Page 53 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Congratulations,” Shane said flatly.
“Thank you. Now take off your clothes.”
Shane had been kind of hoping Rozanov would help him with that, but he obeyed, draping each discarded piece of his suit carefully over the back of the sofa. Rozanov didn’t remove any of his own clothing. He just leaned against a glass table and crossed his arms, watching Shane.
“Shouldn’t we—I mean. There are windows.” There werea lotof windows.
“We are on the sixteenth floor.”
“Yeah, but...”
Rozanov pushed himself off the table and flicked his hand in the air, gesturing for Shane to follow him to the bedroom.
Shane was down to his briefs. When he reached the bedroom, Rozanov was already drawing the curtains across the windows.
“On the bed,” he instructed, without looking at Shane.
Shane did his best to appear comfortable and relaxed on the giant bed, as if he wasn’t nervous as hell about whatever Rozanov had planned. He expected Rozanov to join him on the bed, but instead, Rozanov left the room.
He was gone for an obnoxiously long time. When he returned, he was holding a glass of clear liquid. He sat himself in a chair against the wall at the end of the bed, and took a sip.
“Mm. I am impressed with this hotel. This vodka is not so easy to find.”
“Okay,” Shane said impatiently.
“Touch yourself.”
“What?”
“Show off for me. Let me watch you.”
“You—what?”
“Is my special night, Hollander. I want to watch you.”
Every inch of Shane flushed red. “I—I’ve never...”
Rozanov grinned. “I thought maybe not. So—” he gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the drink “—show me. How do you touch yourself, Shane Hollander?”
Fuck.
Shane wanted to protest, but since his briefs were not atallconcealing how excited his dick had gotten in the past minute or so, he felt his argument would be weak.
“Give me some of that vodka, then,” he said. “I’m too sober for this.”
Rozanov shook his head. “No. The vodka you can have after. As reward.”
“Fuck. You.”
Rozanov laughed. “Is good vodka! Come on. Look at your poor dick, Hollander. Give him some attention, yes?”
Shane glared at him, but Rozanov only crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair, comfortable as anything.
“Close your eyes,” he suggested. “Pretend you are alone. How do you start?”
Shane exhaled and closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the smirking Russian in the corner as he placed a nervous hand on his own stomach. He rubbed slow patterns over his skin, letting his nerves wake up.
He heard Rozanov shifting in his chair. Shane’s lips curled up a bit; maybe he still had some power here.
