Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(3)

Rozanov, on the other hand, always seemed completely at ease. He was good at this, and he knew it. He slid his mouth off of Shane’s cock with a parting lick to the head that sent a jolt straight through Shane’s body, and said, “Relax, yeah? Is not much time, but enough.”

Shane took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hated that voice so much on the ice, and in the interviews he saw on television where Rozanov mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone. But here, in this bed, Rozanov’s tone was patient and gentle, his voice soft and his accent wrapping elegantly around boxy English words.

Shane relaxed as Rozanov opened him with strong fingers and pressed openmouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs. When he was ready, Shane wordlessly handed Rozanov a condom before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. He couldn’t look at Rozanov. Not tonight. Not after that humiliating loss.

Rozanov seemed to understand. He entered him carefully, not taking him roughly like he had many times in the past. This was slow and considerate. Shane felt big hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as Rozanov pushed inside. He even felt Rozanov’s thumbs brush gently over his lower back.

“There. This is what you wanted, yes?”

“Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.

Rozanov started to move and Shane cried out. It never took long for him to just give in and start moaning and gasping and asking for more.

“Fuck, Hollander. You love it.”

Shane responded by turning, he was sure, beet red. But he couldn’t deny it.

Rozanov fucked him hard with one strong hand pressing between his shoulder blades—pressing him down to the mattress. They were both loud, and if he hadn’t known the building was empty besides the two of them, Shane would have been worried about it. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust and maybe said Rozanov’s name a bunch of times.

Shane really hoped no one could hear them.

When Rozanov reached around to take Shane’s cock in his slick hand, Shane became desperate for release and started bucking back against him. This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.

“You gonna come for me, Hollander?”

Hollander was going to. And he did. He punched the mattress and swore loudly and coated Rozanov’s fist with his release.

Rozanov picked up speed behind him, sending aftershocks rocketing through Shane’s body with each thrust. Just as it was becoming too much for Shane, Rozanov stilled and cried out and pulsed inside him.

Afterward, they lay on their backs next to each other, and Shane felt the familiar aftermath of guilt and shame creep in.

“Well, you won at something tonight,” Rozanov mused.

“God. Fuck off.” Shane lifted his arm to flip him off, but Rozanov grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so Shane was on top of his chest, looking down at him. Rozanov’s playful smirk faded as he held Shane’s gaze, and Shane felt suddenly breathless.

“Still have that stupid tattoo, I see,” Shane said quickly, to distract himself from whatever the fuck was happening.

“Aw,” Rozanov said, the obnoxious little grin returning to his face. “He missed you.”

Shane snorted.

“He did,” Rozanov insisted. “Give him a kiss.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but he did dip his head to Rozanov’s chest. Instead of pressing his lips to the tattoo, though, he trapped Rozanov’s nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged.

“Fuck,” Rozanov said, sucking air between his teeth.

As an apology, and also because Shane knew it would work him up even more, he brushed his tongue over the sensitive nipple. Rozanov put a hand in Shane’s hair and guided their mouths back together. After a long, oddly tender kiss, Shane lifted his head and saw that Rozanov was, again, looking at him very seriously. He swallowed, but didn’t say anything as Rozanov brushed fingers through his hair. He hoped the fear he felt wasn’t showing on his face.

“You are very beautiful,” Rozanov said suddenly. It was said very matter-of-factly.

Shane wasn’t sure how to react. They didn’t really say things to each other. Not like that.

“Hottest Man in the NHL, according to Cosmopolitan,” Shane joked. It was the only way he knew how to talk to Rozanov, besides yelling obscenities at him.

“They are idiots,” Rozanov said, the spell broken. “They put me at number five. Five!”

“It does seem generous.”

Rozanov rolled over, pinning Shane to the mattress. Shane looked up at him, laughing.

“I have to go,” Rozanov said, and he sounded like he truly regretted it. “Shower first, but then I have to get back to the hotel.”

“I know.”

They showered together, and Shane dropped to his knees because he couldn’t let Rozanov go without tasting him. Rozanov murmured his approval as he loomed over Shane in the spacious rainfall shower. His strong hands cradled Shane’s head and long fingers curled in his wet hair. Shane turned his eyes up and found Rozanov gazing down at him with that damn crooked smile. Shane immediately closed his eyes and felt his cheeks flush and, to his embarrassment, his own cock get harder.

It was bad enough that he loved being fucked so much, that he loved having a dick in his mouth. But for it to have to be this son of a bitch, to the point that on the extremely rare occasion when it wasn’t, Shane was left wanting...