“Were there people there? A crowd?”
Shane’s cheeks heated. “I don’t think so. Maybe it started as a game, but then we were naked and alone, I think.”
“Interesting.” Ilya moved his hand down to caress Shane’s balls. “I have had dreams where we are fucking in front of people. Like we are showing off.”
Shane gasped as Ilya gently tugged at his sac. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Ilya chuckled. “Do you think so?”
“Sure. You’ve probably gone to sex parties and fucked in front of a captive audience before, right?”
A second later, Shane found himself on his back, with Ilya looming over him. Ilya bent low and kissed Shane’s throat.
“No,” Ilya said. “No sex parties.” He kissed a trail down Shane’s chest and stomach, then lifted his head. “Wait. How many people is a party?”
Shane narrowed his eyes at him, and Ilya grinned broadly. Shane never knew when Ilya was being serious about his sexual past, or when he was just talking shit to get Shane riled up. He knew that, ultimately, it didn’t really matter how many people Ilya had slept with, but it did fascinate Shane that the number could really be anywhere between two and a million.
It was definitely more than two.
Probably less than a million.
“Tell me what you think a sex party is,” Ilya teased. His eyes danced with glee.
“No.”
“Please. I have to know.”
“Weren’t you about to—”
“Yes. In a minute. Is there, like, balloons?”
Shane rolled his eyes, then moved like he was going to leave the bed. Ilya laughed and pinned him down, hands wrapped around Shane’s wrists. As he gazed down at Shane, his expression shifted from teasing to something softer.
“I am so glad I met you,” Ilya said quietly.
Shane’s heart clenched. It was such a simple statement, but it was so open and honest, and it instantly made Shane think of the flip side of those words.
What if they’d never met?
But they had, and they were perfect for each other in a way that probably only they would ever understand. Their relationship wasn’t easy, but it existed. They’d made it happen, against all odds, and they’d protected it.
Shane couldn’t find words, so he tried to lift his arms and Ilya let him, releasing his wrists immediately. Shane wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down, and held him. They stayed like that for several minutes, breathing against each other and saying nothing.
“Now, then,” Ilya said, then kissed Shane’s throat. “I want to blow you while you think about getting fucked at center ice.”
Shane let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t actually want to be fucked at—ah.” His back arched when Ilya wrapped his plush lips around the head of Shane’s cock.
Shane didn’t think about being fucked at center ice or anywhere else while Ilya took him apart with his mouth. He reached for Ilya’s hand and held it tight, fingers woven together. There was absolutely nowhere else Shane wanted to be.
* * *
Shane was determined not to say anything as he watched Ilya slather about a pound of cream cheese on a sesame seed bagel. If Ilya wanted to eat nothing but empty carbs and saturated fats, that wasn’t any of Shane’s business. Instead, Shane bit the inside of his cheek, and continued to measure out protein powder for his breakfast smoothie.
“Oh come on,” he cried, about thirty seconds later when Ilya started adding a layer of Nutella to the mountain of cream cheese.
“What?” Ilya asked.
Shane waved a hand at Ilya’s breakfast. “That’s how you’re going to start your day?”
“No,” Ilya said, dipping his knife back into the Nutella jar. “I started my day by blowing you. Remember?”
Yes, Shane remembered. But he wasn’t going to let that stop his outrage. “Are you seriously going to eat that?”
“Are you seriously going to drink that?” Ilya said, pointing his knife with its glob of Nutella at Shane’s blender.
“This is balanced and contains a ton of nutrients and protein. That contains nothing but sugar and fuck knows what else.”
“Chocolate,” Ilya said helpfully. He finished smearing the Nutella on, then grabbed a banana and waved it in Shane’s face. “Look. Healthy.”
Shane watched as Ilya peeled the banana and began slicing it over the bagel. “Whatever,” Shane sighed, and went back to making his smoothie. He didn’t want to see what Ilya added next. Probably sprinkles. Or onion rings.
While they were eating at Ilya’s breakfast bar, Shane checked his email and was shocked to find one from the NHL’s league commissioner, Roger Crowell. He was even more surprised when he read that Crowell wanted to meet with him when Shane traveled to New York later that week.
“Holy shit,” he said aloud.
“What?” Ilya asked through a mouthful of bagel and chocolate.
“Crowell wants to meet with me.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” Shane wrote back right away, confirming that of course he would. Then he immediately spiraled into a panic about what the meeting could possibly be about.
“He doesn’t say why?” Ilya asked.
“No.”
“That is weird.”
“I know it’s fucking weird! Why me?”
“Is it just you?”
“I—” Okay, Shane didn’t actually know. “Maybe? It sounded like it. He didn’t mention anyone else.”
The commissioner was the single most powerful person in the NHL, overseeing basically everything. He wasn’t a particularly popular man among players. Shane had always regarded him with an appropriate amount of respect, mixed with a bit of wariness.
“What if he knows about us?” Shane asked, jumping to the worst-case scenario.
“Why would he?”
Shane chewed his lip. It was true that there was no way Crowell would know about his relationship with Ilya. It probably wasn’t that.
“Maybe he wants to give you a special award,” Ilya said. “Second-best hockey player.”
Shane ignored him. “I’ve met him, but never actually, y’know, met him. Like, I’ve never had a real conversation with him. Is this something he does?”
Ilya shrugged.