Shane loved this moment, when Ilya began to lose control and started to desperately chase his own release. Shane obediently stroked himself, biting his own lip to keep from crying out.
He came first, his release splashing onto his stomach at the exact moment someone in the hallway let out a loud whoop, which was a weird coincidence that Shane, unfortunately, found very hot.
Ilya was laughing, almost hysterically, but he was still thrusting and interrupting his own laughter with frantic grunts until finally, “I’m going to come, Hollander. Fuck.”
Shane wished he hadn’t said his name, but he stopped caring about it immediately because watching Ilya Rozanov’s face when he climaxed was Shane’s favorite thing in the world.
Ilya managed to stop himself from crashing down on top of Shane, and instead carefully pulled out and rolled to his side, breathing heavily.
“That was,” Shane said, “fucking hot.”
Ilya wrinkled his nose. “Ehn. Was okay.”
Shane let out a shaky laugh and lightly punched Ilya’s chest. “Fuck you.”
They took turns getting cleaned up in the bathroom. Shane got back into bed, still naked, as he waited for Ilya. He was thankful they’d managed to keep the sheets relatively clean.
“You are staying,” Ilya said.
Shane opened his eyes and found him standing outside the bathroom, also still naked.
“Well,” Shane said, gesturing to the hallway where they could still hear loud male voices. “I’m not going out there.”
“They will not assume we were having sex,” Ilya said reasonably.
“I know.”
“Maybe we watched a movie,” Ilya said as he sauntered toward the bed. No one should look that elegant naked.
“Who?” Shane asked dryly. “Me and the two or three women you were having an orgy with?”
Ilya gave him a crooked smile and slid under the covers beside him. “Two or three people is not an orgy, Shane.” He tilted Shane’s chin up with a finger and held him there while he kissed his lips. “I am glad you are staying.”
“I’m not saying I’m not nervous about it.”
“I know. But I hate when you are so close but not in my arms.”
Shane’s heart wobbled. “I suppose we’re almost married. So.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Next year we will be the first married NHL All-Stars.”
Shane’s whole body tensed. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Ilya kissed him again, but it didn’t stop Shane’s brain from spinning out of control.
“Oh my god,” Shane said again when Ilya finished kissing him. “I’m so focused on marrying you and being a couple and stuff and dealing with the blowback from the hockey world that I never even thought about, like, being married and playing hockey.”
“Scary?”
It was fucking terrifying, but Shane didn’t want to say that. “We’ll deal with it,” he said with not nearly enough confidence.
“Deal with it?” Ilya said with a smile. “I can’t fucking wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ilya and Shane had just finished a boring press conference together the morning of the All-Star game. When they were finally able to exit the room, Ilya was surprised to see Commissioner Crowell in the hallway. He was alone and looking at his phone, and Ilya, without even thinking, took a purposeful stride toward him.
Shane stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”
“I am going to talk to Crowell.”
“The hell you are! Don’t be stupid.”
Ilya grunted, shook Shane’s hand away, and continued walking toward Crowell.
“Commissioner,” Ilya said when he was a few feet away.
Crowell glanced at him, and furrowed his brow. “Mr. Rozanov. How are you enjoying the weekend?”
“Fine. But I was talking to my friend Troy Barrett, and he said you called him.”
“I did.”
“As his captain,” Ilya said, trying to force some importance into his title, “I am…concerned.”
Crowell’s lips formed something close to a sneer. “Are you?”
Now that Ilya was standing in front of Crowell, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say. And he had a feeling he may stumble through his English sentences more than usual. Crowell was intimidating.
“Barrett has been doing good work. Trying to help,” Ilya said.
“I assume you’re talking about his recent social media activity,” Crowell said. His tone was almost bored, but with a dangerous edge to it. “He’s become quite the activist all of a sudden.”
“Yes. This is what I mean. He is trying. After what Dallas Kent did—”
Crowell held up a hand. “After what Dallas was accused of doing. Anonymously.”
Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Barrett was his friend. He knows him.”
“Does he? Because when I spoke to him he told me he didn’t, in fact, know anything about the accusations. He didn’t witness anything. It had never even occurred to him that his best friend was capable of such things. Seems strange, doesn’t it? I would say it’s more likely that people on the internet make stuff up than it is for someone to not know their best friend at all.”
Ilya felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.
“Commissioner Crowell,” came a voice from behind Ilya. Shane had approached. Fuck. He didn’t need to get dragged into this terrible decision.
“Shane,” Crowell said in a way that was warm and cold at the same time. “Are you also here to defend Troy Barrett’s personal vendetta against Dallas Kent?”
Ilya could see the anxiety all over Shane’s face, but Shane straightened his shoulders and said, “I think he was doing good work. Using his voice to help people.”
“Barrett should be using his hockey skills to win hockey games,” Crowell said. “That’s what he gets paid millions of dollars to do. I have no patience for unnecessary drama. You two have always kept your rivalry on the ice. None of this petty social media bullshit.”
“I don’t think it’s petty,” Shane argued. “I think Barrett legitimately cares about the issues he’s bringing attention to. He’s doing what the league should be doing.”
Oh shit. Ilya could not believe Shane just said that. He took a step closer to him, as if to protect Shane from whatever the response from Crowell would be.
Crowell stared at Shane balefully. “Is he? Should I be taking time out of my busy schedule of running the entire fucking National Hockey League to make sure we post about every goddamned issue in the world? You know what happens every time a player decides to be an activist?” He said the word activist like it was the worst insult he could imagine. “Journalists start looking into the league’s history with whatever issue they’re going on about. Suddenly a team with a hundred-year history isn’t so great because they had a coach that said something once that was maybe a bit racist. It’s ridiculous and I don’t have time for it.”
“Like when Scott Hunter came out?” Ilya asked, his voice surprisingly steady. “This was annoying for you?”