Page 66 of Heated Rivalry 1
“You like that?” he growled. “You gonna come for me, Rozanov?”
“Fucking make me, Hollander.”
Shane gasped, and his stroking became frantic and sloppy and he was so close...
“Come on,” he gritted out.
Then Rozanov went very still and said, “Oh god. Shane...” and he came in hot bursts, coating Shane’s hand and allowing Shane to use the slickness to bring himself off almost immediately, with the sound of his first name being spoken in a breathless Russian accent still ringing in his ears.
They held each other, both breathing heavily as they waited for their hearts to stop racing. But Shane didn’t think his heart would ever stop racing.
Shane. He called me Shane.
He pulled back so he could see Rozanov’s face, and was shocked to see him staring at him with the same wide-eyed terror that Shane felt.
“Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper.
Ilyadidn’t answer. Instead, he crushed their mouths together and kissed Shane in a raw, uncontrolled way that felt like an apology.
Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no.
When they broke apart, Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s and they just breathed together. Shane held Ilya’s face in his hands, and Ilya was stroking his back.
Was Shane supposed to say something? Nothing had actually been admitted here. No grand declarations. No questions asked.
Shane untangled himself from Ilya and stood. “I should go.”
It was an understatement. Shaneneededto get the fuck out of there. Immediately. He clumsily tucked himself back into his jeans as he staggered backward, away from Ilya.Shit, where did I leave my underwear?
“Go?”
“Yeah... I...uh, I shouldn’t stay. I can’t. We can’t. This is...”
Ilya shifted on the couch, stretching one arm across the back and resting his ankle on his knee, casual as anything. “This is nothing, Hollander.”
Hollander. You called me Shane.“I know. I just...team meeting in the morning. I forgot.”
That made Ilya laugh. It wasn’t warm. “Youforgot about a team meeting? Sure.”
Shane was already at the door, shoving his feet into his sneakers. Fuck the underwear; he needed to leave. “Thanks for the tuna melt. Um...”
Ilya sighed loudly and raised himself off the couch. Shane was frozen in place, staring in terror as Ilya slowly walked toward him. When he reached him, he tugged down on the hem of Shane’s T-shirt, straightening it for him. “Good night, then.”
Shane met Ilya’s intense gaze. His eyes weredaringhim to stay, and, god, Shane wanted to take that dare.
“Good night,” Shane said, barely above a whisper. He bent and grabbed his coat from where it was still lying on the floor, then stood and put his hand on the doorknob. He turned to look at Ilya one last time.
Ilya’s eyes lost their heat, and his brow furrowed, as if he’d just realized that Shane was really leaving. Then, just as quickly, he schooled his face to its default expression of cool indifference.
Shane wanted to kiss him, but he opened the door instead, and darted into the hallway. He strode past the elevators, straight to the stairwell, not wanting to linger outside Ilya’s door. He jogged down the sixteen flights of stairs, trying to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. When he reached the bottom, he leaned back against the wall of the stairwell for a moment.
What is happening?
This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Shane’s heart was racing, and it wasn’t from taking the stairs. Every fiber of him wanted to run right back up those stairs and into Ilya’s arms. To wrap himself around him and go to bed with him andwake up with him.
And that was why Shane marched straight out of Ilya’s building, and didn’t stop walking until he was safely back in his hotel room.
In his panic, he wasn’t careful enough about not waking Hayden. He wasn’t in the room for ten seconds before the bedside lamp was turned on.
