Page 27 of Heated Rivalry 1
Ilya nodded, and then Hollander swore under his breath and lunged forward to kiss him. He grabbed Ilya’s T-shirt in a tight fist and pulled him closer.
Ilya moaned at the hot slide of Hollander’s tongue against his. He tugged roughly on the hair at the back of Hollander’s head, tipping his head back so he could deepen the kiss.
They broke apart and Hollander looked at him, eyes wild and dark hair a mess, silently begging for instruction.
“On your knees,” Ilya said softly, just to see what he would do.
Expecting Hollander to tell him to fuck off, Ilya’s breath caught in his throat as he watched him sink fluidly to the floor. His gaze stayed on Ilya. Those eyes that were always so sharp were now hazy with desire as he leaned forward to nuzzle and mouth at the bulge in Ilya’s sweatpants.
“Christ, Hollander,” Ilya breathed, gently pulling at Hollander’s hair as he pressed hot, openmouthed kisses to the fabric that pulled tight over Ilya’s erection. He felt dizzy and less in control than he wanted to be as Hollander tucked fingers into Ilya’s waistband and pulled down until Ilya’s cock was freed.
Hollander didn’t hesitate. He dragged his tongue up the length before wrapping his lips around the head and sinking down. Ilya couldn’t even make a smart remark. He just gasped and let his head fall back, completely overwhelmed by Hollander’s need for this. He certainly didn’t have the ability to conjure English words right now.
Hollander reached a hand up and slid it, fingers splayed, under the hem of Ilya’s T-shirt. He pushed the shirt up until Ilya took the hint and pulled it off over his head. He carefully stepped out of his sweatpants, Hollander’s mouth never leaving him, and planted a hand on the back of Hollander’s head. He was careful not to hold him too firmly in place. This wasn’t control—Ilya just wanted to touch him. To let the silky strandsof his hair slip through his fingers as Hollander gave in to what he had clearly been craving.
Hollander’s hands wandered as he sucked him. His touch was light and curious, his fingertips almost tickling Ilya as he explored his thighs and hips and around to his ass. Ilya wondered how far Hollander was willing to go with him. He wondered if he’d done anything with another man since their last time. The desperate, unskilled motion of his mouth and the slight tremble in his hands suggested that he hadn’t.
The idea that Ilya was probably the only one who ever saw him like this—that he was the only person in the entire fucking world who knew what it felt like to have those pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock...
Ilya swore in Russian and pulled away. He grabbed Hollander by the front of his shirt and hauled him up, kissing him roughly before throwing him on the bed. He wanted to know how much he would give him tonight.
Hollander stared up at him, lips dark and wet and parted. His hair was everywhere. Ilya just stood there and watched him toe off his sneakers, never breaking eye contact. Hollander was breathing heavily, as if he wasn’t one of the most physically fit people on the planet.
Ilya bit his lip and watched him pull his shirt off. In seconds Ilya was covering him on the bed with his body, and kissing him hungrily.
Ilya had always been this way. He loved sex, and he loved it more when it was dangerous—when it was with someone heknewhe shouldn’t be with. Whether that was his coach’s son, or his brother’s girlfriend, or his teammate’s sister, Ilya couldn’t resist a bad idea.
And Shane Hollander was abadfucking idea. Theworstidea. Wrong in every way imaginable. Two men. Two NHL players, poised to be the two biggest stars in the league soon enough.Two bitter rivals on opposing teams that had hated each other for almost a hundred years.
Plus, Ilya hated this guy. He hated his pretty boy face and his perfect goddamned English and his perfect goddamned French and his loving parents and his polite little manners and his million-dollar smile. He hated how serious he was. Howearnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars.
Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles.
Fuck.
Ilya kissed him again so he wouldn’t have to think about him. He wanted to fuck him. God, would Hollander let him fuck him?
They kissed each other frantically, rolling and taking turns straddling each other and pulling off what was left of Hollander’s clothes in the process. Ilya kissed his way down his body and took him into his mouth. Hollander’s hips jerked off the bed, nearly forcing Ilya off him, but Ilya held on. He sucked him and enjoyed the desperate noises he pulled out of him.
He let his fingers trail down below Hollander’s balls. He tapped one finger against his puckered opening and waited for a reaction. Hollander’s body stilled on the bed, so Ilya drew light circles around his hole, just a casual suggestion.
He could feel Hollander tense up. He was completely silent now. Ilya pulled his mouth off him and looked up at his face.
“Have you ever?” Ilya asked.
Hollander shook his head.
“Would you like to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are scared.”
“No! No, I’m notscared.”
“Is okay to be.”
Hollander exhaled loudly. “I’mnotscared,” he said again.
