Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Shane watched him, and noticed again how absurdly large Rozanov’s dick looked. “We do not have to,” Rozanov said, noticing Shane’s face.

“I want to,” Shane said quickly. Too quickly. Rozanov nodded, and reached for the lube and the condoms. He got himself ready, and then returned his attention to Shane.

Shane felt two fingers press against his opening before they slipped inside. There was less burning this time. “Stroke yourself,” Rozano...

Rozanov let out a low noise that sounded like a growl. “Turn over,” he said. Shane got on his hands and knees, because that’s how th...

He had watched about forty seconds of gay porn, once, before he’d gotten embarrassed and closed his laptop. Now he wished he had endured a littl...

And then Shane could feel it; the much-too-large blunt head of Rozanov’s cock bumping against his hole. He clenched his eyes shut, and braced himself for pain. When Rozanov pressed in, it was slow and careful, but Shane’s whole body trembled anyway.

The pain was there, but not as sharp as Shane had been expecting. The pressure was the most overwhelming sensation. He felt impossibly full, and couldn’t imagine how Rozanov was supposed to move once he was all the way in.

“Okay?” Rozanov asked again. He ran a hand over Shane’s back, slow and soothing. “Yeah,” Shane said. His voice sounded strained.

Rozanov pulled out a little then pushed back in, even deeper this time. “Fuck,” Shane gasped. “Wow.” Encouraged, Rozanov repeated the motion. And again.

Then Rozanov adjusted his hips a little and, on the next thrust, hit Shane’s prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “God. Yes! Fuck. Keep d...

Shane wasn’t feeling any pain now, and he wasn’t scared. He started to push back against Rozanov when he thrust into him, which Rozanov seeme...

His thrusts became faster, causing the bed to shake and Shane’s arms to tremble as he struggled to hold himself up. It was more than Shane had thought he’d be ...

Rozanov’s fingers were digging hard enough into Shane’s hips to leave marks. He was hauling Shane back against him as he pounded into him. Shane lifted a hand up to his own mouth so he ...

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 wi...

“Yeah. Come on, Hollander,” Rozanov growled. Rozanov, who did not care at all about the poor hotel maids. “Fuck,” Shane gritted out. And he came so hard that most of it shot up and hit him in the chest.

He was so dazed by his own orgasm that he almost didn’t register when Rozanov tensed and stilled behind him. Rozanov grunted and came inside of Shane’s body. Into a condom, but still. Shane’s body had made that happen, and he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around that fact.

Then, to Shane’s dismay, Rozanov collapsed on top of him, crushing Shane and the mess all over his chest ...

“Now the bed’s all dirty,” Shane complained before he could stop himself. “What?” Rozanov said sleepily. “Shut up.” Shane closed his eyes and enj...

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.

The smile faded as he wondered how in hell he was ever going to experience this again. Because he couldn’t keep letting Rozanov fuck him. Obviously. And he wasn’t sure how to safely find other men to do it.

“Oh,” Shane said. Of course he was going to leave. What the fuck had Shane been expecting? He stood up.

Rozanov put one hand on Shane’s shoulder in a fairly condescending way. His lips were twitched up in an irritating little smile. “Was fun,” he said. “Yeah, um. Thanks, I guess.”

Both Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov had scored over fifty goals. In fact, they had each scored exactly sixty-seven goals.

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. He frustrated Shane on the ice, and flustered him off the ice. Shane wanted to crosscheck him in the mouth, and then kiss it better. He wanted to forget about him, and he wanted to play every game against him.

He wanted to win this fucking Rookie of the Year award. He wanted to rub it in Rozanov’s face. He wanted to...

The only person Shane hadn’t seen that night was Ilya Rozanov. Secretly, Shane had been searching for him all night. Half the times he’d been talking to someone, he’d been looking over their shoulder.

The thought made Shane angry. What a fucking baby. If Rozanov had won, Shane would be here, in this room, ready to congratulate him. If Rozanov wanted to spend his first NHL Awards sulking in his hotel room, that wasn’t Shane’s problem.

“Not everything is about you, Hollander.” He didn’t look at Shane at all when he said it. His voice hadn’t been angry. He just sounded...tired. And sad.

His own anger left him, and he found himself caring about Ilya Rozanov, which was an odd sensation.

“I guess... I guess I’ll see you next season.” Shane stuck out his hand. Rozanov looked at it. Then he turned his head left and right, looking all around them.

A split second later, Shane found himself pushed back from the railing, against a wall. Rozanov’s mouth was pressed hard against his, and his hands gripped his arms roughly, fingers digging into his biceps.

Shane felt panicked. This was super fucking dangerous. And stupid. And confusing. And... Shane kissed him back, just as angrily. Because ...

And then, on a whim, pressing Shane against a wall and kissing him like he would die without Shane’s mouth on his. Kissing him until Shane’s senses were full of hard muscle pressed against him and the taste of cigarette and the slick heat of Rozanov’s tongue in his mouth. What the fuck.

Shane looked frantically around them. There was no one. But, Jesus, there could have been. Rozanov leaned in to kiss Shane again, and Shane dodged him.

“No,” he said. “No way. Not here. What’s wrong with you?” Rozanov gave him that crooked grin that did absurd things to Shane’s stomach.

“We can’t,” Shane said. He meant it, but it hurt to say. “I have to go. You should go to bed, Rozanov.” The smile disappeared. ...

He didn’t understand Price, but he could at least try to help him calm down.

Aww

So he gestured toward his iPad. “Fast Five. Have you seen it?” “Yeah. I think so. Is that the one with the bank safe chase scene?” “Yes. Is the best one.”

I love Fast Five

He had, in truth, been trying to distract himself with the movie, because heading to Montreal always put him on edge. It wasn’t nerves, it was...something else. Anticipation, maybe. He didn’t want to say excitement.

Oh, no thanks. I will be busy fucking Shane Hollander in a hotel room.

Ilya shrugged. Maybe Ryan Price was weird, or maybe he just wasn’t exactly what people were expecting him to be. Ilya was certainly in no position to fault someone for that.

And whenever Boston was in town, Shane felt like the city was pulled as tight as he was. Every cell in his body sparked with the need to get on the ice and face Rozanov. And when the games were over, he pulsed with a different kind of need.

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.

He definitely wasn’t going to write back. And he definitely wasn’t getting hard in his jock strap.

Fuck. He was hard. And now he was ...

Ilya nearly choked when he saw Hollander’s reply. Jane: I dunno. Twice, maybe? So fucking...

Jane: Stop. I’ll text you after the game. A few seconds went by. Jane: If you’re lucky. Ilya snorted. Hollander was probably so proud of himself for that dig. Ilya: Are you hard right now?

No answer. Ah well. 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 m...