Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(23)

“Thanks,” Shane said, because he had to say something. “I feel overdressed.”

“Yes. We both are,” Rozanov said, and he pulled his T-shirt off over his head before bending to remove his high-top sneakers.

Shane’s eyes fixed on the way Rozanov’s gold cross dangled in the space between his knees and his chest; the thin chain glinted against the back of his neck.

When Rozanov stood again, Shane couldn’t remember why exactly this was a bad idea.

“Come here,” Rozanov said.

“No. You come here.”

Rozanov grinned and shook his head, and stepped toward Shane.

Shane must have taken a step forward himself because they kind of crashed into each other. A second later, he was against the wall, and Rozanov was attacking his mouth. Shane shoved back against him, and was reminded that Montreal had won the game that night. Rozanov had to be at least a little pissed off about that, and Shane felt he might be taking it out on him. Shane had no problem with that. He sank his fingers into Rozanov’s biceps and hauled him closer. He wrapped his foot around Rozanov’s ankle, and Rozanov growled and, without warning, grabbed Shane’s thighs and hoisted him up the wall so that Shane had no choice but to wrap his legs around the taller man’s waist.

Which Shane should have been angry about, but instead he gasped and kissed Rozanov even more wildly.

“Could fuck you just like this,” Rozanov growled. “Against the fucking wall. You would like that, yes?”

Would Shane like that? Probably.

“Not tonight,” Rozanov continued, moving his mouth close to Shane’s ear. “Tonight I will go easy on you.”

Shane wanted to tell him to fuck off, but Rozanov was kissing his throat, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, so instead he threw his head back against the wall like the eager slut he apparently was.

He felt Rozanov chuckle against his throat, and then Shane felt himself being pulled away from the wall and carried—carried!—to the bed like a fucking child!

“Put me down, asshole!”

“Shhhh.”

“I can walk!”

Rozanov’s big hands gripped his ass as they crossed the room. Shane pushed back off Rozanov’s shoulders, and he could see that crooked smile and those playful eyes.

“Put me down.”

Rozanov turned and dropped Shane on the bed. Shane glared up at him. He was about to tell him off, but he got distracted by the tall, bare-chested, muscular form looming over him. Shane suddenly felt very small on the bed, which was ridiculous—he was five feet, ten inches and built of solid muscle himself. But Rozanov was gazing down at Shane, who was still fully clothed, like he was trying to decide where to take his first bite, and Shane felt...vulnerable.

And he was kind of into it.

Rozanov slid his track pants down and off and stood at the end of the bed wearing only his black boxer briefs, his gold chain, and his stupid fucking bear tattoo. Shane’s eyes went right to the briefs, and the hard length that was trapped beneath. He also noted the way Rozanov’s enormous thighs burst out of the legs of the shorts, hard muscles jutting out from the straining fabric.

Rozanov leaned down and planted a knee firmly on the bed between Shane’s sprawled legs, dangerously close to his crotch. Shane looked up, wide-eyed, as Rozanov descended on him and captured his mouth again. Two big hands landed on Shane’s chest, stroking him over his sweater.

“This is soft,” Rozanov murmured.

“It’s cashmere,” Shane said stupidly.

“Yes. Take it off.”

He did. Rozanov pulled up, keeping his knee firmly between Shane’s thighs, as he watched Shane strip down to his own briefs.

He lay there, waiting for Rozanov to cover him again, to press his weight down on him, but instead Rozanov lightly dragged his fingertips up one of Shane’s legs, tickling his skin and making every hair stand up. He drew a path up to where Shane’s skin disappeared into the leg of his briefs, and then paused. Shane felt like there was an electric current running through him. He could see his own cock twitching in his shorts, begging for attention. He bit his lip and waited.

Rozanov dipped his head and kissed Shane’s stomach. He did it over and over again, his lips almost as gentle and teasing as his fingertips had been. Shane inhaled sharply. How was Rozanov so good at this?

Rozanov’s mouth found one of Shane’s nipples and bit it gently before licking it. Shane squirmed and Rozanov wrapped a hand most of the way around Shane’s thigh to hold him down. Shane once again marveled at how big his hands were.

When Rozanov returned his mouth to Shane’s, he finally moved his hand to palm Shane’s erection through his briefs. Shane made an embarrassing noise into Rozanov’s mouth.

“Did you bring everything?” Rozanov asked.

“Yes,” Shane said. He was pretty sure he had everything. Lube and condoms, right?

“Good boy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes.”

His hand slid inside Shane’s shorts and pulled his erection out. Shane slipped a hand in between their bodies so he could rub his hand over the front of Rozanov’s shorts.

Rozanov kissed him hard and ground his crotch against Shane’s, holding himself up with one hand planted next to Shane’s head.

Shane moaned at the feel of Rozanov’s hips and pelvis rolling against him.