Page 58 of The Last Inch Of Ice
“Miller gave me your room number,” Kai says, stalking into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “Don’t you—don’t youeverfucking skate away from a pass like that again.”
“It was a shit pass,” Nazar says, his own control snapping like a frayed cable. “It was halfway to my ankles. I would’ve had to go to my knees to get it.”
“A decent center would have had it!”
“A decent winger would have put it where I could actually reach it without breaking my back! I always thought you came here to sabotage us,” Nazar snarls, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. “That you were doing all of this on purpose. Playing badly when it matters most. But now I’m starting to think you really just can’t play a consistent game. You’re all flash and no fucking substance.”
The words are a direct strike at the one thing Kai prides himself on. His skill, his hockey IQ, his value as a player.
Kai’s face goes white. He laughs, but it’s a sharp, ugly sound with no humor in it. “Me? Inconsistent? You’re the most unstable person I’ve ever met, Rykov. You’re a fucking black hole of rage and impulse wrapped up in some bullshit disguise of discipline. You stand there like this pillar of consistency, but you’re the one who blows everything up. Every single time. You’re a fucking hypocrite.”
The space between them crackles with a silence more violent than any shout. They’re chest to chest now, close enough that Nazar can see the pulse jumping in Kai’s throat.
Six years of resentment. A season of raw, unspoken need. All of it compressed into the charged air between them.
Then they launch themselves at each other.
The kiss is messy—too much teeth, not enough air, like they’re both trying to devour each other.
Nazar barely notices when his back hits the wall. Kai is pressed against him, fingers locked in his shirt, like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart.
Then Kai drops to his knees.
Nazar’s hand shoots out to steady himself against the wall as he looks down—Kai is staring up through dark lashes, cheeks flushed, chest rising fast.
Kai’s palms drag slowly up the insides of Nazar’s thighs, almost cautious—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him. The touch is barely there, but Nazar feels it everywhere.
Heat coils in his stomach, sharp and sweet and unbearable. His fingers slide into Kai’s hair, not pulling. As if he needs proof this is real.
Kai leans in.
That first touch—hot breath, lips brushing sensitive skin—sends a violent tremor through Nazar’s legs. His hips jerk forward without permission.
Kai’s hands tighten on his hips, holding him there, guiding him, teasing, taking. Nazar’s vision sparks at the edges. His head tips back against the wall with a dull thud.
His breathing turns rough, uneven, like each inhale costs him something.
Kai works his mouth slowly along him, taking more with every deliberate glide. Each time Nazar feels Kai’s lips part and slide over the sensitive tip, his vision threatens to go white—this has to be it, he’s going to lose it right there.
Kai is relentless. Focused. Almost reverent in the way he moves, like he’s memorizing this—every reaction, every sound Nazar makes. It feels unreal, feverish, like something conjured in the dark hours of the night, not happening here, not with Kai on his knees.
This can’t be real.Any second now, he’ll wake up alone, aching, with no memory of what Kai’s mouth looked like wrapped around him—no image burned into his mind of Kai’s flushed lips, swollen and slick, after taking him in.
“Fuck—Kai—” His voice breaks, low and hoarse.
Kai only hums softly in response—a sound that vibrates through Nazar in places he didn’t even know could ache like this.
A flicker of panic coils low in Nazar’s gut.
The first time Kai went down on him, he’d blamed the intensity of it on inexperience—on the shock of another man’s mouth and the fact that Kai was, infuriatingly,goodat this. He’d told himself that was all it was.
But now—this second time—he knows better. Because it takes everything he has not to lose control.
His fingers curl tight, knuckles white, every muscle locked as he fights the urge to take more, to thrust deeper, to hold Kai exactly where he wants him. The restraint costs him. Costs himeverything. This isn’t just about touch or technique or curiosity.
The world narrows to the drag of heat, the pressure, the rhythm that builds and builds until thought is gone and there’s only instinct. His hand tightens in Kai’s hair. Not to control. Just to survive it.
When it finally hits, it hits hard.
