Page 83 of The Last Inch Of Ice
He lights it with a match. The small flame flickers in the wind.
He takes a deep drag, feeling the burn in his lungs, and tries not to think about the fact that Nazar Rykov is approximately two hundred feet away.
Footsteps behind him. Heavy. Familiar.
He doesn’t have to look to know who it is.
Rykov appears at the edge of the terrace.
He walks over with that deliberate stride he has—like he owns every space he enters— and without asking permission, takes the cigarette from between Kai’s fingers.
He takes a drag, his eyes never leaving Kai’s face.
“Don’t tell me,” Kai says, his voice dripping with venom and exhaustion, “that you came all the way to Los Angeles just to make my life more miserable. Because if that’s your hobby now, I have to say, it’s working spectacularly.”
A muscle jumps in Rykov’s jaw. “Is that what I’m doing? Making you miserable?”
“Don’t suddenly play the philosopher, Rykov.” Kai holds out his hand. “Give me back my cigarette.”
“Take it.”
Kai steps forward. Rykov takes a step back, and another, until his back is against the stone railing of the terrace.
He’s still somehow the most dominant presence on the patio even in retreat, which is infuriating.
Kai snatches the cigarette back and takes a long, slow drag, refusing to break eye contact. Rykov just watches him, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable in that way that makes Kai want to scream.
The silence stretches.
Finally, Kai can’t take it anymore.
“If you came here for something specific,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “you’ll only get it right here. In front of half a dozen NFL players with phone cameras. How does that sound to you?”
Rykov’s face darkens. He knows exactly what Kai is implying.Let’s see you risk your precious, alpha-male image for a quick blowjob in public. Let’s see you prove you want me that badly.
Kai knows he never will.
“I know what you’re doing,” Rykov says, his voice a low growl.
“Wow, congratulations on engaging in that rare activity. Thinking. And what is it you think I’m doing?”
“It’s not going to go the way you think it is.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’ve started talking in riddles. I think I preferred when you were just a silent, brooding troglodyte with communication skills limited to grunts and the occasional sentence fragment.”
Rykov leans in suddenly—so fast and fluid that Kai doesn’t have time to react. He’s suddenly in Kai’s space, his lips brushing against Kai’s ear, his breath warm and shocking.
Kai’s own breath catches. This is too risky. This is insane. They’re at a party full of professional athletes and media people.
“You liked the way I talked when you had my cock in your mouth,” Rykov whispers, his voice a dark, intimate rumble that goes straight to Kai’s groin despite his brain screaming warnings. “I’m sure you liked it then.”
He presses his lips harder against Kai’s ear, and Kai can feel his pulse hammering.
“Now it’s going to be my way. In three minutes, you’re going downstairs to the second floor. First men’s bathroom. And you’re going to—”
“Fuck you,” Kai says, but the words come out breathy and weak.
“And yes,” Rykov murmurs, pulling back just enough that Kai can see his dark eyes. “You’re right. I came here just for you.”
