Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(75)

They hadn’t been together for months. The ridiculous thing was, Ilya hadn’t been with anyone in all that time. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone else.

But now he felt like he was going to burst if Shane didn’t touch him the way he’d not been able to stop thinking about.

He went willingly down to the sofa when Shane shoved him. He kept a firm grip on Shane’s T-shirt so the other man immediately tumbled on top of him. Ilya winced as his sunglasses were pressed into his chest, then he pulled them off and threw them, clattering, to the floor.

Ilya kissed Shane wildly, jerking his hips up to get more friction on his cock, and was delighted to feel that Shane was as hard as he was.

He pulled Shane’s shirt off over his head and slid his hands down to open Shane’s fly.

“Fuck,” Shane panted. “I’m...it’s been kind of a while... I might not last long.”

“Yes. Same. But we have two weeks, right?”

Shane laughed. “Right.” Then, “Wait...same?”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘same.’ You haven’t...been with anyone? Lately?”

Ilya grimaced. He probably shouldn’t have admitted that. But...

“No.”

“Like, not since—?”

“No. Not since. Can we please get back to—?”

“Really?” Shane pulled back so he could look Ilya directly in the eyes. He looked stunned and way, way too happy.

“Is not a big deal, Hollander. Relax.”

“It’s been, like—”

“Months. Yes. Which is why I would really like to—”

“I haven’t either,” Shane said quickly. “Not since the last time we were together. In Boston.”

“Well then...” Ilya said, moving his hand to continue to work his way into Shane’s pants. But Shane didn’t go back to grinding his hips or attacking Ilya’s mouth with filthy desperate kisses. Instead, he reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of Ilya’s face. Ilya could only stare, mesmerized, at Shane’s face as he looked down at him with so much...tenderness.

“I have an idea,” Shane said. He was brushing his thumb over Ilya’s bottom lip as he said it.

“What?” Ilya asked, with more bravery than he felt.

“Let’s be honest with each other. For these two weeks, let’s just...say what we’re actually thinking. Maybe...say how we really feel.”

I can’t, Ilya wanted to say. I can’t because if I do you’ll think I’m pathetic, or, worse, you’ll say it back and then what the fuck are we supposed to do?

“I will try,” he said instead.

“Will you?” Shane asked skeptically.

“Yes! I will do anything if it will make you touch my dick right now!”

Shane laughed and rolled his eyes. But then he slid down Ilya’s body and hauled down Ilya’s shorts, and thank Christ.

Shane took him into his mouth and everything was simple again. Ilya felt a wave of pleasure mingle with a wave of relief, and he was able to relax and enjoy the determined way Shane always approached sucking him off.

Ilya cheated and murmured, “I would stay here forever if I could” in Russian. He felt Shane sigh around him, but it sounded more dreamy than exasperated. Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe some feelings couldn’t be hidden behind foreign words.

As expected, Ilya didn’t last long. Neither did Shane, when Ilya immediately returned the favor. But the surprising thing was that the blow jobs were not the best part of the afternoon. Afterward, now that they had taken the edge off, they just relaxed against each other on the sofa. The clothing that had stayed on their bodies was rumpled and unfastened; their hair was messy. They talked quietly to each other as they—there was no other word for it—cuddled for over an hour. Shane was twisting strands of Ilya’s hair around his fingers and gently releasing them; Ilya was tracing his fingertips over Shane’s freckles. Every now and again, Ilya would kiss Shane’s jaw, or his throat, or, one time, the tip of his nose.

Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting.

But it was hard to care when Shane was lying on top of him, his smooth chest and stomach touching every inch of Ilya’s own. His bangs hanging down to brush Ilya’s nose. His dark eyes, and his freckles, and his smile. Shane looked so happy. Somehow, Ilya made him happy.

Ilya wanted to always make him happy.

Ilya wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Shane had a complete indoor hockey training facility at his cottage.

Shane had excitedly led him to the one-story building beside the main cottage and opened the door to reveal a large synthetic plastic rink, a net with shooting targets, passing targets, and a whole bunch of exercise equipment. The wall facing the lake was all windows.

So now they were on the “ice” in sneakers, passing a puck back and forth.

“I didn’t tell you,” Ilya said, “about after the NHL Awards.”

“After?”

“Yes. I went out. With Scott Hunter.”

Shane missed the next pass. “What do you mean?”

“There was a club having a Scott Hunter night, whatever the fuck that means.”

“A club? Like...”