Page 38 of The Last Inch Of Ice
His phone buzzes.
He looks down at the screen.
Rykov:open the door or you’ll regret it
Kai stares at the message, his pulse already accelerating. The insolence of it infuriates him. The command. The certainty that Kai will comply.
When he opens the door again, he pulls Rykov inside forcefully.
Kai stares at the message, then at Rykov standing in his hotel room, then back at his phone.
“You texted me while standing outside my door?”
“You weren’t answering.”
“I was going to answer by not opening the door. Are you insane?” he hisses. “Do you have any idea how many people are on this floor? Miller’s room is three doors down. If anyone sees you coming out of here—”
But Rykov is already moving, crossing the space between them in two strides. His hand finds the back of Kai’s neck—thatspecific spot that makes Kai’s entire nervous system light up—and then Rykov’s mouth is on his skin.
Kai’s breath catches. His hands come up automatically, one gripping Rykov’s shoulder, the other fisting in his shirt.
“I’m starting to think you want press coverage,” Kai manages, his voice unsteady. “That you’re using me for tabloid material.”
“There’s no press here, Callahan.” Rykov’s breath is hot against his throat.
“You can’t be that naive. Players leak gossip constantly. Especially when there’s something to hide. And you and I?” Kai tilts his head back despite himself, giving him better access. “We’re already in the spotlight.”
“About what?” Rykov’s jaw is tight. “That I came to your room? We’re on the same team. Teammates visit each other.”
“Try explaining us being in that storage room—”
“That’s what we have you for.” Rykov’s mouth moves to the spot just below Kai’s ear. “You always have an explanation. Especially for the press.”
Kai stops talking because this— this contact, this heat, this specific pressure of Rykov’s mouth on his neck—is the only thing that makes sense right now. The only thing that quiets the noise in his head.
Rykov tries to push him toward the bed, but Kai’s hand finds Rykov’s cock instead, hard and obvious through his jeans, and they only make it to the sofa.
They barely make it there because Rykov doesn’t let him jerk him off and instead spits on Kay’s exposed hard cock.
The contact is urgent and desperate. Kai’s heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, everywhere. Rykov’s touch is electric and greedy and consuming, and he can’t breathe properly, can’t think properly.
When Rykov pulls back to watch him, Kai’s breath comes in short gasps. He closes his eyes because he can’t handle seeing the intensity in Rykov’s expression.
But Rykov makes that decision for him. He’s deliberate with every touch, watching Kai’s reactions like they’re the most important thing in the world. Kai can’t look away. Can’t distract him. Can’t do anything but feel.
Every second is like walking on a knife’s edge. The pleasure builds, unbearable and sharp, and he can’t hide it. He moans—brief, vulnerable—and arches his back.
Rykov looks at him with an expression Kai can’t read. Then something shifts. Rykov leans down and tastes him, and he holds his breath. After, Rykov brings his hand to Kai’s mouth, and Kai licks it clean without hesitation.
“Very good,” Rykov says, his deep voice rough with something that sounds like nervousness. “Lick it all off.”
He obeys without question, and when Rykov kisses him, it’s rough and greedy. The kiss gradually becomes something else .Rykov’s tongue moving against Kai’s like he’s trying to memorize him.
Kai reaches for Rykov’s cock, stroking him again. Rykov’s eyes stay on his hand movements, his body tense and close. Rykov’s cock begins to leak, and Kai barely resists the urge to kneel down. But he waits, running his thumb over the head instead.
Rykov’s breathing changes. He inhales sharply through his nose, then suddenly comes, turning his head away.
Kai feels a flash of something—disappointment, rejection, confusion—but he forces it down.
