Page 138 of The Long Game
Shane didn’t hesitate for a second. He went up on his knees and forearms and waited. He was expecting the welcomepressure of a slick finger, so he nearly yelped when he felt the warm, wet brush of Ilya’s tongue.
“Holy—yes. Fuck yes,” Shane panted.
Ilya was so fucking good with his tongue. He switched between long, confident strokes and soft flutters against Shane’s hole while he gripped Shane’s ass cheeks in his strong hands, pulling them apart to get deeper. Shane dropped his head to the pillow, mouth slack. He couldn’t focus his eyes on anything.
“You were so fucking beautiful today,” Ilya said, then kissed Shane’s right ass cheek. “When you were skating, with your hair.”
“You too,” Shane slurred. “Love watching you skate.”
He heard the click of the lube bottle, then felt the gentle press of Ilya’s finger against his entrance. “Can I tell you a secret?” Ilya asked.
Shane tensed, his stomach flipping in anticipation. “Yes.”
Ilya slid his finger inside. “You are a better hockey player than me.”
Shane gasped, both from the intrusion and the admission. “I’m just—just on a better team.”
“No,” Ilya said calmly. “You have always been better. Always.”
God, why was Ilya saying this? Did he really think so? Did it matter?
“It’s,” Shane gritted out as Ilya stroked his prostate, “a tie.”
Ilya chuckled. “Yes. Okay.”
Shane relaxed into the pillow and against Ilya’s fingers. He felt absolutely perfect, loose and happy and safe, not focused on anything except opening for Ilya. And even that wasn’t a chore because Ilya knew exactly how to get him there. His strong fingers sank inside him, twisted, curled, gently stretched apart while Shane breathed and sighed and sank deeper into the sensations.
Loud knocking jolted Shane out of the moment. The knocking was followed by the voice of Cliff Marlow. “Rozanov! You in there?”
All good feelings left, abruptly replaced by pure panic. Shane craned his neck to peer at Ilya over his shoulder. Ilya winked at him, gave Shane’s prostate another stroke, and called out, “Yes.”
Shane mouthedwhat the fuck?at him, but Ilya only grinned and continued to finger fuck him.
“We’re going out,” Cliff said. “I need my wingman, let’s go.” He sounded more than a little drunk.
“Where?” Ilya asked, and added a second finger.
“I don’t know. Some club. Can you open the fucking door?”
Shane wanted to die. But he also was oddly turned on by this weird situation. Which also made him want to die.
Of course Ilya decided this was the perfect time to finally touch Shane’s dick. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and Shane’s whole body jerked. Unfortunately, Shane also let out a loud moan.
“Shh,” Ilya scolded, as if any of this were Shane’s fault. Then, to Cliff he said, “I can’t right now. Sorry.”
There was silence, and then Cliff jumped to a slightly wrong conclusion. “Shit. You’ve got a girl in there with you, right? Sorry, man.”
“Maybe,” Ilya said.
Shane rolled his eyes.
Cliff laughed. “Probably two or three. Have a good night, you fucking legend.”
Shane bit his own forearm to keep himself from saying anything.
When Cliff was finally gone, Shane said, “Two or three, huh?”
Ilya huffed. “Cliff cannot even count to two or three.”
