Page 96 of The Long Game
In the bedroom, Shane turned on one of the bedside lamps, keeping the lighting low. Ilya stood at the end of the bed and watched him, then continued to watch as Shane began to undress him. Ilya’s eyes were hooded, but more with exhaustion than lust, Shane suspected.
“You won tonight,” Ilya said as Shane slid his dark gray suit jacket off of him.
“It was Buffalo,” Shane said, almost apologetically. “Nothing to brag about.”
“Buffalo beat us last time we played them,” Ilya pointed out.
Shane didn’t know what to say to that, so he silently loosened Ilya’s tie and removed it, laying it on the bench at the end of the bed, on top of the jacket.
When he was halfway through unbuttoning Ilya’s shirt, Ilya stopped him by capturing Shane’s hand in his own. Shane glanced up and found Ilya staring at him like he had something important to say.
“What?” Shane asked, when Ilya didn’t say anything.
“How long can you stay?”
“Until Friday morning. We’ve got a practice, then we’re flying to Dallas.”
Ilya’s fingers clenched around Shane’s hand. “And when is the next time?”
“I’m home for almost two weeks after this road trip. You?”
“Away when you get back.”
“Oh.” Shane forced himself to sound cheerful. “We’ll have Christmas together, though.” All NHL players had a few days off at Christmas, and he and Ilya had spent it in Ottawa the past few years, sharing the holiday with Shane’s parents. Christmas didn’t mean much to Ilya, but he generally loved food and presents, so he always seemed to enjoy it.
Ilya smiled, but it looked forced. “Yes. Will be nice.”
Shane understood how he felt. Their scattered days and nights together during the hockey season were never enough. He placed the hand that wasn’t being held in a death grip on Ilya’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m here now.”
Ilya’s tight smile relaxed into something more genuine. “Yes,” he agreed, and leaned in to kiss him.
Shane couldn’t imagine anyone in the world being a better kisser than Ilya. Commanding and tender at the same time, just on the edge of filthy, but still managing to make Shane feel adored and precious. Shane was always just trying to keep up.
Ilya released Shane’s hand and moved his own to the back of Shane’s head, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling gently. “Love this long hair,” he said in a low rumble that made Shane’s toes curl.
Shane hummed happily in response, then slid his newly freed hand up Ilya’s spine, over the slick material of his dress shirt, then curved his palm around the back of Ilya’s neck. Shane’s dick, which had been surprisingly chill so far, thickened hopefully against Ilya’s thigh. Shane tried to angle his hips back so it wouldn’t be obvious—Ilya needed sleep more than sex—but Ilya chuckled into his mouth and moved his thigh forward to bump against his erection.
“Happy to see me,” Ilya murmured against Shane’s lips.
“Always. But you can ignore...that.”
“This?” Ilya asked, and dropped a hand to squeeze Shane’s dick through his jeans.
Shane closed his eyes and grunted softly. “Yeah. You need sleep. We both do.”
“Sex helps me sleep,” Ilya argued.
Shane laughed and batted his hand away, then resumed unbuttoning Ilya’s shirt. He continued removing clothing until Ilya was down to his boxer briefs and socks.
“I’ll let you take the socks off,” Shane said.
“And you will help with the underwear?” Ilya asked with a crooked, sexy smile.
“Maybe.”
Shane got himself undressed, and Ilya crawled into bed. Shane went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and when he came back, Ilya was already asleep.
Shane smiled and got into bed beside him, stretching an arm across Ilya’s chest and snuggling close. “Good night, sex machine,” Shane said quietly.
