Page 33 of The Last Inch Of Ice
Kai takes the head of Rykov’s cock into his mouth and sucks hard. He wants to drown in this. Wants to forget everything—the game, the injury, the complicated mess of feelings Rykov stirs in him.
“Stop me if you want,” he says, pulling back just enough to speak.
Rykov remains silent, breathing heavily, his hand coming down to grip Kai’s hair.
Kai takes him deeper, a greedy, throat-stretching slide. The sheer size of him, the unrelenting hardness, is overwhelming.
Kai’s eyes drift shut as he gives himself over to it. He lets his mouth work with an obscene, wet heat, no longer holding anything back.Nazar hasn’t said to stop.His cock just swells in response. A feeling of pure freedom washes over him—just this, just finally sucking Rykov’s cock and not giving a fuck about a single thing else in the world.
“Fuck,” Rykov gasps. He leans heavily against the wall, and Kai has to shift closer on his knees to keep going.
Rykov’s hips jerk twice when Kai increases his pace.
“You’ll have to stop… soon,” Rykov manages, his voice rough. “If you don’t want me to…”
Kai understands what he means. He pulls back and wraps his hand around Rykov’s cock instead, stroking him firmly. He keeps his head down, keeps his eyes closed, because he can’t—he can’t look at him right now.
But when Rykov starts to come, a large hand grips Kai’s chin and forces his face up. In the darkness of the storage room, Kai can still see enough. Can still see the way Rykov clenches his teeth, the way his eyes stay fixed on Kai without breaking contact.
“Fucking fuck,” Rykov whispers after he finishes.
Kai quickly gets up. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and turns away, not wanting to look at Rykov’s expression. He doesn’t want to see contempt there. Doesn’t want to see regret.
He grabs his sports bag from where he’d dropped it and tosses it over his uninjured shoulder.
“I understand why you didn’t inherit eloquence,” Kai says, keeping his tone light, defensive, sarcastic. All the armor he needs. “All yourbigtalent went into other places. And by the way, we lost because you were on the ice more than I was. If I’d been on the ice more, we would’ve won, you thick-skulled, dick-heavy caveman.”
He moves toward the door without waiting for a response.
“Bye-bye, Rykov.”
He doesn’t give Rykov time to say anything. Doesn’t give him a chance to ruin this moment with whatever complicated thing he’s thinking.
Kai just leaves, disappearing back into the hallway before his hands start shaking too badly.
10
Chapter 10 Kai
“Do you know where the second emergency exit is?” Kai asks Armstrong, squinting from his seat across from him on the private jet.
The Airbus is one of the nicer charter jets the team uses—all cream leather and that new-plane smell that probably costs extra. It seats nineteen comfortably, which means the team is spread out enough that conversations can happen without everyone listening in.
Armstrong looks like he’s auditioning for a horror movie. Completely pale, gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles have gone white, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cabin being temperature-controlled to exactly 72 degrees.
“What?” Armstrong asks, his voice slightly strangled.
“The second emergency exit,” Kai repeats patiently. “In case something happens. The flight attendant mentioned it during the safety demonstration.”
“She only showed us the first one,” Armstrong says, immediately craning his neck to look around the cabin with growing panic.
Kai taps the toe of his white Ferragamo loafer against Armstrong’s New Balance 990s. The sneakers are that particular shade of blue that only dads and people who’ve given up on aesthetics wear. Tragic, really. If Kai’s going to die in a plane crash, he’d at least like to be found wearing something that suggests he had taste.
“Exactly,” Kai says, adjusting his sunglasses even though they’re inside an aircraft with perfectly adequate lighting. “There’s only one emergency exit on this model. If flying were genuinely dangerous, they would’ve built in redundancies. Multiple exits. This is an Airbus for private corporate flights, Armstrong. Billionaires fly these things. Tech CEOs. If there were any real danger, they wouldn’t purchase them. Rich people are many things, but suicidal isn’t typically one of them.”
“Hey, Callahan!” Miller shouts from three rows back, where he’s been scrolling through his phone since takeoff. “Stop pulling Armstrong’s leg. The kid’s already green.”
“No, no, it’s actually very interesting,” Armstrong says, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobs visibly. “Very… logical.”
