Heated Rivalry (Game Changers Book 2)

The next day—Moscow

Ilya would fly back to Boston tomorrow.

Andrei was the executor of their father’s estate, what little of it there was, and Ilya had fulfilled his duties as a son. He was done.

He’d realized, over the past few days, that he truly had no reason to return to Russia. He probably would, someday, but he couldn’t see spending another summer here. Any obligation he had felt had died with his father.

He had made an impulsive decision to give his Moscow condo to his brother. Andrei could sell it, or meet his mistresses there. Ilya couldn’t care less; he just didn’t want to deal with selling it. There wasn’t even anything in it that he wanted.

He sat on his bed in that condo. It would be his last night sleeping there.

He could think of one thing he would like to do to commemorate the occasion.

Ilya: Are you home?

The reply was immediate.

Jane: Yes.

Ilya smiled and wrote, Skype?

He waited, and wondered if Shane understood what Ilya was suggesting.

OK, Shane texted back. Just a sec.

Ilya decided to make things a little clearer for Shane, just in case he didn’t get it. He pulled his T-shirt off and dropped it on the floor, then stacked some pillows in front of the headboard and settled himself on the mattress. He sent Shane a video call request.

Shane accepted, and then there he was, filling the screen of Ilya’s iPad. He was wearing a hoodie and…glasses?

“Holy shit, Hollander! Do you wear glasses?”

“Oh!” Shane reached up and touched the frames of his glasses, as if he didn’t believe Ilya. “Just when I read. It’s, um…new.” He pulled them off.

“No!” Ilya said, grinning. “I like them.”

“Well…” Shane said, and damn if he wasn’t blushing already. “I can see you a lot better if I leave them on.” He slid the thick black frames back into place. “What?” he asked, because Ilya couldn’t stop smiling.

“What were you reading? Your boring hockey book?”

Shane’s eyes narrowed behind the glasses. “Are you just calling to make fun of me?”

“No. Not only that.”

He watched Shane bite his bottom lip. God, he’s cute.

“Were you thinking we could, y’know…do stuff?” Shane asked nervously.

“Yes. But first, show me your bedroom. I am dying to see it.”

“Really? All right.” Shane tapped on the screen and flipped the camera. Suddenly, Ilya was looking at a king-size bed with a navy blue comforter.

“That’s the bed,” he heard Shane say off camera.

“Oh, is it?”

“Fuck you. You asked for this. Here’s the dresser. And the bathroom is over there. And the closet. And here’s the view…”

Ilya decided he didn’t care about the view or the bedroom anymore. It was as boring as he had been expecting. It could have been a hotel room.

“Why don’t you get on the bed?” he suggested.

“So much for small talk, I guess.”

“And take your shirt off.”

“Bossy.”

Ilya waited as Shane put his tablet or whatever down, causing the screen to go black. He heard rustling noises, and then Ilya was looking at the end of Shane’s bed.

“Better?” Shane asked.

“No. Turn the camera around.”

“Oh, shit. Here.” And now a shirtless Shane Hollander’s face and shoulders (and glasses) filled the screen.

“Better.”

“How are you? I’ve been…thinking about you.”

Ilya’s heart flipped. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. “I am okay. I might not come back here, after today.”

“Is that scary?”

Ilya shrugged. “Right now it feels…good. Like, um…”

“A weight has been lifted?”

“Yes. Maybe like that. Is there a way I can see more of you?”

“Oh. Yeah…maybe I can…just a sec.”

Ilya propped his own iPad up on his nightstand and stretched out with his hands behind his head. When Shane reappeared on the screen, it seemed he had done something similar because now Ilya could see from the top of his head to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Ilya wanted, more than anything, to be able to cover Shane’s body with his own. To kiss his way down his chest and stomach.

Shane smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I’d like to see you wearing nothing but those glasses,” Ilya said.

“I don’t think my camera can show that much at once.”

“Next time we are together, then.”

“Yeah. Next time.”

Ilya let his head sink into the pillows. He kept it turned, facing the camera. “Do you remember, after the NHL Awards in…what year was it?”

“Two thousand fourteen,” Shane said quickly. “Yeah. I do. I…I think about that night a lot.”

“Do you?”

“It was memorable.”

“It was,” Ilya agreed. “You put on a show for me.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into that.”

“I think you like to be told what to do, Hollander.”

Shane sucked in a breath. “Maybe. A little.”

“And you’re a little show-off.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You love praise. You want everyone to see how good you are.”

“Yeah, well. So do you.”

“No. I know I am good. I don’t care what people say.”

Shane leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at the camera. “Bullshit. You love the awards. The good press. The fans. You love beating me.”

“I love beating everyone, but yes. You the most.”

“Why?”

Ilya shrugged. “Because you are the best.”

“I’m not. What about Scott Hunter? You like to beat him too. You’re always talking shit about that guy.”

Ilya waved a hand dismissively. “Hunter is a million years old and he’s terrible this year.”

“He’s like three years older than us, and he’s been on fire lately.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about Scott Hunter.”

“I think you just have a fetish for good boys.”

Ilya laughed. “Is that what you are?”

“That’s what you say,” Shane said. “What everyone says.”

“Mm. But I know the truth about you. I was the one in that hotel room in Vegas with you, yes? No one else.”

“Yeah,” Shane breathed. “Just you.”

“Are you hard right now, Hollander?”

“What do you think?”

Ilya smirked. “Show me. Get on your knees. Face the camera. Show me.”

Shane obeyed immediately, which Ilya found incredibly hot. His head went out of the frame, but Ilya could see his abs, and the way his sweatpants pulled tight against his obvious bulge when Shane spread his knees wide on the mattress.

“You too,” Shane said, off-camera. “I want to see.”

Ilya copied Shane’s position, showing Shane exactly how aroused he was already. Fuck, he wished they were together somewhere.

“I wish you were here,” Shane said, before Ilya could.

“Yes. What would you do?”

“I’d take those pants off.”

Ilya smiled, though Shane couldn’t see it now. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his track pants and slid them down off his hips. When he looked up, he saw Shane stroking himself through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“No underwear,” Shane observed. “You were planning for this?”

“Maybe.” He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it slowly. “My pants are off. What would you do now?”

Shane dipped down into the frame. His head was cocked and his hair flopped to the side. It was fucking adorable. He smiled at Ilya. “I think you know exactly what I’d do, after all these years.”

“Still want to hear it.”

Shane’s face left the screen. He gripped himself harder through his sweatpants and moaned. “I’d take you in my mouth. I’d suck you all the way down. Fuck, I…I wish I could. Right now.”

“Mm. Me too. Love your mouth, Hollander.”

He loved a lot of things about him.

“Would you want me to fuck your mouth? Or just keep still and let you do the work?”

“Keep still. I’d do it. Make you feel so good.”

And now Ilya moaned.

Shane yanked his pants and briefs down so they were stretched wide across his spread thighs. He stroked himself, sliding his thumb over his slit. Ilya knew it must be wet; Shane always leaked like a fountain.

They both stroked themselves without talking for a minute or two, and then Ilya saw Shane’s hand pause and drop to his side.

“Hey, um, Ilya?”

“Yes.”

He watched Shane’s hand lift out of the frame, probably so Shane could run it nervously through his hair. Ilya stilled his own hand.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No. But… I think I’d rather see your face.”

Ilya was grateful that Shane couldn’t see his face at that exact moment, because he was pretty sure it had the world’s sappiest expression.

“Sure, Hollander,” he said gently.

Shane laid himself back down on the bed with his head nestled on one of his pillows. He reached and pulled his tablet closer to his face and smiled shyly. Ilya melted a little more, and positioned himself the same way on his bed, pulling his own iPad close.

“I forgot about the glasses,” Ilya said. “Already.”

“You really like them, huh?”

“I do.”

Shane beamed at him. Ilya couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. It felt like they were really in bed together, facing each other. Talking at the end of a long day.

Shane’s eyes fluttered closed and Ilya knew he was touching himself again. And Shane had been right—this was better. Watching Shane’s face so closely as he pleasured himself was far more intimate than if Ilya had been watching his hand on his cock. Not being able to see what Shane was doing to make himself sigh and moan was intensely arousing.

“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said.

Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.”

“Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.”

“I have no idea why. I hate them.”

“Noooo…” Ilya moaned. “Hollander. They are stunning.”

“Stunning?”

“Yes. Am I not using that word right? Very beautiful. Um…take my breath?”

“Wow. All right.” The skin under Shane’s freckles turned very, very pink.

“The first time I met you. Those freckles…”

“The first time? You mean at the World Juniors? In Saskatchewan?”

“Yes.”

Shane huffed out a surprised laugh. “You were such a dick to me.”

“Mm. I did not like you. Just your freckles.”

Shane shook his head a little on the pillow. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I told you…” Ilya grinned. “You love praise.”

When Shane didn’t reply, Ilya said, “And you like to hog it all for yourself. You asshole.”

Shane laughed, and his nose crinkled. The freckles got all bunched up under his glasses, and Ilya nearly died.

“You’re very attractive, Ilya,” Shane said, in an exaggerated, placating tone.

“Not good enough. I want details.”

Shane opened his eyes, and rolled them. But he said, “That crooked fucking smile of yours. I can’t even tell you…that smile haunts me.”

“Haunts you? Like a ghost? That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

“It is. And your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“So romantic, Hollander.”

“Fuck you. You asked for compliments. Are you even doing anything down there or am I the only one doing any work?”

Ilya laughed. “You’re not the only one.”

“Good.”

Off camera, Ilya hauled his pants the rest of the way down and off.

“Hold on,” Shane said. “I need to grab the lube.”

Ilya took the opportunity to do the same. “Surprised you even need it,” he said. “You get so wet.”

Shane snorted. “As if.”

They were quiet for a minute, just gazing at each other as they stroked themselves with slicked fingers.

“Do you ever think of me?” Shane asked. “When you’re doing this? Alone?” He blushed furiously as soon as he said it. Cute as hell.

“Yes.”

“I do too. A lot. All the time. Maybe…every time, honestly.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Every time?”

He saw Shane’s shoulder lift in a tiny shrug. “I’ve never…had anything. Like this. With anyone else.”

“You have not been with another man?” Ilya may have held his breath as he waited for the answer.

“I have.”

Ilya exhaled. Of course he had.

“Who?” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but it was too late to take it back.

Shane pressed his lips together. “No one. Stop distracting me.”

But now Ilya was curious. Shane was so careful. Who would he risk having sex with?

“Tell me. Was it another player?”

“No.”

Ilya decided the only way to get this information out of Shane was to make it sexy.

“Did you go to a bar? Did you see someone you could not resist?”

“I went—fuck—I went to Mexico with Hayden and a couple of the other guys. A few—ah, god—years ago. We went out one night and, yeah, I was terrified but…fuck, it had been so long.”

“You don’t let yourself have release enough, Hollander. I don’t know how you do it.”

Shane laughed, a little darkly. “I haven’t come since I saw you last, you know that?”

Ilya inhaled sharply and sped up his hand. It occurred to him that he hadn’t had an orgasm in a couple of days himself, which was an epic drought for him.

“Tell me about this man in Mexico.”

“There’s not much to tell. He was big. He looked like he was, y’know, what I was looking for.”

“A big, strong top?” Shane looked so embarrassed, Ilya took pity. “Was he? What you needed?”

“No. I mean, sort of. But…”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. He just wasn’t…”

Ilya needed to hear it. “Wasn’t what?”

Shane clenched his eyes shut and said, “You. He wasn’t you.”

Ilya damn near lost it. Shane was going to ruin him, saying things like that.

“Was he the only one?” Ilya couldn’t stop the questions from falling out of his mouth now.

“There was a guy in L.A., at a club. I went out by myself. I was desperate.”

“And?”

“We sucked each other off. I was nervous the whole time.”

“Aw.”

“And that was it. Two guys. And you.”

God. “Mexico top. Hollywood blow job guy. And me.”

Shane laughed. “Yeah. And a bunch of disappointed women.”

“A bunch?”

“A few. Anyway, I’m trying to jerk off here, so…”

Ilya laughed. They both went back to the task at hand.

“Hey,” Ilya said. He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Do you think you can beat me?”

It took Shane a second. Then he laughed. “You want to race?”

“Come on, Hollander. Let’s see what you got.”

Shane shook his head, but he was grinning. “You’re an idiot,” he said affectionately. “Fine. Bring it.”

And those words of challenge caused a bolt of desire to rocket through Ilya. He should have no problem winning this battle.

“I think…” Shane said, his voice strained already, “I think the winner should be whoever holds out the longest. More impressive.”

“No way. You would cheat.”

“I would not! Cheat how?”

“I can’t see your hand. You could just stop.”

“I won’t.”

Ilya shrugged. “Fine. You always shoot off so fast anyway. Will be an easy win for me.”

Shane scowled at him, but then something caused his eyes to squeeze shut and he let out a quiet little gasp.

Ilya chuckled. “Fucking hopeless,” he said.

Then Shane opened his eyes and there was definitely something dangerous in them. “You know the night of the draft, in that hotel gym?”

Ilya groaned. Fuck.

“I wanted to pin you to the floor,” he confessed. “I could not stop staring at your mouth. I thought you would notice.”

“I didn’t. I was too busy trying to stop myself from straddling you. Kissing you.”

“Fuck, Shane.”

“I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to. It terrified me. I had never…”

“Never wanted a man?” Ilya huffed.

“No. At least, I didn’t think I did. But you…god, Ilya. I went right back to my room and jerked off thinking about you.”

Now Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. He stroked himself harder, faster. He suddenly couldn’t care less about winning this dumb contest. He gasped out, “Me too.”

Shane groaned, and they both worked themselves roughly as the room filled with the sounds of their breathing.

“I can’t wait to touch you again,” Shane murmured. Then he sucked in a breath and let out a high, manic sound, and Ilya knew if he just held on for another minute he would win because Shane was definitely about to come.

“Ah, fuck. Dammit. I’m so close,” Shane gasped.

Ilya couldn’t even respond. He forced his eyes open so he could lock his gaze with Shane’s.

“Oh fuck,” Shane said quietly. “I’m coming.”

And normally Ilya would want to see it, but in that moment he couldn’t imagine anything sexier than Shane Hollander’s face as he came. Ilya felt pleasure flood every part of him as he climaxed hard, covering his fist and his stomach with his release.

“Holy fuck,” Shane panted. “That was huge. I’m a mess over here.”

Ilya flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”

When he looked back at the screen, he could see Shane’s sex-drunk eyes gazing longingly at him from behind his glasses. “It’s sexy when you speak Russian. You know that?”

“Because I don’t sound ridiculous? Like with my accent?”

“Tell you a secret? Your accent doesn’t sound ridiculous. At all.”

“No? You like it?”

“I do. And I want to learn Russian. I wasn’t kidding about that.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Shane smiled so wide and bright, Ilya almost had to look away.

“I should let you sleep,” Shane said.

“Da. Yes. Okay.”

And then…

Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen.

And Ilya’s heart fucking stopped.

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Ilya felt an awful lump in his throat. He had buried his father yesterday, but he hadn’t cried. He hadn’t cried in over ten years. But he knew, in that moment, that he had to end this thing with Shane. It was never supposed to have gotten to this point. He was never supposed to have fallen in love with Shane Hollander. He should have ended it long before because now it was going to hurt so fucking much.

What on earth else could they do? If they kept this up it was only a matter of time before they got caught, and that would be a fucking disaster. Ilya didn’t think the NHL had an official rule about being romantically involved with a rival player, but only because the league couldn’t possibly imagine one being necessary. That’s how shocking a revelation this would be if Ilya and Shane were found out. Ilya’s deepest fear was that he would be kicked out of the NHL—or at least not be offered a spot on any team—and then he might have to go back to Russia, and he didn’t want to think about what would happen to him then.

Ilya’s stakes were higher, but he knew their relationship would only negatively impact Shane’s career too. And, despite what the hockey world believed, Ilya didn’t want that.

“Goodnight, Shane,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. As soon as he closed the window, he covered his face in his hands and released all of his anguish and frustration and fear into the lonely apartment.