you thinking about?” Rozanov asked, his voice low. Shane swallowed. His throat was bone dry. “You,” he said quietly.

“You want to touch me, Hollander?”

“Not here,” Shane stammered. “Someone could come in.”

“What is your room number?” Rozanov asked. “Fourteen ten,” Shane said, far too quickly. Rozanov’s mouth twitched up. “If I knock on door of room 1410 tonight...maybe around nine?”

“I might open the door.” Rozanov smiled. “I might knock.”

Or...he could open the door and he could spend the evening exploring Rozanov’s body with his mouth.

Shane had never kissed a man, and somewhere in the back of his splintering brain he wondered if Rozanov ever had either. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.

He kissed Rozanov back, hard and frantic and wanting more but not knowing exactly what to ask for.

Shane could see the tip of Rozanov’s cock poking out of the waistband, and he had the sudden, wild urge to kiss it. To press his tongue to the slit and taste him. Fuck. This was really gay.

“Fuck,” he heard Rozanov murmur. Shane knew there would be no going back from this, but they’d probably already crossed that line anyway; may as well take what he wanted.

“Have you been...thinking about this?” Rozanov gave a crooked grin and shrugged. “I like trouble.” Shane laughed. “Well, I think we’ve found it.” “You have not done this,” Rozanov said plainly. “With a man.” “No. Have you?”

“In Russia. My coach’s son.” Shane sputtered. “Holy fuck. You do like trouble! Was he on the team?” “No. Not a hockey player.” “Did anyone...find out?”

“He would never tell. I would never tell. It was safe.”

“You think I’m an asshole,” Rozanov said. “You are an asshole.” “I would not leave you like that.” “No?” He kissed him again. “No.”

Shane had the stupid urge to ask him to stay. He imagined falling asleep in his arms and what the fuck? This thing they’d just done was, above all things, a huge mistake.

“Do you feel pressure to outperform Shane Hollander this first season?” the interviewer asked. “Who?” Fuck. You. Rozanov.

He watched Rozanov wink at the camera and Shane’s eyes narrowed.

He’s better at blow jobs than me. The thought crashed to the front of Shane’s brain, and he quickly grabbed for his water glass, nearly knocking it over.

Ilya actually loved playing against Hollander. He would never actually tell him, but Hollander was really fucking good. He challenged Ilya in ways that Ilya wasn’t used to.