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“Oh, fuck, Ilya.”
The words were a low, half growl, as Shane lowered himself, one excruciating centimeter at a time, onto Ilya’s cock. It stretched, and it burned, but in the best kind of way. He gave himself over to the feeling—the thick, hot stretch, the slickness of Ilya’s length inside him, and the way his breath hitched harshly in his throat as Shane adjusted himself over him. Each twitch, each pulse from the man underneath him made Shane’s hips buck, wanting to claim and to give—to give and claim.
Ilya swore, a harsh sound that zipped right through Shane’s spine. It usually pushed Shane forward, faster, but not just yet. He braced a hand flat on Ilya’s chest, right over his thrumming heart, and the other hand wandered with lazy, languid deliberation to his own nipple. He pinched and twisted, slow and hard, just the way Ilya would have been doing to him right now if his wrists weren’t tied to the headboard. The silk ties, confiscated from their suits after the damn gala, were bound tight enough they kept Ilya in one place, in one position—still, straining, and fucking wanting.
This was all Ilya’s fault. Shane had warned him when they were still downstairs at the fundraiser for the Irina Foundation and the Game Changers Hockey Camp. They had been corralled into a corner, with well-wishers and empty champagne flutes, when Shane told him that if he couldn’t keep his hands off Shane, he would help him with that problem. And of course, Ilya had tested him all night—feverish touches at his waist, fingers sliding insistently down his back, a hand palming his ass under the soft fabric of his jacket.
He was getting his just desserts now.
Shane rolled his hips, one slow, lazy circle that made Ilya’s chest jump sharply under Shane’s palm. “You remember what I said?” Shane murmured in his ear, and Ilya’s jaw clenched.
“Da.”
“Good.”
He kept the rhythm agonizingly slow, rocking forward and back, dragging himself up almost completely before burying Ilya in him again and making both of them feel every bit. He could see the muscles in Ilya’s arms taut and useless against the silky bindings; he could feel Ilya fighting the urge to grip, to take over and control the speed. It only made Shane’s heart hammer harder.
“You want me to go faster?” he asked, knowing, already, that he would get the same answer.
“Da.”
The want in Ilya’s voice made Shane’s thighs clench, but he only smiled, leaned forward until his lips were mere millimeters from Ilya’s. “Too bad.”
Shane angled himself so that each and every slow downward thrust of his hips brushed just perfectly against his prostate, and it was a flash of lightning that made Shane’s voice catch in his throat. He ground down, rolled his hips in a way that made Ilya gasp with want, and pulled back again, both of them aching for release that was thick and smoking in their veins.
Minutes burned to something molten and endless, and there were only three sounds—the wet slide of skin against skin, low, choked groans that they both couldn’t swallow, and the creak of the bed as Shane moved over Ilya, slow enough sometimes that Ilya swore or fast enough that Shane would bury Ilya inside him in one hard thrust, making Ilya buck up, helpless.
Ilya was trembling now, thighs tight under Shane’s ass, sweat slick along his brow. Shane could feel him teetering on the edge, could feel the way his body fought to come apart, to win the battle. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, breathing in Ilya.
“Not until I say,” Shane murmured in his ear.
A frustrated, guttural, bestial growl came from Ilya’s throat, but his hips stilled just enough to let Shane keep control. That resistance, hard-fought and trembling, kindled something dark and possessive in Shane’s chest.
And when he finally picked up the pace, it was like setting gasoline to flame. Ilya’s breath stuttered, ragged, broken as his thrusts met Shane’s with hungry, frantic accuracy. Shane could feel the shift, the way Ilya’s body tensed, the fire coiling deep and ready to burst.
“Now,” Shane said, sharp and sure.
Ilya’s orgasm ripped through him with a ragged, animal sound, his body jerking hard, and Shane felt every pulse of it inside him. It was that moment, that instant, of being taken, of being claimed, that Shane let himself come, pleasure cracking through him in a rush of electricity through his veins.
Shane’s heart was still hammering in his chest when he finally managed to pull off Ilya’s softening cock, slow and deliberate, and watch as Ilya’s eyes fluttered open again. He undid the silk ties from Ilya’s wrists and massaged where pale red marks had bloomed. Ilya curled his fingers with a soft groan, and Shane bent to press a kiss to each of his palms before pushing off the bed to grab a warm, wet cloth.
The room was warm with the smell of sweat and sex. Shane went slowly, cleaning them both with the same deliberateness he’d used to build them both up, making sure every touch lingered a little longer than it needed to be. Ilya watched him the whole time, silent, his eyes dark but softened in the way they only ever were when it was just the two of them.
When Shane was done, he walked back into the ensuite and dropped the cloth onto the edge of the tub. He grabbed bottles of water for them both and walked back to the bed. When he crawled in, Ilya pulled the sheet up over them, and Shane sat next to him holding out the second water bottle, as Ilya sat up to take it. They drank, sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, still connected at every point they could be as they rehydrated. They finished, and Ilya tossed their empty bottles onto the bedside table.
Ilya settled back under the sheet, and Shane laid himself back next to Ilya. Ilya immediately pulled him close, one arm heavy over his waist, as the other curled into his hair. Their legs tangled under the blankets, their skin still slick in places but cooling now, pressed close.
“You’re evil,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s hair, his voice warm, lazy.
“You know you love it,” Shane replied, settling in against his chest.
A soft hum of agreement vibrated through Ilya’s body, and Shane smiled into the skin of his shoulder. They stayed like that, the even thump of Ilya’s heart under Shane’s cheek, the silence wrapping around them, until the only thing left was the soft, contented silence of being exactly where they wanted to be.