Page 3 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Yes,” Shane exhaled, a mixture of relief and humiliation sweeping through him.
Rozanov slid down his body, kissing, sucking, licking, until he reached Shane’s cock. He didn’t tease any further. He took him into his mouth, and Shane was grateful that they were alone in the building because his moan echoed throughout the sparsely decorated room.
He propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch. Part of him wanted to lie back and close his eyes and let himself believe that it wasanyoneother than Ilya Rozanov making him feel so good. But most of him wanted to seeexactlywho it was.
Rozanov was a stunning man. Light brown curls that were always a mess fell into his playful hazel eyes and over his dark, thick eyebrows. His strong jaw and cleft chin were covered in stubble. His smile was lopsided and lazy, and his teeth were unnaturally white due to most of them not being real.
His nose was crooked, having been broken more than a few times, but the fucking thing only made him look more rugged. And for a Russian living in Boston, his skin was a lot more golden than it had any right to be.
Shane fucking hated him. But Rozanov was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing.
Shane hatedthis, but he had taken great pains to protect it, and he would continue doing so as long as Rozanov was willing. Their lives being what they were, this was not an easy thing to get. Maybe, when they had started seven years ago, they hadn’t expected their lives, their famous rivalry, to get to the point it was at now. Maybe they should have stopped by now. But, despite the wrongness of it, this was comfortable. This was familiar. And it was as close to safe as either of them were going to get.
That’s all it was.
Rozanov worked his talented mouth on Shane’s cock, and Shane tossed the lube down the bed from the well-stocked nightstand. Rozanov took it without pausing what he was doing, and poured some on his fingers so he could get to work opening Shane up.
This was never Shane’s favorite part because he felt so fucking vulnerable. He felt weak and ridiculous every time they were together like this, but he always felt it most acutely when Rozanov had his fingers inside him. As a result, the preparation usually took a while.
Rozanov, on the other hand, always seemed completely at ease. He was good at this, and he knew it. He slid his mouth off of Shane’s cock with a parting lick to the head that sent a jolt straight through Shane’s body, and said, “Relax, yeah? Is not much time, but enough.”
Shane took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hated that voice so much on the ice, and in the interviews he saw ontelevision where Rozanov mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone. But here, in this bed, Rozanov’s tone was patient and gentle, his voice soft and his accent wrapping elegantly around boxy English words.
Shane relaxed as Rozanov opened him with strong fingers and pressed openmouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs. When he was ready, Shane wordlessly handed Rozanov a condom before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. He couldn’t look at Rozanov. Not tonight. Not after that humiliating loss.
Rozanov seemed to understand. He entered him carefully, not taking him roughly like he had many times in the past. This was slow and considerate. Shane felt big hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as Rozanov pushed inside. He even felt Rozanov’s thumbs brush gently over his lower back.
“There. This is what you wanted, yes?”
“Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.
Rozanov started to move and Shane cried out. It never took long for him to just give in and start moaning and gasping and asking for more.
“Fuck, Hollander. You love it.”
Shane responded by turning, he was sure, beet red. But he couldn’t deny it.
If Shane hadn’t known the building was empty besides the two of them, he would have been worried about how loud he was being as Rozanov fucked him. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust and maybe said Rozanov’s name a bunch of times.
Shanereallyhoped no one could hear them.
When Rozanov reached around to take Shane’s cock in his slick hand, Shane became desperate for release and started bucking back against him. This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.
“You gonna come for me, Hollander?”
Hollanderwasgoing to. And he did. He punched the mattress and swore loudly and coated Rozanov’s fist with his release.
Rozanov picked up speed behind him, sending aftershocks rocketing through Shane’s body with each thrust. Just as it was becoming too much for Shane, Rozanov stilled and cried out and pulsed inside him.
Afterward, they lay on their backs next to each other, and Shane felt the familiar aftermath of guilt and shame creep in.
“Well, you won atsomethingtonight,” Rozanov mused.
“God. Fuck off.” Shane lifted his arm to flip him off, but Rozanov grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so Shane was on top of his chest, looking down at him. Rozanov’s playful smirk faded as he held Shane’s gaze, and Shane felt suddenly breathless.
“Still have that stupid tattoo, I see,” Shane said quickly, to distract himself from whatever the fuck was happening.
“Aw,” Rozanov said, the obnoxious little grin returning to his face. “He missed you.”
