Page 19 of The Long Game (Game Changers #6)

He loved playing these games with Shane.

Even though they’d been an exclusive couple for over three years, and secret lovers for years before that, their sex life was far from stale.

Every kind of sex they had was exciting: the frantic, heated, almost aggressive sex they sometimes had after a game, or after an argument; the unhurried, exploratory sex they indulged in when they had plenty of time and privacy; the playful, competitive sex they enjoyed when one of them challenged the other.

And this. The times when Shane wanted to prove something to Ilya—wanted to be good for him. And rewarded for it after. Ilya fucking loved this sex.

He wondered what Shane was doing at that moment, as the taxi finally crawled past the accident near the entrance to the bridge.

Was he still fingering himself, or was he jerking himself off while he played with his balls?

Was he reaching for a toy from the drawer that had gone from housing a solitary dildo to an impressive array of sex toys over the past couple of years? Ilya was fond of buying Shane presents.

Three minutes passed between Shane’s last text and the next one.

Shane: Fuck.

Ilya: Did you do it?

Shane: Yes. Fuck you. That was torture.

Ilya glanced out the window, then wrote, I will be there in five minutes. One more before I get there, ok?

Obviously, Shane could refuse. Tell Ilya to get fucked. Or lie about it. Ilya knew he wouldn’t do any of those things.

Shane: Ok. You have your key, right?

Ilya: Yes.

He smiled at the thought of making Shane answer the door like this.

Five and a half minutes later, Ilya was thrusting a wad of cash at the driver, thanking him quickly, and exiting the car.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and jogged up to Shane’s front door, past the hedges that secluded the house from the street.

He’d given up trying to chill his dick out after the last near-orgasm confirmation text from Shane.

Now he was rock hard, and desperate to get his hands on his boyfriend.

“Ilya?” Shane called out from upstairs as soon as Ilya opened the door.

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell. Get up here.”

Ilya practically flew up the stairs, and found Shane sprawled on the bed, naked and flushed and beautiful.

“Chert voz’mi,” Ilya muttered. He dropped his backpack on the floor and immediately began tearing off his clothes.

“The last one was a close call,” Shane said. “I haven’t touched myself since.”

He was on his back, legs akimbo, one hand resting on the pillow above his head, the other gently stroking his stomach. There was a bottle of lube on the bed beside him, and Ilya grabbed it once he was fully undressed.

“Is your knee okay?”

“Good enough,” Ilya said impatiently as he slicked himself up. “How do you want it?”

“Now,” Shane said.

Ilya grunted. “Condom?” They rarely used them anymore, but sometimes Shane preferred them for easy cleanup.

“Fuck no. Come on.”

Ilya kneeled on the bed between Shane’s thighs, wincing at the pain that shot through him as his bruised knee pressed into the mattress.

He forced himself to ignore it, and leaned down to kiss Shane roughly.

Fuck, he’d been wanting to do this for so long.

He missed kissing Shane possibly more than anything else.

Shane chased his mouth when Ilya pulled away, but Ilya only smiled. Then he gripped Shane’s thighs and hauled his hips up off the bed. Shane rested his ankles on Ilya’s shoulders as Ilya lined up and drove into him in one smooth thrust.

They both swore loudly, then Ilya made eye contact with Shane, checking to make sure he was good. Shane nodded, and Ilya nodded back. Then, Ilya started pounding into him in a steady, powerful rhythm that had Shane panting and clawing at the bed sheets in seconds.

“My impatient slut,” Ilya growled as he fucked him. “Could not even wait for me.”

“Just,” Shane gasped, “being efficient.”

“So good,” Ilya said, punctuating his words with thrusts. “At time. Management.”

“Wanted your dick.”

“You have it. Is it good?”

“Fuck yes. Love it. Harder.”

There was a padded leather bench at the end of Shane’s bed that Ilya was ninety percent sure could hold his weight. He shuffled toward it, dragging Shane with him, then planted one foot on the bench.

“You want it harder?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded, his eyes glazed and blissed out. Ilya hauled Shane up until only his upper back, shoulders, and head were on the mattress, then started a steady, ruthless rhythm, driving into Shane hard enough to make them both lose their minds.

“How many days?” Ilya gritted out. “How long has it been?”

“Three, I think? Four? When was the last time we had phone sex?”

“Four days ago,” Ilya answered quickly. He didn’t need to do the math. He knew. The difference was he’d jerked off at least once a day since. Twice most days.

“Can you come like this?” Ilya asked, because he sure as fuck was going to.

“Fuck, maybe. You’re so deep. Jesus.”

Ilya wrapped his hand behind Shane’s left knee and bent his leg forward, adjusting the angle of his dick inside him. He gave a few quick thrusts and Shane let out a noise that was almost a sob.

“Right there. Like that. Holy fuck. Let me just...” He wrapped a hand around his own dick and started stroking. “Keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

Ilya never wanted to stop. He jackhammered into Shane, while Shane stared up at him, eyes wide and lips parted as his hand flew over his cock.

“Saved it all for me?” Ilya asked, his voice shaky and strained.

Shane nodded and bit his bottom lip.

“Let me see it,” Ilya commanded.

Shane’s gaze went to the head of his cock. “Fuck. Fuck! I’m going to—oh shit.”

Shane probably realized the same moment that Ilya did that his face was directly in the line of fire. It was a moment too late, if he wanted to do anything about it. His cock spurted ribbon after ribbon of come over his cheeks, chin, and lips. One stripe landed across his eyebrow.

It was all too much for Ilya. He made a last-second decision, pulled out, and gently lowered Shane to the mattress just in time for Ilya to shoot his load all over Shane’s chest.

For a long moment, neither man said anything. They panted together, Ilya looming over Shane on his knees. Shane was absolutely covered in come, which Ilya was sure he’d be grossed out by in about half a second.

“Ugh,” Shane said, half a second later. “I’m a mess.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you kidding? That was hot as fuck. Holy shit.”

Ilya watched Shane’s glistening chest heave as he waited for his own breathing to steady. “You are okay?”

Shane stretched his arms out in a T shape on the mattress. “I’m fucking great.”

Ilya brushed his fingers over Shane’s hole, and Shane jerked his hip off the bed. “Not hurt?” Ilya asked.

Shane exhaled slowly. “Not hurt. Feels nice, actually. You touching me there after.”

“Yes?”

“Mm. But I need a shower. Or at least a cloth.”

After a few more lazy minutes, Ilya went to the bathroom and returned with several warm, damp facecloths.

He carefully wiped Shane’s face first, then kissed his nose, each eyebrow, and then his mouth.

Shane tangled his fingers in Ilya’s hair as they kissed, and Ilya sighed into his mouth.

It was so fucking unfair that they had to endure so many days without this.

They kissed for a while, then Ilya continued cleaning his boyfriend.

He used a new cloth for his chest and throat, then another for his dick, thighs, and ass.

He took his time with Shane’s ass, since Shane seemed to find the attention to his sensitive flesh soothing.

Ilya gently swiped the warm cloth over his slightly swollen entrance more times than was necessary, watching his boyfriend smile and shiver happily.

“You are so beautiful,” Ilya said.

“Not bad yourself.”

“We can shower in the morning, yes?”

“Yeah. Come here.”

Ilya stretched out beside Shane, then rolled him so he could spoon him from behind. Shane curled against him easily—automatically—holding Ilya’s hand where it lay in front of Shane’s belly.

“Hi,” Shane said sleepily.

“Hi.”