The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(91)

There was more noise from the hallway—more NHL players being drunk and rowdy—and Shane tried to ignore them. Or at least tried not to let their proximity turn him on even more. Because Ilya hadn’t been wrong; there was something hot about doing this surrounded by their peers.

Ilya finally sped up. He grinned at Shane, as if he knew what he’d been thinking about. “What if they could see?” Ilya’s voice was low and quiet and his words made Shane’s cock twitch. “If that wall was a window.”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut, which only helped him to imagine it. “Fuck,” he said.

“They could see how well you take it. How much you love it.”

“Stop,” Shane said weakly, not meaning it at all.

“They would be so jealous of me. Getting to have you like this.”

Shane opened his eyes. “They’d be jealous of me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Stroke yourself,” Ilya commanded, then began thrusting harder, snapping his hips and tipping his head back.

Shane loved this moment, when Ilya began to lose control and started to desperately chase his own release. Shane obediently stroked himself, biting his own lip to keep from crying out.

He came first, his release splashing onto his stomach at the exact moment someone in the hallway let out a loud whoop, which was a weird coincidence that Shane, unfortunately, found very hot.

Ilya was laughing, almost hysterically, but he was still thrusting and interrupting his own laughter with frantic grunts until finally, “I’m going to come, Hollander. Fuck.”

Shane wished he hadn’t said his name, but he stopped caring about it immediately because watching Ilya Rozanov’s face when he climaxed was Shane’s favorite thing in the world.

Ilya managed to stop himself from crashing down on top of Shane, and instead carefully pulled out and rolled to his side, breathing heavily.

“That was,” Shane said, “fucking hot.”

Ilya wrinkled his nose. “Ehn. Was okay.”

Shane let out a shaky laugh and lightly punched Ilya’s chest. “Fuck you.”

They took turns getting cleaned up in the bathroom. Shane got back into bed, still naked, as he waited for Ilya. He was thankful they’d managed to keep the sheets relatively clean.

“You are staying,” Ilya said.

Shane opened his eyes and found him standing outside the bathroom, also still naked.

“Well,” Shane said, gesturing to the hallway where they could still hear loud male voices. “I’m not going out there.”

“They will not assume we were having sex,” Ilya said reasonably.

“I know.”

“Maybe we watched a movie,” Ilya said as he sauntered toward the bed. No one should look that elegant naked.

“Who?” Shane asked dryly. “Me and the two or three women you were having an orgy with?”

Ilya gave him a crooked smile and slid under the covers beside him. “Two or three people is not an orgy, Shane.” He tilted Shane’s chin up with a finger and held him there while he kissed his lips. “I am glad you are staying.”

“I’m not saying I’m not nervous about it.”

“I know. But I hate when you are so close but not in my arms.”

Shane’s heart wobbled. “I suppose we’re almost married. So.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Next year we will be the first married NHL All-Stars.”

Shane’s whole body tensed. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Ilya kissed him again, but it didn’t stop Shane’s brain from spinning out of control.

“Oh my god,” Shane said again when Ilya finished kissing him. “I’m so focused on marrying you and being a couple and stuff and dealing with the blowback from the hockey world that I never even thought about, like, being married and playing hockey.”

“Scary?”

It was fucking terrifying, but Shane didn’t want to say that. “We’ll deal with it,” he said with not nearly enough confidence.

“Deal with it?” Ilya said with a smile. “I can’t fucking wait.”



Chapter Twenty-Eight


Ilya and Shane had just finished a boring press conference together the morning of the All-Star game. When they were finally able to exit the room, Ilya was surprised to see Commissioner Crowell in the hallway. He was alone and looking at his phone, and Ilya, without even thinking, took a purposeful stride toward him.

Shane stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I am going to talk to Crowell.”

“The hell you are! Don’t be stupid.”

Ilya grunted, shook Shane’s hand away, and continued walking toward Crowell.

“Commissioner,” Ilya said when he was a few feet away.

Crowell glanced at him, and furrowed his brow. “Mr. Rozanov. How are you enjoying the weekend?”

“Fine. But I was talking to my friend Troy Barrett, and he said you called him.”

“I did.”

“As his captain,” Ilya said, trying to force some importance into his title, “I am...concerned.”

Crowell’s lips formed something close to a sneer. “Are you?”