Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(37)

“Yeah, but...”

Rozanov pushed himself off the table and flicked his hand in the air, gesturing for Shane to follow him to the bedroom.

Shane was down to his briefs. When he reached the bedroom, Rozanov was already drawing the curtains across the windows.

“On the bed,” he instructed, without looking at Shane.

Shane did his best to appear comfortable and relaxed on the giant bed, as if he wasn’t nervous as hell about whatever Rozanov had planned. He expected Rozanov to join him on the bed, but instead, Rozanov left the room.

He was gone for an obnoxiously long time. When he returned, he was holding a glass of clear liquid. He sat himself in a chair against the wall at the end of the bed, and took a sip.

“Mm. I am impressed with this hotel. This vodka is not so easy to find.”

“Okay,” Shane said impatiently.

“Touch yourself.”

“What?”

“Show off for me. Let me watch you.”

“You—what?”

“Is my special night, Hollander. I want to watch you.”

Every inch of Shane flushed red. “I—I’ve never...”

Rozanov grinned. “I thought maybe not. So—” he gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the drink “—show me. How do you touch yourself, Shane Hollander?”

Fuck.

Shane wanted to protest, but since his briefs were not at all concealing how excited his dick had gotten in the past minute or so, he felt his argument would be weak.

“Give me some of that vodka, then,” he said. “I’m too sober for this.”

Rozanov shook his head. “No. The vodka you can have after. As reward.”

“Fuck. You.”

Rozanov laughed. “Is good vodka! Come on. Look at your poor dick, Hollander. Give him some attention, yes?”

Shane glared at him, but Rozanov only crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair, comfortable as anything.

“Close your eyes,” he suggested. “Pretend you are alone. How do you start?”

Shane exhaled and closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the smirking Russian in the corner as he placed a nervous hand on his own stomach. He rubbed slow patterns over his skin, letting his nerves wake up.

He heard Rozanov shifting in his chair. Shane’s lips curled up a bit; maybe he still had some power here.

His palm flat, he rubbed his hand over the bulge in his shorts, slow and deliberate. He let out a low, shameless moan, and slid his hand lower to cup his balls.

If Rozanov wanted a show, he was going to get a fucking show.

He rubbed himself through the fabric of his briefs for a few minutes, making sure to emphasize the outline of his erection. He already found himself enjoying this; his fear was forgotten.

He opened his eyes and looked directly at Rozanov, whose gaze was locked on Shane’s crotch, his lips parted.

“Come on, Hollander,” he said in a low rumble. “Show me.”

Shane lifted his hips, hooked his thumbs into his waistband, and tugged the underwear down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and glistening.

“Stroke it,” Rozanov instructed. “Make yourself come for me.”

Shane wrapped his fingers around himself, but instead of stroking, just slid his thumb over his slit a couple of times.

“There is lube in the drawer,” Rozanov said. “Beside the bed.”

“Mm. Get it for me.” There. Fuck you, Rozanov.

Rozanov stood without protest and retrieved the bottle of lube. He held it out to Shane, but when Shane reached for it, Rozanov pulled it away. He laughed at Shane’s glare, and tossed the bottle onto the bed.

“Would you like to know,” Rozanov asked as he settled himself back into his chair, “how it feels?”

“How what feels?”

He leaned forward, grinning like a shark. “The Cup. Do you want to know what it feels like to hold the Stanley Cup?”

“Oh fuck you.”

Rozanov laughed. “I cannot describe it anyway. Impossible.”

“I’ll find out for myself soon enough,” Shane grumbled.

“Of course. Now, show me how you like it, Hollander.”

That request, Shane thought, was almost sweet. Considerate. He removed his briefs completely and picked up the bottle. He made a show of drizzling the lube directly on his cock.

If Rozanov thought Shane was going to be chatty during this thing, he didn’t know Shane very well. Shane would be surprised if he uttered two words.

He stroked himself with slow, lazy movements. He closed his eyes again and let pleasure light up every part of him. With his other hand he reached down and played with his balls. He arched off the bed a bit, gasping and moaning.

He wondered if Rozanov was going to start touching himself too. He cracked an eye open and it seemed that Rozanov was happy to just watch. But he was leaning forward now, and he looked a little flushed.

Shane opened both eyes. He wanted to get off the bed and crawl on his fucking knees to where Rozanov was sitting. He wanted to nuzzle his cock through his pants. He wanted to press his open mouth to that bulge he could see from here.

The thoughts made Shane’s hand speed up. He let out a broken “ah” sound and planted his feet flat on the bed, legs splayed, knees bent.

“Open yourself up,” Rozanov said. “Use your fingers.”