Page 15 of Heated Rivalry 1
He flipped to a baseball game and turned the sound down low. He shut off the overhead light and turned on all of the lamps. He checked himself in the mirror. Again.
The knock came at seven minutes after nine o’clock. Shane checked the peephole just to make sure Rozanov wasn’t pranking him or anything.
It was just Rozanov. Alone.
Shane turned off the television, because having it on suddenly seemed dumb. He opened the door and let Rozanov in.
Rozanov looked like he may have put a little effort into his appearance too. He was wearing a black button-up shirt, his gold chain winking at Shane from the wide-open collar. His hair, which was usually a mess of curls, had been tamed a bit, though one lock had already escaped and was tumbling adorably onto Rozanov’s forehead.
“Thought you might have chickened out,” Rozanov said in his infuriatingly blunt manner.
“No,” Shane said. “I mean, I just want to talk. About...you know.”
“I do know. Yes.”
“Uh, do you want to...sit? Maybe?”
Rozanov took a step toward him. “Not really.”
He was so close that Shane could feel the heat of his body. Or maybe he was imagining it.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Shane said weakly.
“What?” Rozanov said, tucking a knuckle under Shane’s chin and tilting it up. “This?”
He brought his mouth down on Shane’s, and Shane flooded with panic. He was stiff against Rozanov, lips pressed together, eyes open. But Rozanov persisted. Shane felt the tip of Rozanov’s tongue trace the outline of his lips, seeking entry. Long fingers threaded into his hair, and Shane surrendered. He parted his lips and closed his eyes, and Rozanov deepened the kiss, pushing between his lips and pressing his tongue to Shane’s.
Shane had never kissed a man, and somewhere in the back of his splintering brain he wondered if Rozanov ever had either. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.
Shane felt like he was made of alarm bells. Like his panic was going to somehow wake up the entire hotel. If it was just that he was kissing a man, he might be able to get a grip. But kissingthisman in particular was so absurd and wrong wrong wrong...
But his dick didn’t seem to think so, especially not when Rozanov wedged a knee between his legs and rubbed a thigh against Shane’s arousal. Shane whimpered and Rozanov tipped his head back farther, using his height and coming down hard on Shane’s open mouth.
Shane wasn’t sure what to do. He hesitantly slid his palms up Rozanov’s chest. He heard Rozanov give a soft moan when Shane’s fingers moved over his nipples, and that one little sound made Shane lose any remaining self-control.
He kissed Rozanov back, hard and frantic and wanting more but not knowing exactly what to ask for. Rozanov crowded him back against a wall and started unbuttoning Shane’s shirt. When he got the last button open, he grabbed Shane’s hand and pressed it against his crotch. And, oh, Shane had his hand on Ilya Rozanov’s dick. Shane could feel the solid length straining against Rozanov’s jeans, and he felt his own cock grow harder even as he struggled against freaking out.
He gripped Rozanov through the denim, and one clear idea of what he wanted popped into his head. He wanted the denim barrier to be gone. He wanted to see Rozanov’s cock and hold it and feel it pressed against him, which wasweird. He shouldn’t want that. He shouldn’t wantanyof this.
And yet...
With a goal in mind, Shane unfastened Rozanov’s fly and worked his hand inside. When Shane had his hand wrapped around the thick, smooth length, Rozanov inhaled sharply and stopped kissing him. Both men looked down to watch Shane’s hand move under the cotton of Rozanov’s briefs. Shane could see the tip of Rozanov’s cock poking out of the waistband, and he had the sudden, wild urge to kiss it. To press his tongue to the slit and taste him.
Fuck. This was really gay.
Rozanov didn’t seem troubled, though. Instead, he was pulling his own shirt off and reaching to cradle Shane’s face with his hand. Shane turned his eyes up and Rozanov was looking down at him with dark eyes, his mouth slack and lips swollen. His face was pure desire.
Shane stood, frozen, as Rozanov dragged his thumb over Shane’s lips and then gently pushed it inside. Shane closed his eyes and sucked it into his mouth, letting his tongue wrap around it. He was shocked at how naturally he did this; by how much he loved the sensation. He heard Rozanov’s breath catch, and Shane felt light-headed. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay standing. He wondered if Rozanov would let him...if he wanted him to...
Shane released Rozanov’s thumb and slowly sank to his knees.
“Fuck,” he heard Rozanov murmur. Shane knew there would be no going back from this, but they’d probably already crossed that line anyway; may as well take what he wanted. With shaking hands, he pulled Rozanov’s jeans and briefs down and lined up his mouth with his thick, rigid cock. He took a breath and, very carefully, pressed his tongue to the head.
“Yes, Hollander...” Rozanov hissed.
It tasted like...skin. Shane slowly moved his tongue around the head, completely unsure of what to do. He liked to be excellent at everything. His only experience with this sort of thing had been at the receiving end, so he tried to mimic what some of those girls had done. He took Rozanov deeper into his mouth, and it felt soweird. He just sort of stayed like that for a moment, his tongue flattened by the weight of Rozanov’s cock. He knew he must look ridiculous.
Rozanov’s expression didn’t suggest that he was watching something ridiculous. He held Shane’s face with one big handand gazed down at him with hooded eyes. He murmured something in Russian and then said, “Look at you.”
