Page 105 of Heated Rivalry 1
And normally Ilya would want to see it, but in that moment he couldn’t imagine anything sexier than Shane Hollander’s face as he came. Ilya felt pleasure flood every part of him ashe climaxed hard, covering his fist and his stomach with his release.
“Holy fuck,” Shane panted. “That was huge. I’m a mess over here.”
Ilya flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
When he looked back at the screen, he could see Shane’s sex-drunk eyes gazing longingly at him from behind his glasses. “It’s sexy when you speak Russian. You know that?”
“Because I don’t sound ridiculous? Like with my accent?”
“Tell you a secret? Your accent doesn’t sound ridiculous. At all.”
“No? You like it?”
“I do. And I want to learn Russian. I wasn’t kidding about that.”
“I’ll teach you.”
Shane smiled so wide and bright, Ilya almost had to look away.
“I should let you sleep,” Shane said.
“Da. Yes. Okay.”
And then...
Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen.
And Ilya’s heart fuckingstopped.
“Good night, Ilya.”
Ilya felt an awful lump in his throat. He had buried his father yesterday, but he hadn’t cried. He hadn’t cried in over ten years. But he knew, in that moment, that hehadto end this thing with Shane. It was never supposed to have gotten to this point. He was never supposed to havefallen in lovewith Shane Hollander. He should have ended it long before because now it was going to hurt so fucking much.
What on earth else could they do? If they kept this up it was only a matter of time before they got caught, and that would be a fucking disaster. Ilya didn’t think the NHL had an official rule about being romantically involved with a rival player, but only because the league couldn’t possibly imagine one being necessary. That’s how shocking a revelation this would be if Ilya and Shane were found out. Ilya’s deepest fear was that he would be kicked out of the NHL—or at least not be offered a spot on any team—and then he might have to go back to Russia, and he didn’t want to think about what would happen to him then.
Ilya’s stakes were higher, but he knew their relationship would only negatively impact Shane’s career too. And, despite what the hockey world believed, Ilya didn’t want that.
“Good night, Shane,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. As soon as he closed the window, he covered his face in his hands and released all of his anguish and frustration and fear into the lonely apartment.
Chapter Twenty-One
April 2017—Montreal
Shane could see Ilya standing near the centerline as their two teams warmed up before their final match of the season. He was talking to one of his teammates, helmet off, his hair still soft and dry around his face.
Shane hadn’t seen him, hadn’t talked to him, since Ilya’s team had arrived in Montreal. They had texted a few times after Ilya had returned from Moscow, but he hadn’t seen him face-to-face after their memorable Skype call, if that counted.
He was on the ice now, standing on the edge of the centerline that served as a barrier between the teams during warm-ups. Shane watched the toe of Ilya’s skate swivel onto the wide, red line on the ice. It looked like a dare—or an invitation.
Shane skated the perimeter of Montreal’s half of the ice and came to a slow stop in front of Ilya. “Hi.”
Ilya glanced at him and nodded. “Hollander.”
Shane flipped his stick around so he could pretend to be inspecting the tape on his blade. “We still on for tonight? After?”
Ilya nodded again, his gaze fixed on the corner of the arena. “Same place?”
