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Ilya loves Florida. The women are hotter than the weather and he's thrilled with the nightlife. Coming off a win streak and having a two day break in the middle of the season? He was hype.
It had been a few weeks since he'd gotten his dick wet, and surely - surely - it was time to get over Hollander. The last time had been a lot. Or maybe Ilyas memory was just adding details, like the way Hollander dropped to his knees as soon as the door locked behind him, mouth hot and wet pushing against the soft fabric of Ilyas sweats. The way he moaned so sweetly when Ilya took him apart with his tongue.
Yeah, Ilya knew that sex with Hollander was good. But it wasn't the best he'd ever had. Any girl could give him what Hollander did - and so, so much easier than Hollander. Ilya didn't have to spend three days basically begging just to get an invite to the sex condo after a game. It was always, always worth it though, his traitor brain supplied. Shane managed to melt his spine every fucking time - desperate once he'd surrendered to the cajoling of Ilya. It was a dance he told himself he hated. He hated how desperately he looked forward to playing the Metros, how he'd ramp up the closer it got - enough that the boys laughed at him about how gone he was on this Montreal Jane. He'd tell them to fuck off while texting Shane everything he was going to do to him. Make him cry, make him beg. He acted like a fucking stray dog, begging at the door. Let me in. Let me near you.
He needed to stop thinking about Shane Hollander.
He'd gotten his own room at the hotel, and packed what Sveta called his Eurotrash fuckboy uniform - that razor thin line between 'gay or European' that he liked to bounce over every now and then. The sheer black shirt had a matching lace yoke and cuffs, and his pants were so low cut that the trail of hair leading down to his dick was clearly showing - Marlow took one look at what he was wearing and told him to 'fuck right off' which was perfect.
The club was already bouncing when they pulled up - bypassing the long line because someone had connections to the owner. He fist bumped the bouncer with a cocky grin and headed straight to the table which had been set up for them. Bottle service was far too expensive but fuck it, Ilya and the boys could afford it.
He downed a few drinks, mediocre vodka and some kind of tequila shot that Marlow handed him with a cheer, and made his way to the dance floor.
Ilya had been a club rat for most of his misspent youth. He fucking loved the feeling of the press of bodies, the smell of sweat and bodies and too much perfume in the air. He loved the noise and the vibrations of the bass that worked up his body, and he loved how for a few hours he was able to turn his fucking brain off, get wasted and get fucked.
She was gorgeous. He'd noticed her friends first - they were dancing in a group and everyone seemed to have gotten the memo to wear as little as possible but her. The boys had been circling them all night, but hadn't been able to get past the defence line.
Then Ilya had seen her. She was wearing heels, but was still a head shorter than most of her friends. A tight skirt and some lightweight flowy top that seemed more suited to the beach than a club but she pulled it off. Her long black hair was straight and moved like a river when she shook her head with laughter as she partied with her friends. Her make-up was a bold wing but not much else, and her skin was tanned from the Florida sun. Ilya had caught her eye a couple of times - oval, dark. She'd smiled at him, then looked down at her feet, before glancing up to see if he was still watching. He was. She had freckles, and his gut twisted.
She smiled again, and Ilya gave her a sly wink. His boys noticed - when he moved forward, they followed, just like on the ice. The girl smiled at him, shy but pleased. Her friends were impressed when he offered to buy them all drinks, pointed out the table full of bottles and told them to help themselves. The defence line now broken, his boys swooped in - ready to dance and flirt with the rest of the very hot group.
She was shorter than he was, but he liked how she wasn't as shy as she seemed at first, the hands on his hips slid up his shirt in no time, her nails were long and sharp, painted pink.
They danced for an hour before she suggested they go back to his hotel. He was enjoying the club, but he also knew that it wouldn't be too long before the booze started to wear off and he'd lose the buzz. "You sure?" He asked, bending down to half yell in her ear. She nodded enthusiastically. "Okay. You want to tell friends?" He asked. "Tell them hotel name."
Her friends, still dancing with the rest of the Raiders, hugged her close and made sure to get a good look at him. It didn't bother him - he understood the girl code almost as well as the guy code. The girl code had more rules and 90% of them were about not leaving clubs with strange men.
In the uber back to the hotel he found out her name was Riko, and she was at college, and a year younger than he was. She was studying history, and didn't know shit about hockey. "Oh, I thought you might be footballers." She'd admitted on the elevator ride up to his room and he laughed.
"No," He said, between kissing her and gently rubbing circles on her arms. She was so fucking soft. He wanted softness. He wasn't comparing how different it was to stronger, muscled biceps. He wasn't.
As soon as he got the room, he started pulling his shirt off, dropping it as they fumbled and tumbled towards the bed. They weren't too drunk - but they weren't being careful. Riko kicked off her heels and shimmied out of her skirt, leaving it on the floor in a trail of clothes and shoes.
Something about it niggled at the back of Ilyas head. He wasn't sure why, but it took him out of his head a little. He shouldn't be looking at the clothes on the floor, he had a fucking gorgeous woman in her panties rubbing all over him. He shouldn't find the mess... off-putting. He had a job to do. Game on.
After, when he'd made her cum twice with his mouth and fucked a third orgasm out of her, she asked if he'd like her to leave. "Is okay," He told her with a grin. "But I warn - If you stay I will order so much room service for breakfast you will be turned off watching me eat."
He gave her one of his shirts to wear after she had a shower. Her eyes were all smudged like a panda from the water. He didn't have make-up remover to help, but they laughed about it.
He had a quick shower - washing the sex and lingering club smell from his skin, grinning at the raised scratches on his shoulders and down his back. They would be gone in a day or so, but he did enjoy the feeling of being marked up. Shane was always so worried about putting marks on his skin. Ilya wanted him to suck dark bruises down his neck and thighs - hard and deep so they lingered. Let him show off how bad he was needed. Laugh and joke about how his 'Jane' was a wild one.
He found himself thinking of Shane, how Ilya could wring three orgasms out of him sometimes, pushing the man to tears - how fucking him felt so very different from the woman in the bed. Harder, rougher - he could move Shane how he wanted, not worried about hurting him. Shane would do the same, push him against walls hard, grip his thighs and hold him still as he sucked Ilyas brains right out of his dick.
Fucking Shane Hollander was a full body workout, and after he felt... claimed. Not tired, exactly, but rested. Dangerously comfortable and stupidly vulnerable.
Shaking his head to try and knock the thoughts of Shane out of his brain, he stepped back into the room. Riko was sleeping, crashed out and splayed out under the covers.
He pulled out another shirt and black briefs out of his bag and almost tripped over a high heel. Something in his brain recoiled at the scattered clothing.
He wasn't sure why, but it felt weird.
He'd been laying in bed for an hour and could not sleep. Rika was warm and nicely cuddly, snuggled into his side in a way that should be comforting - he loved to actually sleep with people. It was like a cheat code for extra cuddles. But something was keeping him awake. Something was tap tap tapping on his brain and stopping him from sleeping. Fuck.
He pushed the coverlet back and got out of bed, careful not to wake Riko as he did.
Picking up Rikos heels, he placed the neatly by the door, grabbing her skirt and top as he went. He folded them neatly and put them on the weird chair that all hotels had. He wondered (not for the first time) if it was a cuck thing. No one ever sat on the fucking chairs in hotel rooms. He bet Shane did. He probably sat on the chair to scroll through his phone.
Once Rikos clothes were off the floor, he felt weirdly better. His own shit didn't bother him, but he picked them up and bundled them into his bag.
Climbing back into the bed, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Rika snuggled back into his side and he smiled. Yeah, this was good. He ignored the way his brain, slipping into sleep, started to think how nice it would be for Shane to ask if he should leave. Let Ilya tell him to stay. If Shane would snuggle, tucking his head into Ilyas side. Would Shane snore? Ilya thought it might be cute if he did. He wondered if his eyelashes would flutter if he had a dream. He slipped into sleep, thinking of freckles.