Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(38)

Oh fuck. Shane felt simultaneously mortified and excited. He reached for the lube.

“Yes. Let me see you open yourself for me.”

“You gonna fuck me?” Shane managed to get out.

“We’ll see.”

Shane got to work.

It was undeniably humiliating to be splayed out on the bed like this, Shane’s fingers two knuckles deep in his own ass while Ilya Rozanov calmly sipped his vodka and watched everything like he was going to be tested on it later.

The only thing that could make the situation more embarrassing would be...

“Please,” Shane gasped. Begged.

“Please what?”

“I—I need...”

He could tell that Rozanov was starting to lose his composure. He could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed, the way he ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

“What do you need, Hollander?”

“You. Fuck me. Please.”

Rozanov sucked in a breath, and then he stood and placed his glass on the side table. He slowly undid the last of his buttons and let the shirt fall to the floor behind him. He walked to the end of the bed, and Shane crawled to him, just like he’d imagined doing. He crawled along the mattress until his face met the bulge in Rozanov’s tuxedo pants. He nuzzled and mouthed at it, and Rozanov buried his fingers in Shane’s hair and murmured something in Russian.

Shane didn’t know if Rozanov was saying something encouraging, or reverent. Or maybe he was calling Shane a slut. Shane felt a little slutty, in that moment. He felt wild. He wanted Rozanov’s cock in every part of him at once. He wanted to come right away or not for hours. He wanted to kiss Rozanov and maybe also punch him for being such an arrogant fucking prick.

And he hated himself for wanting any of this. But not enough to stop. Never enough to stop.

He opened Rozanov’s pants and pushed them down to his ankles, along with his underwear. He wrapped his mouth around Rozanov’s cock and moaned with relief.

“Fuck, Hollander. You love it.”

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

Rozanov let him suck for a few blissful minutes before he shoved Shane down onto the bed. He twirled his hand in the air.

“Turn over,” he said.

Shane did as he was told, and raised his ass in the air far too eagerly. He heard a rustle of a condom being opened, and then saw the empty wrapper hit the floor when Rozanov tossed it aside. Rozanov was breathing heavily as he slicked himself with lube, and, damn, Shane loved it when Rozanov lost his ability to stay cool and collected.

Rozanov fucked him hard with one strong hand pressing between Shane’s shoulder blades—pressing him down to the mattress. They were both loud, and if it hadn’t been a ridiculously large Las Vegas hotel suite, Shane would have been worried about it. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust, begging for more even though that was probably an impossible thing to ask for. Even though it was embarrassing to be this desperate for Ilya Rozanov.

Shane really hoped no one could hear them.

He came so hard that he actually yelled. There was no other word for it. And, once again, he had made a mess of some hotel bedsheets.

His ears were still ringing with his own orgasm when he felt Rozanov freeze behind him and cry out. And then Rozanov’s forehead was pressed against Shane’s back as both men struggled to catch their breath.

“Jesus, Hollander,” Rozanov panted as he flopped to his back beside him. His hair had fallen out of its little ponytail and was clinging to his forehead in a damp swoop.

Shane carefully flipped to his back, leaving the wet spot on the bedsheets between them. “How about that vodka?”

Rozanov laughed. “Yes. Give me a minute.”

Shane grinned. He knew he’d be at least a little mortified and ashamed later when he thought about this night, but at that moment, he was giddy.

Rozanov did eventually leave the bed and, after cleaning himself in the bathroom, brought Shane a damp washcloth and an ice-cold glass of vodka. He brought himself a cigarette and a lighter.

He sat with his back against the headboard, one leg bent and the other outstretched. Still naked, but for his gold chain and crucifix. He lit his cigarette and Shane didn’t even have the energy to lecture him about it. Especially since he looked so goddamned sexy.

Instead, Shane sipped his vodka, which was gross. He really didn’t drink anything beyond beer very often. At least it was cold against his tongue.

“Are you heading back soon?” Shane asked, just to make conversation.

“Back?”

“To Russia. For the summer.”

Rozanov exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

They were silent a moment, then Shane couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

Rozanov shrugged. “It is home.”

“But...do you like going there?”

Rozanov didn’t answer. He took another drag of his cigarette and closed his eyes.

“I should sleep,” he said finally.

“Oh. Yeah. I should... I need to get going, anyway.”

“Yes.”

Ah. There was that shame Shane had been expecting. He got cleaned up in the bathroom, then went to the main room to retrieve his clothes. He put on the pants and the shirt and carried the rest of the tuxedo. Rozanov didn’t leave the bedroom.