by Rachel Reid
Would Shane like that? Probably.
“Not tonight,” Rozanov continued, moving his mouth close to Shane’s ear. “Tonight I will go easy on you.”
Shane wanted to tell him to fuck off, but Rozanov was kissing his throat, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, so instead he threw his head back against the wall like the eager slut he apparently was.
He felt Rozanov chuckle against his throat, and then Shane felt himself being pulled away from the wall and carried—carried!—to the bed like a fucking child!
“Put me down, asshole!”
“Shhhh.”
“I can walk!”
Rozanov’s big hands gripped his ass as they crossed the room. Shane pushed back off Rozanov’s shoulders, and he could see that crooked smile and those playful eyes.
“Put me down.”
Rozanov turned and dropped Shane on the bed. Shane glared up at him. He was about to tell him off, but he got distracted by the tall, bare-chested, muscular form looming over him. Shane suddenly felt very small on the bed, which was ridiculous—he was five feet, ten inches and built of solid muscle himself. But Rozanov was gazing down at Shane, who was still fully clothed, like he was trying to decide where to take his first bite, and Shane felt...vulnerable.
And he was kind of into it.
Rozanov slid his track pants down and off and stood at the end of the bed wearing only his black boxer briefs, his gold chain, and his stupid fucking bear tattoo. Shane’s eyes went right to the briefs, and the hard length that was trapped beneath. He also noted the way Rozanov’s enormous thighs burst out of the legs of the shorts, hard muscles jutting out from the straining fabric.
Rozanov leaned down and planted a knee firmly on the bed between Shane’s sprawled legs, dangerously close to his crotch. Shane looked up, wide-eyed, as Rozanov descended on him and captured his mouth again. Two big hands landed on Shane’s chest, stroking him over his sweater.
“This is soft,” Rozanov murmured.
“It’s cashmere,” Shane said stupidly.
“Yes. Take it off.”
He did. Rozanov pulled up, keeping his knee firmly between Shane’s thighs, as he watched Shane strip down to his own briefs.
He lay there, waiting for Rozanov to cover him again, to press his weight down on him, but instead Rozanov lightly dragged his fingertips up one of Shane’s legs, tickling his skin and making every hair stand up. He drew a path up to where Shane’s skin disappeared into the leg of his briefs, and then paused. Shane felt like there was an electric current running through him. He could see his own cock twitching in his shorts, begging for attention. He bit his lip and waited.
Rozanov dipped his head and kissed Shane’s stomach. He did it over and over again, his lips almost as gentle and teasing as his fingertips had been. Shane inhaled sharply. How was Rozanov so good at this?
Rozanov’s mouth found one of Shane’s nipples and bit it gently before licking it. Shane squirmed and Rozanov wrapped a hand most of the way around Shane’s thigh to hold him down. Shane once again marveled at how big his hands were.
When Rozanov returned his mouth to Shane’s, he finally moved his hand to palm Shane’s erection through his briefs. Shane made an embarrassing noise into Rozanov’s mouth.
“Did you bring everything?” Rozanov asked.
“Yes,” Shane said. He was pretty sure he had everything. Lube and condoms, right?
“Good boy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes.”
His hand slid inside Shane’s shorts and pulled his erection out. Shane slipped a hand in between their bodies so he could rub his hand over the front of Rozanov’s shorts.
Rozanov kissed him hard and ground his crotch against Shane’s, holding himself up with one hand planted next to Shane’s head.
Shane moaned at the feel of Rozanov’s hips and pelvis rolling against him.
He’s going to fuck me.
His whole body tensed up. Rozanov noticed.
“Relax,” he breathed against Shane’s ear. “You will like this.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, his voice strained. “Just...”
Rozanov pushed off him for a moment so he could quickly rid himself of his briefs. Shane did the same. When he returned his eyes to Rozanov, he was struck by how big his cock was. He’d seen it before, of course, and he knew it was a decent size, but looking at it now, with the idea that it was supposed to somehow fit inside of him...
He must have been wearing his anxiety all over his face. Rozanov laughed. “It will fit.”
Shane blushed furiously, which made Rozanov laugh more.
“Trust me. Where is the stuff?”
Shane, grateful for something to do other than stare at Rozanov’s cock in horror, reached over and opened the nightstand drawer. “I’ve got, um, lube. I ordered it online. It’s supposed to be the best for...this.”
“Ass fucking?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?”
“I’m very charming.” He took the bottle from Shane and inspected it.
“I have condoms too,” Shane said. He pulled a strip of them out of the drawer.
Rozanov raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that will be enough?”
“All right, look...”
Rozanov grinned that sexy goddamned lopsided grin and Shane laughed too. He watched as Rozanov poured a good amount of lube on his fingers, then wrapped those fingers around Shane’s cock.
“Oof,” Shane huffed. “It’s cold! You coulda warmed it up a bit!”
“Shhh. Relax.”
Shane had something smart to say back to him, but it dissolved on his tongue as Rozanov rubbed his thumb over Shane’s slit.
They both watched as Rozanov teased the slit until he drew out a bead of liquid. He smeared it over the head of Shane’s cock, and Shane’s fingers grabbed at the bedding.
With his other hand, Rozanov gently rolled and tugged at Shane’s balls. He was so confident, but so careful. The combination was making Shane throb with need.
“Please,” he whispered.
“Please what?” Rozanov asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Shane answered honestly.
“Please touch you...here?” Rozanov asked, his fingers trailing below Shane’s balls and over the smooth skin that led to...
“Yes,” Shane said. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow.
“Do you know how this works, Hollander?”
Not really. “Yeah. Sure.” He opened one eye. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yes.”
“With...the coach’s son?”
Rozanov shrugged. “Sure. He was one.”
“Oh.”
“Girls too, Hollander. You have not done this with a girl?”
Shane had never really wanted to do anything with a girl that was complicated. Or that would...make things take longer.
“No,” he said.
Rozanov stilled both of his hands. “You have had sex before, yes?” he asked.
“Yes! God!”
“Okay.” Rozanov went back to stroking Shane’s cock and dancing his fingers closer to Shane’s opening.
“You really think I haven’t?” Shane was outraged.
Rozanov shrugged.
“I’ve had plenty of sex, Rozanov. Lots.”
“Fine.”
Shane didn’t like how amused Rozanov looked.
But he did like it when Rozanov poured more lube over his fingers and began to stroke them over Shane’s hole. He sucked in a breath and his whole body shuddered.
“Just relax, Mr. Lots-of-Sex,” Rozanov said. “I will make sure you are ready for me.”
Shane wanted to scowl at him, but in truth he was sort of charmed by the lev
Rozanov kept gently brushing his fingers over Shane’s hole, while at the same time lazily stroking Shane’s cock. Together, it all felt wonderful. Shane felt his body release a lot of the tension he had been holding, and he floated a bit on the good feelings that were coursing through him. It was so good, he could almost forget to be embarrassed about where Rozanov was touching him.
“Good?” Rozanov asked.
“Mmm...” Shane sighed.
And then he felt the tip of Rozanov’s finger enter him, and he clenched in response.
“Sorry.” Shane winced, then took a breath.
He did know how this worked. He had done a little...experimenting. On himself. With the aforementioned dildo. But those times had been him alone. In private. This was...
“Is okay,” Rozanov said in a low, soothing rumble. “We will go slow, yes?”
“Thank you,” Shane mumbled.
The other thing about the private dildo sessions was that Shane had been kind of...bad at it. At least, he had been pretty sure he had been doing something wrong. It hadn’t felt bad, necessarily. But it hadn’t been mind-blowing either.
Rozanov dipped his head and took Shane’s cock into his mouth. Shane felt himself relax; each stroke of Rozanov’s tongue making him forget to be nervous. He took slow, even breaths as Rozanov worked his finger in a little deeper and then...
Oh.
Shane arched and gasped. “Holy shit!”
Rozanov pulled his mouth off him and smirked. “Good, yes?”
He rubbed his fingertip again over what had to be Shane’s prostate. Shane had kind of nudged it himself before, when he had been alone, but Rozanov seemed to know exactly where it was and what to do with it.
Shane squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. If he didn’t, he was going to do something embarrassing, like whimper. The combination of Rozanov’s mouth on his cock and his finger inside of him was like nothing he had ever felt before. And there was no way he was going to last long enough for Rozanov to fuck him if this continued.
“You gotta...fuck. Just...wait a minute,” Shane rasped out.
Rozanov stopped immediately. “Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah...very okay. Too okay.”
“Ah.”
Rozanov used the break time as an opportunity to give his own erection a few lazy strokes. Shane watched him, and noticed again how absurdly large Rozanov’s dick looked.
“We do not have to,” Rozanov said, noticing Shane’s face.
“I want to,” Shane said quickly. Too quickly.
Rozanov nodded, and reached for the lube and the condoms. He got himself ready, and then returned his attention to Shane. Shane felt two fingers press against his opening before they slipped inside. There was less burning this time.
“Stroke yourself,” Rozanov instructed.
Shane nodded and obeyed.
Rozanov let out a low noise that sounded like a growl. “Turn over,” he said.
Shane got on his hands and knees, because that’s how this worked, right? He was pretty sure. He had watched about forty seconds of gay porn, once, before he’d gotten embarrassed and closed his laptop. Now he wished he had endured a little longer, if only for research purposes.
He felt Rozanov’s hands grab his thighs, and he was hauled back until his knees were at the end of the bed. Rozanov put one foot on the mattress, next to Shane’s knee, and placed a hand firmly on Shane’s hip.
And then Shane could feel it; the much-too-large blunt head of Rozanov’s cock bumping against his hole. He clenched his eyes shut, and braced himself for pain.
When Rozanov pressed in, it was slow and careful, but Shane’s whole body trembled anyway. The pain was there, but not as sharp as Shane had been expecting. The pressure was the most overwhelming sensation. He felt impossibly full, and couldn’t imagine how Rozanov was supposed to move once he was all the way in. Shane was struck with the sudden, horrific thought that Rozanov would become stuck inside him. Oh Jesus, they would have to call 911 or something!
Shane forced himself to take a breath and pushed images of doctors trying to separate them while all of Rozanov’s teammates watched out of his mind.
“Okay?” Rozanov asked again. He ran a hand over Shane’s back, slow and soothing.
“Yeah,” Shane said. His voice sounded strained.
Rozanov pulled out a little then pushed back in, even deeper this time.
“Fuck,” Shane gasped. “Wow.”
Encouraged, Rozanov repeated the motion. And again.
Then Rozanov adjusted his hips a little and, on the next thrust, hit Shane’s prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.
“God. Yes! Fuck. Keep doing that.”
“I will. Don’t fucking worry.”
Shane wasn’t feeling any pain now, and he wasn’t scared. He started to push back against Rozanov when he thrust into him, which Rozanov seemed to take as an invitation to go harder. His thrusts became faster, causing the bed to shake and Shane’s arms to tremble as he struggled to hold himself up. It was more than Shane had thought he’d be able to take, but he wanted it. He loved it.
Rozanov’s fingers were digging hard enough into Shane’s hips to leave marks. He was hauling Shane back against him as he pounded into him. Shane lifted a hand up to his own mouth so he could bite his knuckles to keep from screaming out.
This, he realized, was why people were so wild about sex. He had never, ever felt like this with anyone before. And of course Ilya Rozanov, all of nineteen years old, fucked with the confidence and skill of, like, a sex god.
Shane chanced taking his hand out of his mouth so he could wrap it around his dick. He wished he had put a towel down or something—he was going to come all over this hotel bedding. He knew he was going to feel bad about that, but not enough to do anything about it now.
“Yeah. Come on, Hollander,” Rozanov growled. Rozanov, who did not care at all about the poor hotel maids.
“Fuck,” Shane gritted out. And he came so hard that most of it shot up and hit him in the chest. He was so dazed by his own orgasm that he almost didn’t register when Rozanov tensed and stilled behind him. Rozanov grunted and came inside of Shane’s body. Into a condom, but still. Shane’s body had made that happen, and he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around that fact.
Then, to Shane’s dismay, Rozanov collapsed on top of him, crushing Shane and the mess all over his chest into the mostly clean bedding.
“Now the bed’s all dirty,” Shane complained before he could stop himself.
“What?” Rozanov said sleepily. “Shut up.”
Shane closed his eyes and enjoyed the weight of Rozanov on top of him.
Eventually, Rozanov rolled off and went to the bathroom to clean up. Shane shifted carefully to his back, already feeling the pain that was going to make it hard to sit down tomorrow.
With Rozanov safely out of the room, Shane grinned stupidly at the ceiling. He was maybe happier than he should be that his most successful sexual experience to date was with Ilya Rozanov.
The smile faded as he wondered how in hell he was ever going to experience this again. Because he couldn’t keep letting Rozanov fuck him. Obviously. And he wasn’t sure how to safely find other men to do it.
“Hit the showers, Hollander,” Rozanov said as he left the bathroom. “I will get dressed and leave.”
“Oh,” Shane said. Of course he was going to leave. What the fuck had Shane been expecting? He stood up. “Yeah. Okay. Well...”
Rozanov put one hand on Shane’s shoulder in a fairly condescending way. His lips were twitched up in an irritating little smile. “Was fun,” he said.
“Yeah, um. Thanks, I guess.”
Rozanov nodded, then turned to pick up his scattered clothing. Shane went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
When Shane left the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing a towel, Rozanov was gone. There was no trace of the man, other than the messed up bedsheets. Shane grimaced at them, then pulled off the top sheet and dropped it on the floor. He imagined that hotel maids probably dealt with worse shit than this all the time.
He’d leave a big tip.
He dropped the damp towel beside the soiled bedding and got himself dressed. He wasn’t going to spend the night here. He made sure he had removed everything he had brought into the room, then dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the dresser for the maid and left to go back to his apartment. Alone.
Chapter Eight
June 2011—Las Vegas
It couldn’t have been a closer race.
It was the night of the NHL Awards in Las Vegas, and all anyone had been talking about leading into it was who would win the Rookie of the Year award. Both Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov had scored over fifty goals. In fact, they had each scored exactly sixty-seven goals. Both men had helped their teams reach the playoffs for the first time in years, though both had been eliminated in the first round. The two men had been the most talked-about players in the league all season, sparking fierce debate among fans and the press about which of them was the better player.
Shane knew that it was impossible to definitively answer that question, but being named Rookie of the Year would certainly feel good.
Rozanov brought something out in him. Shane wasn’t the type of guy who needed to be the best player on the team—he just always was. And maybe that was it. Maybe Shane had been a little bit bored before Ilya Rozanov came along.
Rozanov was a lot of things, but he wasn’t boring. He frustrated Shane on the ice, and flustered him off the ice. Shane wanted to crosscheck him in the mouth, and then kiss it better. He wanted to forget about him, and he wanted to play every game against him. He wanted...
He wanted to win this fucking Rookie of the Year award.
He wanted to rub it in Rozanov’s face.
He wanted to rub himself on Rozanov’s face.
The Canadian rock band on stage finally finished their song and a B-list celebrity walked out on stage, holding an envelope.
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