Ilya exhaled hard through his nose, then kissed Shane furiously.
It always felt like before whenever they met in a hotel room. Hotels had been their go-to meeting place for years, grabbing a precious hour or two together when they were in the same city. Now their cities were so close that their teams rarely stayed in town after the games. Sneaking into Ilya’s hotel room like this set Shane on fire like nothing else.
He hooked his leg around Ilya’s ass and gripped his shoulders, practically trying to climb him. Ilya huffed out a laugh into his mouth and slid a hand under Shane’s ass to help support him. “Talking to Matheson made you horny,” Ilya said.
“Looking at you made me horny,” Shane corrected him. “Not being able to touch you. Just—fuck—just shut up, okay?”
Ilya, thankfully, went back to kissing him, and Shane sank back into the wonderful, rare sensation of not giving a fuck about anything except Ilya’s hands on his body and Ilya’s tongue in his mouth.
Shane was, of course, as hard as granite already and knew, distantly, that he was thrusting a bit against Ilya’s thigh, and that he should probably stop because it would be embarrassing if he shot his load already. But he also kind of didn’t care.
Fortunately, Ilya cared. He broke their kiss and extracted himself from the embrace of Shane’s leg wrapped around him. “Sometimes faster is not better,” Ilya said with a crooked smile. He took Shane’s hand, then lifted it to his lips and gently kissed his knuckles.
“Yeah, but—oh.” Shane’s argument was cut short when Ilya flicked his tongue between two knuckles. For some reason the sensation sent ripples of pleasure throughout Shane’s body. How did Ilya know? What made someone even decide to do that?
“We are going slow tonight,” Ilya informed him. Shane could only nod, his head as wobbly as the rest of him.
Ilya tugged on his hand and led him to end of the bed. He paused there, and began lightly playing with the ends of Shane’s hair with one hand, while the other rested on Shane’s hip.
“I want to look at you,” Ilya said. “Everywhere. And touch you. And kiss you. I want to take my time until you are dying for it.”
Shane’s tongue felt heavy. “You’d better make it worth the wait.”
“I will.” Ilya trailed a fingertip delicately along the line of Shane’s jaw. “Because I will be dying for it too.”
Shane hadn’t touched alcohol for a year, almost, but he felt a bit drunk in that moment. Ilya’s hand on his hip was possibly the only thing that was preventing him from toppling forward onto the floor. “Sounds like hard work for you.”
Ilya’s lips curved up. “It is your reward. For winning today.”
“Oh,” Shane said thickly. “Fuck.”
Then they were kissing again, Ilya’s big hand gripping Shane’s face, his thumb pressing into the hinge of his jaw. Shane pressed his own hands to Ilya’s chest and found the ring there. He wanted to see it. He wanted Ilya’s shirt off. He wanted all of their clothes off. He wanted Ilya inside him and—
“Relax,” Ilya chuckled. Shane realized he’d been grabbing at Ilya’s shirt, possibly trying to tear it off.
“I fucking want you,” Shane said. It sounded whiny.
“I know.” But instead of doing anything to speed things along, Ilya lightly kissed his forehead, then his right eyebrow, then his cheek.
Shane let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes. He needed to accept that Ilya was in charge here. He stood very still and let Ilya kiss his jaw, his chin, his throat. He focused on Ilya’s breath against his skin, the fingers in his hair, and the steady beating of his own heart.
Ilya only wanted to pamper him. The least Shane could do was let him.
A sudden burst of yelling and laughter came from the hallway, outside the door. Loud male voices of their peers—Shane was pretty sure one of them was Dallas Kent. He flinched at the reminder that they were dangerously close to the rest of the hockey world here.
“Ignore them,” Ilya whispered.
“I’m trying.”
Ilya licked at the hollow of Shane’s throat, then kissed down until he reached the low collar of Shane’s shirt. “I like this shirt,” Ilya said.
“That’s why I wore it.”
Ilya peeled it away and kissed the newly exposed skin of Shane’s collarbone and chest. He kissed his shoulders as he gently pushed Shane backward onto the bed.
Shane shuffled on his back until his head reached the pillows. Ilya followed, hovering over him and continuing to drop soft kisses wherever he liked. It was luxurious and indulgent for Shane to just lie there while Ilya made him feel wonderful. It did feel like a prize he’d earned, and that fucking did it for Shane. He loved being rewarded like this.
Ilya kissed his chest as he undid Shane’s belt, and then the button on his shorts. He caught Shane’s right nipple in his teeth as he pulled his zipper down.
“Ah,” Shane gasped. He lifted his hips so Ilya could slide his shorts and underwear off and to the floor. Shane’s cock was hard and lay flat against his stomach, hoping for attention.
Ilya, of course, ignored it.
He continued to sweetly torture Shane with light kisses and caresses that made Shane’s toes curl and his blood thrum. He felt like he was sinking into the mattress, or floating to the ceiling. His head was cloudy with lust and happiness. He could still hear people—fellow NHL stars—talking loudly in the hall, but it seemed distant and unimportant. Nothing mattered but Ilya. The man he loved. His future husband.
“You are going to fuck me,” Shane murmured, “right?”
Ilya kissed Shane’s hipbone. “Maybe.”
Shane shivered. “God.”
Ilya laughed against his skin. “You work so hard on this body. You should like this attention.”
Shane did like it, dammit. “Take your shirt off?” He sounded pathetic.
Ilya sat up and pulled his T-shirt off over his head, then tossed it behind him. The ring glinted on its chain against his dark chest hair, and god, sometimes Shane forgot. It seemed impossible to be able to claim this man forever.
Shane reached out with one hand. “Come here. Kiss me.”
Ilya lowered himself and nipped Shane’s bottom lip, then pecked one corner of his mouth, then the other. When he finally took Shane’s mouth, he kissed him with maddening patience and control. Shane tried to take charge, desperate to move things along, but Ilya wouldn’t let him.
Be good, Shane instructed himself. Let him do this for you.
He wished Ilya would touch his cock. It was right there, but Ilya had positioned himself so he was mostly beside Shane, leaving Shane’s erection alone and miserable.