Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Ilya had always been this way. He loved sex, and he loved it more when it was dangerous—when it was with someone he knew he shouldn’t be with.

Ilya couldn’t resist a bad idea.

And Shane Hollander was a bad fucking idea. The worst idea. Wrong in every way imaginable. Two men. Two NHL players, poised to be the two biggest stars in the league soon enough. Two bitter rivals on opposing te...

Fuck. Ilya kissed him again so he wouldn’t have to think about him. He wanted to fuck him. God, would Hollander let him fuck him?

“I want to fuck you, Hollander,” Ilya said against his ear.

“I...no. I can’t. Not here.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, nipping at his throat. “Next time, then.”

“We play in Montreal in two weeks.”

“Your hands are so soft,” Ilya said. “Like a girl’s.” “Fuck you.”

“This isn’t a yes, just so you know,” he said. “It will be.”

Ilya Rozanov wanted to fuck him. Shane was both terrified and undeniably aroused by the idea. Undeniably extremely aroused by the idea.

“You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?” “I’m very charming.” He took the bottle from Shane and inspected it. “I have condoms too,” Shane said. He pulled a strip of them out of the drawer.

This, he realized, was why people were so wild about sex. He had never, ever felt like this with anyone before. And of course Ilya Rozanov, all of nineteen years old, fucked with the confidence and skill of, like, a sex god.

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.

Rozanov brought something out in him. Shane wasn’t the type of guy who needed to be the best player on the team—he just always was. And maybe that was it. Maybe Shane had been a little bit bored before Ilya Rozanov came along. Rozanov was a lot of things, but he wasn’t boring.

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.

“So she wants to meet up after the game tomorrow night. She’s hot for hockey players, and she said she could bring her friend. You want in?” Oh, no thanks. I will be busy fucking Shane Hollander in a hotel room.

Lily: How many times can you come in one hour? What. The. Fuck. This was dirty fucking pool, even for Rozanov. They didn’t text each other before the games. Especially not about shit like that.

Ilya knew he was crossing a line with these texts, but it was just so damn fun to tease Hollander. He could just picture him now, in the Montreal dressing room, blushing as he

shoved his phone into a bag or something so no one would see it. He hoped Hollander was still mad about it later, when they met in a hotel room.

“Fuck you for texting me before the game, you asshole!” Ilya grinned. “You were hard, weren’t you? For how long? The whole game?”

“Did you buy a building so we would have somewhere to fuck, Hollander?”

“No. It’s an investment. I’m having it renovated and then I’ll sell the condos. And I already have a tenant lined up for the commercial space on the main floor.” “Wow. Businessman.”

“Yes. Where do you want me? On that ladder? On the pile of wood over there?” “In here, idiot.”

Ilya always did feel good with Hollander. He didn’t want to say it was better than it was with anyone else, but it was...different.

“Hey, remember when you shot your load for like no reason at all?”

“Oh my god. Go to hell.” “Amazing trick.”

Shane knew about Russia’s laws against homosexuality, but he’d been trying not to think too much about stuff like that.

“I—” “We are not...anything. Not here, Hollander.”

“Congratulations,” Shane said flatly. “Thank you. Now take off your clothes.”

“You gonna fuck me?” Shane managed to get out. “We’ll see.” Shane got to work.

“Please,” Shane gasped. Begged. “Please what?” “I—I need...”

“What do you need, Hollander?” “You. Fuck me. Please.”

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

Shane Hollander was the wholesome, heroic sweetheart, and Ilya Rozanov was the obnoxious rock star. They were polar opposites, according to any NHL analyst, and therefore destined to clash forever—neatly

neatly dividing hockey fans in the process.

but 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. It was dangerous fucking stuff.

The facts were these: they were two of the biggest hockey stars in the world, and for whatever reason, they both enjoyed fucking each other. The other thing they were in total agreement on is that no one could ever know that they enjoyed fucking each other.

Instead of asking Rozanov how the hell he knew that he liked ginger ale, or why he cared enough to buy some,

He didn’t like being the one doing the fucking all that much; he loved being fucked.

No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.

“Why do I need this so much?”

“Need what?” Rozanov asked, as if he didn’t know.

There was a headline that read, Is Rose Landry dating NHL star Shane Hollander?

Just...staring. At Ilya. He couldn’t let Ilya notice him.

When his gaze landed on Shane Hollander, Shane’s eyes went wide. Had Shane just been...watching him?

He had never in his life been angry about someone sleeping with someone else. He was largely indifferent to most things.

The truth—the truth that he tried so very hard to ignore—was that no one set him on fire like Shane Hollander.

Christ, he looks so fucking good.

They had barely had any time to practice together; they just clicked in a way Ilya never had with any other player. It was exhilarating.