Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Instead of answering, Hollander pushed him hard with both hands. “Fuck you for texting me before the game, you asshole!”

Ilya grinned. “You were hard, weren’t you? For how long? The whole game?” Hollander glared at him, then said, “Follow me.”

Ilya had never been to Hollander’s home. It had always been hotel rooms before. The idea excited him.

Hollander was damn cute when he was embarrassed.

“Did you buy a building so we would have somewhere to fuck, Hollander?” Ilya assumed he was trying to look stern, but the flush of his cheeks was ruining the effect.

Hollander folded his arms. It did not make him look any more intimidating.

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.

“You were smoking,” Hollander complained now, as he broke away from their kiss. “Only one.” “You aren’t supposed to be smoking.” “You aren’t supposed to be talking.”

Ilya pushed Hollander’s chest and knocked him flat onto his back on the bed. Ilya took a moment to gaze down at him—at his flushed cheeks and mussed hair, and at the strip of exposed skin where his T-shirt had ridden up. Then Ilya pounced.

“An hour,” Ilya murmured. He was on top now, biting and licking his way along Hollander’s collarbone. “Then I have to go.” “Then hurry the fuck up.” Ilya smiled against Hollander’s skin. He was such a little brat.

Ilya raised himself up and straddled Shane’s waist, making sure to squeeze just a little too hard with his thighs. He took his own dick in his hand and stroked it slowly, thoughtfully. “You want this, Hollander?”

And, oh god, Ilya could see the war going on in Hollander’s head. He could see how much he wanted to tell Ilya to fuck off and die, but more than that, he could see the way Holla...

“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...

“I hate you.” “Yes. I know. Show me.” “Fuck,” Hollander whispered, seemingly to himself. Then he parted his lips, and li...

Ilya’s hand shot out and gripped the headboard. It seemed like a nice headboard, sturdy. He expected he’d find ou...

“Hollander...” he warned. He was flying way too high, too fast. Hollander moaned, or maybe he’d tried to form a word around Ilya’s dick, but all it did was cause vibrations that Ilya really didn’t need right now.

“Fuck. Fuck. You have to stop. If you want me to fuck you...” Hollander ripped his mouth away from Ilya’s cock, but then he went very still. “Shit. Oh god. Fuck.”

Ilya felt wetness splash against his thigh. Hollander’s body jerked a couple of times, and then he buried his face in Ily...

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I just...you didn’t even touch me!” And Ilya just...laughed....

“Don’t fucking laugh at me.” “Been a while?” Ilya teased. Hollander kept his forehead planted on Ilya’s shoulder, hiding his face complete...

He laughed until Hollander joined in, and then they were both holding each other and laughing until they were wiping tears from their eyes. “You ...

Hollander punched him lightly in the chest. Ilya rolled to his side, dumping Hollander on the mattress beside him. “Is too bad. I wa...

“I don’t think I can. I think I’m too fucking embarrassed to get it up again.” “Is that a challenge?” “No. But c...

Ilya would be lying if he said Hollander had the most talented mouth that had ever been wrapped around his dick. But he was so...eager to please. So determined to be good at this. For Ilya.

He seemed to legitimately enjoy making Ilya feel good. 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.

And not only because Hollander was a man. Ilya hadn’t been with a man who wasn’t Hollander in...huh. Over a year. Almost two, maybe? But that wasn’t it.

Hollander glanced up at him, and Ilya smiled and ...

“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.”

“Yes.” “I’m glad we were in an empty building where no one could hear you.”

And then Ilya felt the rare and unwelcome sensation of his cheeks heating in embarrassment. He didn’t usually yell like that when he was co...

Ilya laughed. “Hey, remember when you shot your load for like no reason at all?” Hollander glared at him, but Ilya could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Oh my god. Go to hell.” “Amazing trick.”

Ilya was grinning like an idiot for the entire cab ride back to his hotel.

He’d never been to Russia before, and he wasn’t sure this over-the-top spectacle was the best representation of Rozanov’s homeland. He found himself wondering, often, about the pressure Rozanov was feeling.

Aww look at him always thinking about Ilya

Scott was, like, an angel who was really good at playing hockey. He looked like an angel: blond hair and blue eyes and built like a Navy SEAL who was also a model and maybe also a firefighter.

Carter lowered his voice and glanced around the beach. “Yeah, like...because of the gay thing, right? Some of those guys are risking their lives for real here. Brave as hell.”

It IS brave

“Um, I think I’m going to...” Text Rozanov? Try to lay eyes on him? Make sure he’d not been arrested for blowing a ski jumper or something?

Ilya just wanted it all to be over so he could go...home. When had he started thinking of Boston as home?

But first, Ilya was expected to go to his father’s hotel room. He wished he was strong enough to refuse. He wasn’t.

:(

His father’s eyes raked over him while Ilya stood there, like a trembling child who was awaiting punishment.

:(

Ilya didn’t like his father, but he hated watching him deteriorate. He wondered if it would be easier when Grigori’s brain was fully gone and he no longer had to suffer the embarrassment of drifting in and out of himself.

:(

He really did not need Shane stupid Hollander to be trying to make contact. Not here. Not now.

:(

“Hey,” Shane said. Rozanov looked at him and shook his head. “Not here,” he said tightly. “No, I’m not... I just wanted to see...how you’re doing.” “Fine. Go. Sit down.”

Shane frowned. Rozanov looked exhausted. He had dark rings under his eyes, and his face was very pale. But the most noticeable—and alarming—change was in his eyes. The playful spark that always made Rozanov’s hazel eyes dance was just...gone. Extinguished.

:(

“I—” “We are not...anything. Not here, Hollander.” Rozanov’s eyes darted around them, as if searching for threats. It was the first time that Shane had ever seen Rozanov look uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked. He spoke as quietly as he could over the noise of the arena. “Please go.”

:( Ilya is reading like if Shane stays around him any longer, he's going to break down. Poor guy.

“You didn’t answer my text and I thought...” Suddenly all the ways Shane might finish that sentence seemed stupid. I thought you were in danger. I thought you were in jail. I thought you were...sad.

Rozanov was being an asshole, which was nothing new, but he didn’t seem to mean it. In fact, Shane would bet that Rozanov would actually really like him to stay. He looked like he could use a hug. But obviously Shane wasn’t going to hug him here, so he just nodded and walked away.

The humiliation of not even making it to the bronze medal game had seemingly been enough to cause Rozanov to not even want to look at Shane anymore, let alone talk to him. Touch him. Kiss him.

:(

Shane had been sick with jealousy, but had also been undeniably proud when he’d watched Ilya Rozanov lift the cup over his head and roar.

There had been tears streaming down Rozanov’s face as he’d hollered and hollered, and Shane had seen that this was more than the pride of being the best player on the best team in the NHL that year. Rozanov had proved something to somebody.