The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(99)

“No,” Ilya said. “Just want you.”

Shane dropped a kiss on Ilya’s temple. “Okay.” He drizzled lube on his fingers. “Um. So, do you want...”

“Fingers, Hollander. Put your fingers in me. And fucking relax.”

Shane scoffed. “You’re the one who needs to relax here.”

“You are the one who is taking forever.”

“I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.”

“Then make me forget how to.”

Shane playfully bit Ilya’s ass cheek, then pressed a slick finger against Ilya’s hole. He worked him slowly, carefully, until he could slip inside without much resistance, up to the second knuckle. He searched around until he found the spot that made Ilya’s whole body jolt.

“Holy fuck,” Ilya panted. “I always forget.”

Shane smiled and started a rhythm. After a few minutes, Ilya was a trembling mess.

“Good, right?” Shane said softly. “Like waves. I love riding this feeling.”

“It is...a lot.”

“Yeah. Like you’re gonna come but not exactly. It feels so fucking good.”

“You come like this, sometimes.”

“I do,” Shane agreed. “And it’s fucking amazing.”

Ilya whimpered.

“You wanna try?” Shane asked.

“I... Yes. Fuck. Feels like it will kill me. Rip me in half.”

“It won’t. Let it happen.”

Shane knew Ilya was humping the pillow a bit, which was technically cheating, but it still took a surprisingly short amount of time before Ilya said, “Don’t stop. Oh fuck. Shane,” then clenched hard around Shane’s finger. His body rocked as he moaned and cursed, then finally stilled.

Shane extracted his finger and kissed Ilya’s spine while he waited for him to come down. Finally, Ilya said, “I hope you did not like that pillow.”

Shane laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“My whole body just shot out of my dick.”

“Do we count that as a lower-body injury?”

Ilya rolled to his back and grinned up at Shane. “Come here so I can jerk you off.”

Shane knee-walked until he was straddling Ilya’s waist. “I can do it. Your limbs are all noodly.”

Ilya folded his hands behind his head. “My favorite show.”

Shane smiled and poured more lube into his palm, then got to work. Less than a minute later, he was on the brink of orgasm. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “I can’t—”

“Is okay,” Ilya said. “Come on.”

Shane stopped trying to fight it, and let his orgasm slam into him, spilling all over Ilya’s chest. Then, Shane collapsed forward and kissed him messily. “Love you,” he murmured against Ilya’s lips. “So much.”

Later, after they’d cleaned up and Shane had put the unfortunate pillow in the laundry for tomorrow, they cuddled up together in bed. It was late and they were both struggling to stay awake.

“Did I tell you,” Ilya said, “that Bood and Cassie had their baby?”

“No.”

“They had a boy,” Ilya said. “Milo.”

“Nice name.”

“Mm. I saw him. Very cute.”

Shane fiddled with the ring on Ilya’s chain. “What would you name your son?”

“Roger Crowell.”

Shane cracked up. “He’d love that.”

“Roger Crowell Rozanov.”

“Stop.”

“Or...” Ilya rolled on top of him, grinning. “Roger Crowell Rozanov-Hollander.”

“God, that’s a mouthful,” Shane said as his heart melted into goo. “Hollander-Rozanov is alphabetical, though, so...”

“Sounds worse.”

“Maybe we could combine our names. Hollanov. Rozander.”

“Roger Rozander. Terrible name.”

“We’re not naming our kid Roger, you sack of shit!”

They both laughed, and then kissed until exhaustion made their mouths sloppy and slow. Ilya fell asleep first, and Shane listened to his steady breathing as his own body fizzed with happiness.



Chapter Thirty-One


March

Ilya was, of course, happy to see all the support Troy got during the week following the Pride Night game. He was sure there was plenty of the other side being vocal online, but those people were getting drowned out, and they didn’t matter anyway. It made Ilya hopeful that things might be okay when he and Shane announced their relationship.

He was only a little jealous when he saw how much lighter Troy seemed. How easily he smiled now. How openly Troy and Harris were affectionate with each other, knowing they didn’t need to hide. Knowing they had the support of the team. Ilya imagined it felt wonderful.

When they were on the ice, waiting for practice to start, Troy approached Ilya. “Hey.”

Ilya nodded at him. “Barrett.”

Troy snatched a puck that was against the boards and began moving it around with his stick blade. “So, I want to, um, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Giving me the push I needed, I guess. Being...supportive.”

Ilya stole the puck from him. “It is called being a friend.”