When you entered the little coffee shop, the noise from outside got quieter and was completely shut out of your mind when your eyes met Ilya Rozanov sitting at a table far away from the entrance. You smiled at the barista behind the counter and then walked past the service station.
Ilya looked up from the ice hockey magazine in front of him as soon as he noticed someone approaching him. A smile spread across his face as he recognized your face. „You made it through the traffic,“ he grinned. „I wasn't sure if you'd show up after hearing about that car crash this morning.“
„It wasn't that bad; I walked. Sorry for not messaging you; I hope you didn't have to wait too long.“ You smiled shyly and sat down.
He gave a small chuckle to himself and brushed it off. „Don't worry, I arrived here literally five minutes ago.“
Of course he didn't.
He had been sitting here for nearly an hour, just to be sure he wasn't late.
„I ordered your usual,“ he mentioned.
„You remembered? That's sweet, thank you.“
„Of course,“ he replied and put away the magazine to give you his full concentration. Ilya then pushed the cup next to his own over to you. A perfectly made latte - just how you liked them. „So, how has your week been so far?“
You took a sip of your coffee and let the warm drink warm you up before answering. „A bit stressful; my boss is being an asshole,“
„Oh, that's unfortunate. Uhm, hey...“ Ilya looked down for a second, breaking the eye contact you two had been holding, to think about his next words. „Do you wanna come to my practice later?“
I think for a second before saying yes. „I'd love to come.“
„Cool.“ He nodded with his usual unbothered expression, which was the absolute opposite of what was going on inside of him.
You would see him play live for the first time, even when it was just practice.
„So, when are you playing?“
Ilya checked his watch, and his expression suddenly dropped. „Fuck, we need to go; practice starts in fifteen minutes.“
You two stood up and left the shop with your coffees in hand, and he drove you to practice.
chapter warnings: oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, not much else!
Once the sandwiches were eaten and she finished her coffee, Ilya was on her. She was still fully naked from the night before, with him wearing a Raiders shirt and black jeans. Her hands fisted through that shirt as he kissed her, as he explored her mouth with his tongue. She moaned into his mouth, kissing him hotly and whining when he drew back to take his shirt off. Her hands roamed his bare chest, taking in every muscle, every ridge. His mouth was on hers again, rolling them so that she was on top of him. She giggled, grinding down against him, her pussy already getting wet. He moaned against her mouth, his hands reaching up to grope her breasts. She moaned and he pinched her nipples between his fingers, her own moving down to work on the fly of his jeans. She smiled against his lips, her hand dipping inside of his jeans as he groaned. Her hand wrapped around his cock and he pushed her off, moving off the bed to remove his jeans & underwear before pulling her to the edge of the bed as she giggled. He knelt in front of her, opening her legs and moaning at the sight of her cunt.
Ilya didn’t stop. If anything, he moved his head more, hollowing his cheeks until all Shane could hear was the way Ilya slurped on his cock. The sounds, mixed with the way Ilya was moving his head, his tongue pressed firmly against his shaft, his mouth playing with his tip with every drag upward, were too much for Shane. It didn’t take long for him to cum, shooting down Ilya’s throat with a cry as he bucked up a bit. Ilya kept moving his head through his orgasm, groaning softly as he did so. He slowed to a stop once Shane was milked, stopping at once and pulling off of him. Ilya swallowed, before slowly kissing his way back up Shane’s body, murmuring that he loved him in Russian. Shane smiled, eagerly accepting his kiss when Ilya came back to his lips. Ilya kissed him deeply, passionately, groaning against his mouth as Shane tugged at his hair. Ilya grabbed Shane and rolled them over so that he was on top, his hands finding Shane’s ass and squeezing. Ilya reached down and hastily did away with his own underwear, kicking them off to the floor. Shane knew what he wanted; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what it was he was signaling with that gesture. And Shane, always eager to please, was happy to oblige.
“You want me to suck your cock, Rozanov?” Shane asked, running his hand down Ilya’s body.
“Da,” Ilya said, looking up at him with a smirk. “You know that it is what I want. Are you going to make me wait?”
chapter warnings: unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), face sitting, vaginal fingering, protected anal sex, anal fingering
Grinning, she shifted until her pussy was hovering just above his face. He looked at it, at how wet she was, at how beautiful & perfect her pussy was. There was so much he wanted in this world, but nothing he wanted more than to pull her down and devour her. He needed to do it, needed it more than he needed air. He grabbed her and pulled her down, until she was crushing his face. She moaned as he began to run his tongue through her cunt, her body moving above him as she glided against his mouth. He echoed her moan, fucking her on his tongue as he held her against his face. He could barely breathe, but he fucking loved it. If this was the way he was going to go, then it would be the best death he could ever wish for. No worries of growing old, of forgetting like his father, just dying in pure bliss like he always wanted. It was everything he could wish for, everything he could ever want, right here. How could he not want that? How could he not need that?
“God, Ilya,” she breathed, grinding against him and moaning. “Your mouth always feels so fucking good.”
He said something in Russian, but he didn’t even know what he was saying. She seemed to respond to that well, getting more wet against his face as he kept going. It felt so good, making her feel like this. There was nothing that she couldn’t do that would ever make him think differently; not a single thing in this world. God, he loved her so much. He needed her so much. He needed to die, breathing her in and basking in her. There was nothing that would ever make him want differently. As his mouth worked over her, as he made her feel good again & again, bringing her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue, he knew he was in this forever. Her, Shane, they were all he needed and he was so happy he had them both. The next hurdle would be to tell Shane he loved him, and he wanted him to know. Soon. Maybe at the cottage, he would tell him. Maybe that would be the perfect time.
She smiled and nodded, and the three of them went back to eating. Shane and Harry continued to talk about hockey, about their cities, about their families. It was funny, but she felt like she was watching the two of them on a date. If things were different, maybe she would consider setting the two of them up. If Shane hadn’t also loved Ilya, or thought he did, maybe she could have played matchmaker. They would have been quite the pair, she had to admit. They would have been absolutely wonderful together, completely unstoppable. Harry would have taken good care of him and Shane would have taken good care of Harry, too. They would have been perfect for each other, and it pained her that she couldn’t set them up. It would have been quite the match in the league, that was for sure. An aspiring captain with the best captain the league had seen in decades, maybe even since her father. It was a love story for the ages, but it was a love story that was not meant to be. As much as she wished it could be, she knew it wouldn’t. It wasn’t in the cards, because there was a big, gaping Ilya hole in the middle of everything. It all came back to Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. Fuck, she hated that. She hated that more than anything. She felt anger toward him, just a bit of it, enough to make her want to run out of the room, go to his house, and make him tell her what he wanted from them. If he had made up his mind already, then what was taking so damn long? If they were going to do this, then why in the hell weren’t they? Christ, she thought she was gonna lose her entire mind if he didn’t make a choice soon.
He had to know by now, right? There was no way he didn’t know already. There was just no way. He seemed so sure of what he wanted, but maybe it was a mistake telling him to think about it. Maybe she made the biggest mistake of her life by telling him to take it slow, to think it over. Maybe he wasn’t going to choose either one of them now. Maybe that was what she would have to face, going into this. Fuck, how could she be so goddamn stupid? They should have just taken the offer then. They should have just agreed to it on the spot. How much easier things could be going now, if they had. They’d be in his arms right now, instead of being left to wonder and wait. That seemed better than this hell of waiting around for him to call or text, or whatever it was he was going to do.
● fingering, blowjob, missionary, reverse cowboy, public blowjob in the car?
● word count: 5.216 words
What comes next after the previous hook up of Ilya and the nerdy lawyer he bagged at the bar!
■ If you haven't read part 1: Remember: Follow the law, f!ck the lawyer
The Florida heat was brutal, sticky and harsh after a hard fought win. Ilya hated it. Preferring the crisp air of colder cities. But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to suffer through humidity alone. He grabbed his phone, scrolling contacts until he landed on your number, the one from that sleek business card tucked away months ago. Without overthinking it, he sends a text.
| In town for game. You free?
| How did you get my number again?
Ilya smirked at the reply, typical lawyer response, overthinking instead of just answering.
| Stole your card again after we fucked
he texted back without shame, thumb tapping the screen with zero guilt. Honesty was easier than pretending it was some grand romance. A beat passed before he added:
| So? You busy or not?
| No. What?
| JW Marriott, room 1204. Be here in an hour and bring something cold to drink. Hot in here
Giving you a clear option: show up or don’t bother replying again. And you, in fact, did not reply. Your client came by the office again and you, as a professional, kicked your phone to the side and got straight to business.
The knock came half an hour late…you got Ilya waiting for 90 minutes. And Ilya had been pacing his room, shirtless and impatient, the AC blasting but doing nothing against his burning annoyance. He yanked the door open with a scowl already forming. There stood you, dressed in a nice suit.
“You're late" Ilya accused immediately, voice tight with irritation. No greetings, straight to judgment.
“I have meetings with cilents....cut me some slack” you scolds, a hand holding your work suitcase and a few papers, a hand holding bag with beers inside.
Ilya’s glare sharpened at the excuse. Yeah, right. Like lawyers couldn’t wrap up work for a few hours.
"You could’ve texted" he snapped, stepping aside just enough to let you pass but not with warmth more like grudging tolerance. He should have left to find someone else. But he didn’t. He found himself expecting you. His eyes flicked to the beer bag though. Small mercy there. He took it from your grip without thanks and headed straight for the mini fridge in his room, popping one open aggressively. You didn’t bother explaining further, just quietly closed the door and walked inside.
Ilya dumps ice cubes into a glass, shoving them in like they offended him. The beer followed with a loud clink as he poured it over the ice. Then he takes a long swig from his own drink first, leaning against the counter while watching you take off your suit jacket and loosen the tie. The silence wasn’t hostile, just Ilya being petty about waiting so damn long.
“You’re still annoyed?” you look at Ilya up and down, slowly rolling up your sleeves and approach him. Ilya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after another gulp of beer. Yeah, he was still annoyed…annoyed at the heat, annoyed at waiting, annoyed that you looked so normal, calm while he was sweating through a damn AC blasting.
"You showed up late," He repeated flatly, not yelling but not hiding it either. His dark eyes flicked over your stoic expression before gesturing to the second beer on the counter. "You want one or not?" The offer wasn’t sweet, more like an afterthought now that he’d cooled off slightly. Ilya’s gaze dropped to your defined triceps flexing subtly with every movement. Something about that paired with the unbuttoned top buttons revealing a hint of collarbone made Ilya's irritation fade slightly. Not gone, but... reduced by appreciation. He took another sip of his beer before finally pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you two without a word. His lips captured yours before you could even wipe the beer foam off you. The kiss was hungry and impatient, a direct transfer of frustration into passion. His tongue slid past your lips without asking permission, tasting the cold brew still lingering there. One hand gripped on your bicep while the other cupped your jaw to kiss you better.
The difference in your response was immediate, no hesitation this time. No stiff, uncertain kisses from you two’s previous hook up. Now you kiss back with equal hunger, your hands rising to grip Ilya’s hips. It was better like this: less awkwardness, more chemistry.
Ilya’s fingers worked fast, popping open the remaining buttons of your shirt with practiced ease. The fabric fell slightly open, revealing more of that toned chest and abs beneath.
He wasn’t patient for layers right now, not when his skin was already too warm from the humidity and their kiss had cranked up his body temperature. The shirt hung loose as he yanked it down one shoulder. The shirt hit the floor with a soft thud, he wasn’t careful about it, just shoved it off impatiently. Your belt clicked open messily next, fingers fumbling slightly.
The Russian sank to his knees without a word. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and boxers, dragging both down together. The fabric pooled around your ankles as Ilya helped you step out of them, leaving you bare for him to feast on now. The air conditioning hit your skin, pretty chilly, but neither paid it any mind. No lingering stares or smirks, just quiet intent as Ilya stayed kneeling there for a beat before leaning forward.
His hand gave a few confident strokes first, testing, warming up before he leaned in and took your cock into his mouth. His lips wrapped around the tip, tongue pressing lightly against sensitive skin as he sucked with deliberate focus. Ilya wasn’t new to this, he knew exactly how to use his mouth effectively. The only sounds were their breathing and the quiet hum of the AC trying and failing to cool down two heated bodies.
Ilya noticed your controlled breathing, the way you were deliberately steadying yourself, jaw maybe tensed slightly to avoid losing composure too fast. He found it… amusing. And kind of hot. You clearly had practice staying calm under pressure, probably from courtroom scenarios, but Ilya wasn’t about to let you win this little game of endurance. Without warning, he took you deeper, slowly at first, then with a sudden increase in intensity, testing how long that cool facade could really last. the deep, husky groan that escaped you vibrated through Ilya’s mouth, proof of just how much you were feeling it despite your earlier composure. That sound alone told Ilya everything: you weren't lasting much longer like this. The stretch against Ilya’s lips and the way it brushes the back of his throat confirmed it…this man had presence, both in courtrooms and… elsewhere. Ilya smirked around you briefly before doubling down, sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks deliberately to push you closer to that edge.
Your fingers tangled into Ilya’s dark hair, no gentle guiding, just a firm grip. A silent demand to stay right there, mixed with the pressure of your fingertips against Ilya's scalp. The bite of your lips was subtle but noticeable, like you were physically holding back louder noises, trying not to unravel too soon even as pleasure built. Ilya didn’t mind the hand in his hair, if anything, it fuels him even more. He likes when people react physically instead of just passively taking what he gives them.
The quiet praise “you're taking me so well” rolled off your lips with that subtle upturn of your mouth. Not a cocky smirk, just genuine appreciation laced with satisfaction. Your thumb brushed away the tear at the corner of Ilya’s eye from gagging without mockery, just a soft wipe before lingering there for half a second. The compliment wasn’t much lustful, it was earnest, maybe even tender in its own way. Ilya could tell you meant it, not some empty flattery but real acknowledgment of him enduring this intensity. And he knew he was just that good, the compliment somehow fueled his pride.
The moment you came, it was with a quiet but intense groan, your whole body tensing for a split second as the pleasure crashed over you. Ilya could feel the subtle tremble in your thighs where his hands still rested. It hadn’t taken long, not surprising given how focused and skilled Ilya had been. The lawyer clearly wasn't used to being pushed like this overwhelmed fast by sensation instead of dragging it out. Breathing slightly uneven now, you leaned back against the wall while recovering from that rush. Meanwhile, Ilya gave a few final, lazy sucks, gentle now that the intensity had passed before his tongue swirled to clean up every last trace. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavier than before. Ilya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exhaled sharply through his nose, the air conditioning still doing nothing against their body heat. He glanced up at your face, all you can see is his flushed skin, Heavy-lidded eyes and sweats. Almost like a puppy.
Ilya rose to his feet, towering over you again, his dark eyes raking over your state with open appreciation. That post-orgasm glow on you was good.
The word "nerd" didn’t come to mind, not that he'd say it aloud anyway, but yeah you had that sharp intelligence mixed with quiet sexiness. Ilya always did have a type, a pattern he noticed: smart guys who could keep up physically too. Without breaking eye contact, he closed the distance between them again. The kiss deepened as Ilya guided you backward, careful as their steps slightly clumsy from the urgency to get on the bed. You bumped into a chair, dodged your suitcase on the floor until finally Ilya nudged you toward the bed. The mattress gave under their combined weight as they tumbled onto it together.
Ilya didn’t resist as you peeled off his tank top, letting it get yanked over his head before tossing it aside. The shorts followed right after, kicked off onto the hotel floor. Ilya let you take charge of undressing him further. Bodies pressed closer now, skin against skin without fabric barriers anymore, heat building between them despite the AC still humming uselessly in the background. Ilya can feel the weight of yours pinning him down the mattress. His head tilted back instinctively as your mouth worked his neck…lips and teeth grazing sensitive skin. Clothes were discarded carelessly, from the couch to the bed on the floor. When you pull away briefly, Ilya watches you left to go through your suitcase for protection. The quiet squeeze of lube onto fingers. The soft breath of Ilya on the bed, waiting impatiently. The kiss resumes as soon as you return, warm and deep. Then came that first slick press, your finger easing into Ilya with practiced gentleness, stretching carefully rather than rushing. You never like rushed sex.
Ilya’s lips quirked at the absurdity of it…you, a lawyer with legal files probably stuffed in that same suitcase, casually keeping condoms and lube tucked between case briefs. The mental image was weirdly hot in its own filthy way. The stretch burns slightly as you work your fingers. Ilya exhaled through his nose, adjusting to the sensation while their mouths stayed connected in messy kisses. No jokes or comments from him though, just focused breathing and letting you prepare him properly.
You broke the kiss just long enough to grab the condom, teeth tearing the packet open with a quiet rip. You roll it down in one efficient motion, lube already making your movements slick. The bed dipped slightly as you shifted back over Ilya, lining yourself up between his legs. The kiss swallows Ilya’s breath as you press forward slowly at first, giving his body time to adjust. The stretch was intense, but not painful, just that fullness of being taken. Their lips stay locked, messy and warm as you sink deeper inch by careful inch. Ilya’s hands gripped your shoulders for balance while your mouths moved together in a heated rhythm.
Ilya’s teeth grazes your lower lip, not hard enough to hurt, but with a sharp nip that was equal parts punishment and pleasure. You pick up the pace now, moving with a purposeful rhythm that bordered on good pain. The bite made you gasp against Ilya’s mouth for half a second, surprised but not pulling away. If anything, it seemed to turn you on even more, your hips snapped harder after that. The quiet hotel room quickly filled with heavy breathing and the slick sounds of skin meeting skin.
Ilya doesn't love missionary, too much face-to-face intimacy for casual hookup, too many emotions tangled up in close eye contact. But you were good at it, nailing the right angle with every thrust like you’d studied Ilya’s body beforehand. Your mouth on his neck helped too, hot kisses and occasional bites making Ilya arch his head back into the pillow. A silent surrender to how skilled you were at this despite not being some wild hookup machine like he was. Ilya hooks his legs around your torso, tightening them like a belt to pull you even closer. The change in angle deepens the connection, their bodies connect with no space left between them. The movement forced you down onto him more firmly, changing the rhythm slightly. Now every thrust was met with Ilya’s hips lifting subtly to meet you, silent demand for more, harder.
You shift gently but firmly removing Ilya’s legs from your waist before pinning them down on either side. Your large hands gripped behind Ilya’s thighs, holding them up and open, giving himself full access. Since Ilya’s legs were locking you, not really giving you the lead in this. The new angle was devastating, every thrust now hit deep, exactly where it mattered most. It made Ilya groan in annoyance and squirm a little, feeling like having no control and being manhandled. A low groan escaped you at the sensation too, not just you dominating but genuinely enjoying how this position felt for both of you.
Ilya throws his head back against the pillows, his breath coming in rough, uneven gasps. Each deep thrust punched a groan out of him, unfiltered and raw. One hand fisted in the headboard above him, knuckles whitening from how tightly he gripped it, another digs into your back, leaving scratches. The wood creaked faintly under his grip as pleasure coiled tight in his stomach. You could see every reaction on Ilya’s face, the flushed skin, the parted lips. Simply too overwhelmed. Your large hands slid to grip on Ilya’s thighs to a gentler stroke, your thumbs rubbing slowly, soothing circles against the sensitive skin. A contrast to the rough, relentless pace of your hips.
Ilya’s discomfort flared, his legs still pinned too high, the stretch uncomfortable now. Without warning, he yanks you down, forcing you closer until your chests pressed together. His legs relax on either side of your torso, instead of being held up, a silent demand to change the angle. At the same time, Ilya digs his nails sharply into your shoulders and back, half frustration at being overstimulated from that position earlier. The scratches weren’t gentle, they stung just enough to make a point.
You don’t need praise to know you are doing it right, the way Ilya’s body responds tells you everything. You keep the rhythm steady, mouth on Ilya’s neck between thrusts, sucking dark marks into flushed, sweating skin. Salty and addictive.
Ilya’s head tips back against the pillow, his whole body tensing as he comes, heat spilling over his stomach. His breath hitches, muscles locking briefly before melting into the mattress. You followed right after a few final thrusts, burying yourself deep with a low groan as you finished too. Rough exhale through clenched teeth while pleasure pulsed through.
Once you regain your composure, you carefully pull out. You dispose of the condom, tying it off properly and tossing it into the trash bin by the bed. Then you grab wet wipes from the nightstand, to clean Ilya’s stomach up gently. The room was quiet now except for your breathing evening out. After catching your breath for a while, you thought about going home, maybe opening another beer and enjoying yourself before taking an everything-shower. Sounds refreshing already before Ilya caught your wrist just as you started to rise from the bed. His grip was firm but not demanding.
"One more…”
And you paused, glancing back at Ilya with a raised brow, reading the unspoken desire in those dark eyes. A second round? Already?
A beat passes before you smirk slightly and lean back down, sealing your lips over Ilya’s again without needing more encouragement. Fine, if he wants it, you will give him.
A lazy smirk curled at his lips as he pulled you back to the bed, having you lay on your back. Letting Ilya take control, watching as the Russian tore open a new condom packet with his teeth and rolled it down your cock after a few strokes. Your eyes met briefly, a silent agreement passing between them. Ilya was in charge now, setting the pace while you relaxed into the mattress, arms loose at your sides.
Ilya climbs onto your lap, turning his back to you, knees framing your hips as he positioned himself for reverse cowboy. The angle gives you a full view of Ilya’s shoulders and spine while he rides. No words exchanged as Ilya reached back to guide himself into place, then slowly sank down with a controlled motion.
Starting with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, testing the new angle before picking up speed. Each snap of his body down was firm and controlled, creating a steady rhythm that made the bed creak beneath them. Your hands instinctively found Ilya’s waist, not gripping too tight but stroking up and down, feeling every movement as Ilya took what he wanted from you without hesitation.
Your gaze drinks in the sight of Ilya, every defined ridge of his muscular back, the way his shoulders flexed with each movement, and that perfectly plump ass rising and falling in front of him. It was a sight worth memorizing. Worth dying for. Your hands slid up Ilya’s sides before settling firmly on those cheeks, not squeezing or groping aggressively, just touching because you couldn’t resist. You were appreciating the show he put on.
Ilya’s breath hitches into soft moans each time he takes you fully, body melting into the sensation as you two move together now that you try to match him, lifting your hips to meet every downward grind, creating deeper friction that makes Ilya arch his back in pleasure. Ilya’s hands braced against your thighs for balance, soft groans escaped his lips.
You were chasing your own high now, each snap of the hips fueled by the tight heat around you and the sight of Ilya moving desperately. Ilya could feel it, the way you got more urgent beneath him.
Head tilting backward as pleasure crashed down on Ilya, his entire body tensing for a split second before warmth spilled through him. But he didn’t stop moving, hips kept snapping down in relentless rhythm even as he came. The overstimulation bordered on sensitive now, but Ilya pushed through it, determined to ride out every last pulse of his climax while still fucking you hard. You could feel the slight tremors in Ilya’s thighs from the aftershocks, but you both knew this wasn't stopping yet, not until you were completely spent.
Ilya’s focus sharpened, every snap of his hips now deliberate, designed to drag you over the edge. He adjusted his angle slightly, hitting just right with each bounce. He was determined to break his newly favourite toy tonight.
Your groan was deep and ragged, air forced out of your lungs as Ilya’s nails bit into your thighs. The sting mixed with pleasure, sharp but not painful enough to make you pull away. Your abs flexed under sweat-damp skin, every muscle taut from holding back the wave threatening to crash over you. Your hips jerked up involuntarily, chasing more friction like you couldn't control it anymore. Ilya had you right where he wanted.
Your head thrown back against the pillow, a silent gasp escaping you as you came, hard. Your palm pressed bruisingly into Ilya's hip for half a second, fingers splaying wide with the force of it. The pleasure hit like a punch, no loud cry, just tense muscles and heavy breathing as waves rolled through you. Ilya stays there for a moment to catch his breath, keeping your cock warm in him at the same time. Clearly enjoying your aching cock trying to break free from further friction.
Afterwards, Ilya slid off you with a satisfied smirk, collapsing onto the mattress beside you. Both were breathless, chests rising and falling rapidly as you two came down from the high. Their shoulders brushed slightly, you turned your head to glance at Ilya, cheeks flushed and worn out.
Ilya reached down without asking, snagging the half-crushed pack of Marlboros from your open suitcase on the floor. The silver zippo was right there, he flicked it open with practiced ease, sparking a flame. The first drag hit his lungs as he exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. No shame in stealing, they’d just had sex twice, boundaries were loose now. He wouldn’t care.
“That’s my lucky cig for tomorrow's trial” you scolds once you noticed he was smoking the last cigarette in the pack. The one you saved for your trial tomorrow, like athletes having their own lucky charm, a ritual before an important game. You exhaled through your nose, more of a sigh than an angry sound and deliberately turned your body away from Ilya. He faced the opposite wall, clearly annoyed. The mattress dipped slightly between now that you’d put physical distance there. The silence grew heavier, no conversation attempted, just two people lying in separate moods after intimacy. Ilya kept smoking without comment, the cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.
Then, Ilya called you out, loud and blunt: "You're being a baby." No sugarcoating. Without warning, he grabbed your jaw and crushed his lips together. The kiss was rough; the stolen cigarette still between Ilya's lips as smoke seeped into your mouth too. A messy transfer, ashy and warm as Ilya blew it right into you. If you want it so bad, here, take it.
Equal parts punishment for pouting and desire to reconnect after the petty tension.
But you shove Ilya’s face away with your palm, firm but not violent, just enough to break the kiss. Your expression was unamused, eyebrows slightly furrowed in disapproval. The cigarette smoke hung between you two. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand after being kissed like that, annoyed at both the theft of your cigar and being manhandled.
You sat up, voice calm but detached. "I got to work early tomorrow." No explanation for why you were upset, just stating facts as you swung your legs off the bed. You grab the used condom from earlier and toss it properly into the trash before gathering your clothes scattered across the floor: shirt, pants, everything draped over one arm. That made Ilya’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. He wasn’t used to being pushed back. Most people caved when he demanded attention, especially after sex. But you weren't melting, not clinging nor anything. You quickly get dressed, gathering your stuff back into the suitcase.Ilya scowled at the floor instead of saying anything, pride wounded by how easily you walked away from him.
The cigarette’s taste turns bitter in Ilya’s mouth, like poison instead of pleasure. The playful arrogance from moments ago soured instantly, he’d misjudged you completely. Should have remembered, you’re a boring, nerdy lawyer man. He stared at the smoldering tip, then crushed it abruptly into the hotel ashtray. No fun left in stealing it now, the satisfaction tasted hollow now that you have left, upset at him. Petty.
Ilya’s frown finally eased only when sleep dragged him under, his last conscious thought a frustrated I screwed up. The hockey game had been electric. The sex? Amazing. Right up until he acted like an entitled jerk and ruined it all. He would be pissed off too if someone disturbed his lucky ritual before a game. Right?
The empty hotel room stayed silent around him as exhaustion won out over thoughts.
The next morning, the Russian started off with a cold shower to rinse away last night’s sweat and lingering traces of sex. Then dressed, Phone in hand, he scrolled to your contact and hit call. No hesitation this time. He had a plan forming, not an apology exactly, he wasn’t great at those, but something better…a move.
The line rang once… twice…
“What?” You answered. No greetings. Just straight up annoyed.
“I need you to pick me up. Same hotel” he stated his demand right away. But met with your cold respond “call an Uber, Rozanov”
Ilya switched tactics, dropping the scold and pulling out his trick. His voice lowered, smoother now, laced with that charming arrogance and thick russian accent he knew you couldn’t fully resist.
"Come by… I'll make it worth your while, handsome lawyer man" he added like a deliberate flattery. No desperation, just confidence that his appeal would work. The car noise paused slightly on the other end. A slight hesitation from your side… weighing whether to cave or not.
The sigh on the other end was heavy, resigned, but not angry. Ilya heard it. You turn around and speed up. You aren't happy about it… but you are coming. And Ilya smirked to himself, victorious, already mentally planning what to do once that cute lawyer pulled up outside his hotel room door.
The black SUV pulled up by the curb, and Ilya wasted no time, sliding into the passenger seat with his sport bag of hockey gear. The bulky equipment took up half the space as he threw it onto the back seat. You glanced at it briefly, already guessing.
“Where?” You asked.
Ilya answered with that smirk, the one that said I’m going to cause so much trouble while I’m here. "Going to the rink." Simple as that as he gives you the location and you start driving. You keep your eyes on the road, mentally calculating: seven minutes to the rink, you have enough time to drop Ilya off before heading to court. Tight, but doable. The second they pulled away from the hotel, Ilya’s fingers moved, unbuckling your belt with a smirk while driving. The lawyer swatted his hand away half-heartedly "What are you doing?" Trying to focus on driving.
Ilya ignored you, too focused on leaning over to nib on your earlobe while touching you. Ilya doesn’t hesitate, dropping low in the passenger seat, his hands quick as he unzips your pants. The fabric parted just enough for what he wanted. Your cock springs free once Ilya drags it out of your boxers. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, knuckles whitening.
Your jaw tensed "Rozanov-" but Ilya shut you down with a low, teasing "Focus on driving, lawyer man." Then his saliva-slick palm wrapped around your cock without warning, giving you firm strokes from base to tip while Ilya kept his other hand braced against your driver seat for balance. The SUV stayed steady despite the distraction, the road was still straight ahead as you swallowed hard and forced yourself to concentrate on driving safely.
Ilya leaned down without another word, his mouth closing over your cock, hot and wet. His tongue swirled deliberately along the veins, tasting skin as his head bobbed up and down. Seven minutes? He only needed five. That was his goal, a quick but effective job to get you off before you two reached the rink. Ilya skipped the teasing, no slow build-up, no games. He went straight for deep throat, taking you all the way down with practiced ease. His throat muscles clenched around your cock deliberately, tight, rhythmic squeezes. Smooth swallowing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard on each upward stroke. Five minutes was plenty if he pushed this pace. He knew your brain is fried trying to calculate time to get to work without being late, you won’t hold back once climax reaches you.
His free hand cupped and kneaded your balls, firm, rhythmic pressure while his mouth stayed busy. The wet sounds of sucking filled the car: slurps, gulps, occasional gagging noises as Ilya pushed limits. Every bob of his head sent a jolt through your body. There goes a man trying very hard to focus on driving despite this.
Your muffled groan was quiet but undeniable “f..fuck-” the climax hitting you faster than usual as you give in to the pleasure. Typically, you have stamina, control but today? You were rushed. A busy man with court to get to couldn’t afford distractions lasting longer than five minutes. Ilya took it all without complaint, swallowing every bit before pulling back slightly to catch his breath, mission accomplished in record time. His special way of apologizing is only reserved for this handsome lawyer.
Ilya licked slowly from base to tip, cleaning every trace with a smirk stayed wide, satisfied. That had been quick, effective work, exactly what he intended when he first got in the car. Now you were still sitting there slightly dazed but focused, hands back on the wheel as his breathing evened out again post-orgasm. At least that’s what you tried to do. Ilya gently tucked your cock back into your boxers, adjusting the fabric with careful hands. He zipped up his pants and refastened the belt, leaving no evidence of what just happened.
As you pull up to the rink, no goodbye, just that wink thrown your way before Ilya unbuckled and opened the door. The hockey player grabbed his bag without another word, swinging it over one shoulder as he stepped out onto the pavement. The wink said everything Yeah, I did that on purpose. Deal with it. Then he turned and walked without looking back.
The hotel room door clicked shut behind Ilya, his foot kicking it closed after stumbling inside around 1 in the morning. Sweat glistened on his forehead, partly from practice, partly from the drinks he’d had with teammates at the club. He fished out his phone, thumbs clumsy as he typed to you.
"Did you win the case?"
No greeting; just straight to business despite being tipsy. The text sent at 1AM carried that casual but curious about how your day had gone in court. He eyes the wine bottle on the hotel suite counter before checking your reply. It was short and to the point.
Yes.
Ilya stared at the screen, tipsy brain processing that victory for a second before another wave of drunken energy hit him. Without overthinking it, he typed back:
"Celebrate w me? Drinks still here."
An offer, his way of saying come over. Maybe a won case sounds normal to you. But to him, as an athlete, it sounds like a victory deserved to be celebrated. And it’s not like you’re going to turn down that invitation…right?
Unknown: I thought you’d like to see this one, man. It’s really making the rounds through every major league player. Just wait until you see!
Attached was a link to what looked like some low-rate porn site. Shane didn’t like porn all that much; he wondered if this was some sort of prank. Maybe someone thought it would be funny to send him a video, just to get a reaction out of him. Curiosity got the better of him, though; he had to see what it was. He had to see what someone thought was important enough to send to his phone. He made sure the volume on his phone was turned all the way down, that there was no way his mother would hear what he was watching. His finger still shook as it hovered over the link, pressing down on it and watching as the link redirected to his Safari browser. He was greeted with a site called SexxxTapes; he’d heard that name before. There was a player on the Metros two years ago who had a sex tape leak onto that site. His hands grew cold and clammy and he felt sick, wondering if he and Ilya had been secretly filmed and it had leaked onto the site. Fuck. After being so careful for so long, this couldn’t be how it got out. His career would be over. Ilya’s would be, too.
Please don’t let it be that, he prayed. God, please.
