Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Ilya wasn’t surprised at all when the knock came. It was late. After midnight. He had been back in his room for almost two hours. Hollander pushed into the room as soon as Ilya opened the door.

He turned and flipped the bar latch as if someone was going to burst in any moment. He looked terrified. “Is there a ghost out there?” Ilya asked, amused.

“No. Fuck you. This is fucking dangerous and you know it.” “Is it? We are not doing anything.” Hollander looked at him hard. His dark eyes were a mixture of a...

“You came anyway,” he said. “Yeah,” Hollander said, his voice tight and full of forced courage. “I guess I did.” Ilya nodded, and then Hollander swore under his breath and lunged forward to kiss him. He grabb...

Ilya moaned at the hot slide of Hollander’s tongue against his. He tugged roughly on the hair at the back of Hollander’s head, tipping his...

They broke apart and Hollander looked at him, eyes wild and dark hair a mess, silently begging for instruction. “On your knees,” Ilya sai...

Expecting Hollander to tell him to fuck off, Ilya’s breath caught in his throat as he watched him sink fluidly to the floor. His gaze stayed on Ilya. Those eyes that were always so sharp were now hazy with desire as he leaned f...

“Christ, Hollander,” Ilya breathed, gently pulling at Hollander’s hair as he pressed hot, openmouthed kisses to the fabric that pulled tight over Ilya’s erection. He felt dizzy and less in control than he wanted to be as Hollander tucked fingers ...

Ilya couldn’t even make a smart remark. He just gasped and let his head fall back, completely overwhelmed by Hollander’s need for this. He certainly didn’t have the ability to conjure English words right now.

This wasn’t control—Ilya just wanted to touch him. To let the silky strands of his hair slip through his fingers as Hollander gave in to what he had clearly been craving.

Hollander’s hands wandered as he sucked him. His touch was light and curious, his fingertips almost tickling Ilya as he explored his thighs and hips and around to his ass.

Ilya wondered how far Hollander was willing to go with him. He wondered if he’d done anything with another man since their last time. The desperate, unskilled motion of his mouth and the sl...

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 aro...

He grabbed Hollander by the front of his shirt and hauled him up, kissing him roughly before throwing him on the bed. He wanted to kn...

Hollander was breathing heavily, as if he wasn’t one of the most physically fit people on the planet. Ilya bit his lip and watched him pull his shirt off. In seconds Ilya was covering him on the bed with his body, and kissing him hungrily.

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. Whether that was his coach’s son, or his brother’s girlfriend, or his teammate’s sister, 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...

Plus, Ilya hated this guy. He hated his pretty boy face and his perfect goddamned English and his perfect goddamned French and his loving parents and his polite little manners and his million-dollar smile.

You keep telling yourself that

He hated how serious he was. How earnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars. Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair.

He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles. Fuck. Ilya kissed him again so he ...

He wanted to fuck him. God, would Hollander l...

Ilya kissed his way down his body and took him into his mouth. Hollander’s hips jerked off the bed, nearly forcing Ilya off him, but Ilya held on. He sucked him and enjoyed the desperate noises he pulled out of him.

He let his fingers trail down below Hollander’s balls. He tapped one finger against his puckered opening and waited for a reaction. Hollander’s body stilled on the bed, so Ilya drew light circles around his hole, just a casual suggestion.

He could feel Hollander tense up. He was completely silent now. Ilya pulled his mouth off him and looked up at his face. “Have you ever?” Ilya asked. Hollander shook ...

“You are scared.” “No! No, I’m not scared.” “Is okay to be.” Hollander exhaled loudly. “I’m ...

“Have you ever touched yourself,” Ilya asked, circling his finger again, “here?” Hollander’s face flushed...

Hollander sat up. “I’ve played with it, all right? I’ve—I’ve got a...thing.” “A thing?” “A dildo! Okay?” Ilya grinned so hard it hurt. “What color?” “Fuck you!” “Is it big?” “I’m leaving.”

Hollander moved to get off the bed. Ilya quickly covered him and pinned him back down. He held him down by the wrists, and Hollander made a halfhearted attempt to fight him off, but stopped when Ilya kissed him.

“I want to fuck you, Hollander,” Ilya said against his ear. Hollander shuddered, and Ilya was sure he was going to say yes, but i...

Ilya considered his answer, and nodded. Not here. Not in a hotel surrounded by their fellow NHL players. By the media. By fans. Not now, when they would both have to be as close to silent as ...

“Okay,” Ilya said, nipping at his throat. “Next time, then.” Hollander snorted, but he was smiling hopefully. “Next time?” Ilya shrugged one shou...

“That doesn’t mean we can... I mean, how would we? Where would we?” “Are you homele...

“So, what? You’re just gonna sneak out of your hotel? What will you tell your teammates?” “The fucking truth! I’m going to get laid! Like every city we ...

Ilya rolled his eyes. He had no idea why they were wasting time talking right now anyway. “Yes! Wait for me. I will come to your house and fuck you.” Hollander looked embarrassed again. “It’s an apartment,” he mumbled.

“Jesus! Fine! I will fuck you in your apartment. Can we get back to things now?” “Yes.” Hollander frowned. “But...” “But?”

“In the shower. The water will drown out...anything.” Rozanov huffed, but it was actually a good idea. “Yes,” he said, springing off the bed and...

Ilya grinned against his mouth. This was the Shane Hollander he wanted: competitive, aggressive. “Your hands are so soft,” Ilya said. “Like a girl’s.” “Fuck you.”

Ilya laughed. Hollander jerked him harder, as if trying to prove how strong and masculine his hands were. Ilya bit his own lip and gave up teasing his rival. For now.

Ilya walked slowly toward him. When he reached him, he put a hand on the side of his face and tilted his head until he could look directly in his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

Hollander glared at him as he handed his phone back. “This isn’t a yes, just so you know,” he said. “It will be.” Hollander shook his head, but Ilya could tell he was fighting a smile.

Shane was supposed to be focusing on the game that night against Toronto as he pushed his body on the treadmill. Instead, he kept thinking back to a certain Russian’s promise to come to Shane’s home and...

There were too many things to process. Ilya Rozanov had gotten him off in a hotel room. Again. Ilya Rozanov wanted to sneak out of his team’s hotel the next time they were in Montreal (next week!) and meet Shane at his apartment so he could fuck him.

Ilya Rozanov wanted to fuck him. Shane was both terrified and undeniably aroused by the idea. Undeniably extremely aroused by the idea. But that didn’t change th...

Shane had accepted the fact that he was more than okay with having sexual encounters with a man. Fine. He had suspected that about himself for a while now, and maybe Rozanov was just the first man to see that...

So maybe what Shane actually needed to do was find another man to fool around with. But who th...

There had never been an openly queer NHL player, and homophobic slurs were thrown around enough that Shane couldn’t imagine that happening. Whoever came out first was going to have to be brave as hell. It sure as shit wasn’t going to be Shane.

As far as Shane could figure, he had three choices: Forget about fucking men entirely and just stick to women; Risk finding men, or even just a man, who could be discreet and...patient; Let whatever the fuck was happening with Rozanov keep happening and try not to think too much about it.

Obviously the first option was the most sensible. Certainly the safest. Also the most unappealing. Fuck.

And Shane couldn’t see a way that they could possibly keep this thing quiet if it continued. Why was he even thinking about that? A long-term secret relationship with Ilya Rozanov? Was that what some part of his dumb brain was hoping for?

He felt a flush of embarrassment as he hit send. God, why couldn’t he just have left it where it was? He’d successfully rejected Rozanov. Why give the power right back to him?