Summary:

Like with everything, on the ice it was simple—he wanted to win, he wanted to beat Ilya. He was his fiercest competitor and his equal. Off the ice, that faded away—for him, at least. Ilya always saw him as an equal, even when they were too young and dumb to admit it. But for Shane, when the skates were off and cotton sheets were beneath him, he didn’t want to be Ilya’s equal. He wanted to belong to him. It was why the briefest touch was enough to make him fall to his knees. It was why he’d beg just to see his cock—to touch it—to taste it. Desperate to take anything Ilya would give him, and too shy to ask for it. Because what right did he have to ask Ilya Rozanov for anything? No, he had to earn it with his words and tears and tongue. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.