Heated Rivalry

by Rachel Reid

  “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 me
ant 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.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  April 2017—Montreal

  Shane could see Ilya standing near the centerline as their two teams warmed up before their final match of the season. He was talking to one of his teammates, helmet off, his hair still soft and d
ry around his face.

  Shane hadn’t seen him, hadn’t talked to him, since Ilya’s team had arrived in Montreal. They had texted a few times after Ilya had returned from Moscow, but he hadn’t seen him face-to-face after their memorable Skype call, if that counted.

  He was on the ice now, standing on the edge of the centerline that served as a barrier between the teams during warm-ups. Shane watched the toe of Ilya’s skate swivel onto the wide, red line on the ice. It looked like a dare—or an invitation.

  Shane skated the perimeter of Montreal’s half of the ice and came to a slow stop in front of Ilya. “Hi.”

  Ilya glanced at him and nodded. “Hollander.”

  Shane flipped his stick around so he could pretend to be inspecting the tape on his blade. “We still on for tonight? After?”

  Ilya nodded again, his gaze fixed on the corner of the arena. “Same place?”

  “Yeah.”

  Shane could see a tightening in Ilya’s jaw. “Hey,” he said, as quietly as possible. “You all right?”

  Ilya turned and met Shane’s eyes, and Shane felt a stab of longing in his heart. They were so close, but they couldn’t be more under the microscope than they were right now.

  “We’ll talk later,” Shane promised.

  “Yes. Later.”

  Ilya skated away. Shane watched after him, and then he felt Hayden’s elbow bumping his arm. “What did Rozanov want?”

  “Nothing,” Shane said, blinking and turning to face Hayden. “I was just...offering my condolences. You know.”

  The news had gotten around that Rozanov’s father had died. Shane hoped the press wouldn’t ask Ilya too many questions about it.

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s nice of you,” Hayden said. “I should have thought to do that. It’s just...Rozanov, y’know?”

  “He’s not a bad guy,” Shane said, a little daringly. “It’s mostly an act.”

  “Pretty convincing one.”

  “Yeah, well...” Shane almost said we all have secrets, but he stopped himself. Instead, he said, “Let’s just make sure we win this one, all right?”

  “Fucking right.”

  * * *

  Ilya loved playing against Hollander almost as much as he loved fucking him.

  He was in the corner with him now, battling for the puck, and this was his favorite part of any game.