Page 52 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Hmm.” He traced a finger over Shane’s clenched jaw—so gently it made Shane close his eyes and part his lips involuntarily. “Maybe ask nice.”
Shane wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But instead, to his mortification, he heard himself say, “Please.”
Rozanov raised an eyebrow. “You want me to kneel on this dirty bathroom floor? You have to ask nicer than that, Hollander.”
“Please,” Shane gritted out. “Get on your knees and suck my dick. Please.”
Rozanov pressed his palm where Shane’s erection strained against his tuxedo pants, making Shane gasp and tilt his head back against the wall. Rozanov leaned in and brushed his lips over Shane’s ear.
“No.”
He let go of Shane, and stepped back.
“What?” Shane sputtered.
“No. I will not do anything to you in here. We will go back out there, and sit in our seats, and then go to the party. Andthen, when you have been waiting all night for it, you will come to my hotel room. And I will maybe do more than suck your dick.”
Shane felt dizzy. And angry. And kind of impressed by Rozanov’s English. It had really come a long way.
“You’re really going to leave me like this?”
“Yes. For now.”
“Fine,” Shane grumbled.
“Aw,” Rozanov cooed with mock sympathy. “I will make a deal: if you win MVP tonight, I will blow you, fuck you...whatever you want.”
Shane swallowed. “And ifyouwin?”
A wicked smile unfurled across Rozanov’s face.
“I will let you know.”
He put his hand on the door handle and was about to leave when he quickly turned and grabbed the front of Shane’s jacket. He kissed him roughly, then let him go.
“Good luck tonight,” he said.
And then he was gone.
Shane left the party as early as he could. He wished he had the willpower to stay later, to make Rozanov wait. He wished he had the strength to stand Rozanov up.
He’d been on edge for hours, half hard and buzzing with need. He’d had a few beers, which was a few more than he usually had, and his brain was only able to focus on his desire to get off as soon as possible.
He had a text with Rozanov’s room number, and he’d seen him slip out of the party a few minutes ago. They hadn’t spoken since the bathroom backstage.
Rozanov had won. Of course he had won. And now Shane had to find out what exactly he wanted from him.
They had done...everything? Shane was pretty sure they’d done everything at this point. Blow jobs: check. Hand jobs: of course. Fucking: yes, but only with Shane bottoming. Shane couldn’t see Rozanov wanting to change that up. He hoped not, anyway.
Shane sent Rozanov a text as he approached the door, and he heard it click open just before he arrived. He entered quickly.
Rozanov had an enormous suite booked at the Las Vegas casino where the award ceremony was held. He stood in the middle of it now, most of his tuxedo already removed. He was down to just the sleek, black pants, with his dress shirt half unbuttoned. His feet were bare. Shane had removed his bowtie and stuffed it in his pocket when he had unfastened a couple of his own shirt buttons earlier, but he had some catching up to do.
“Here to congratulate me?” Rozanov said.
“I guess.”
Rozanov spread his arms out, as if to sayWell?
