“Uh…”
“Is Vanya.”
I almost groaned, but I managed to hold it in.
I had gotten my hopes up that he wasn’t here tonight. That I could get a small reprieve from constantly thinking about him and reliving the moment we’d shared in Alexio’s car. And with Ben up my ass, and the press up my ass, and Hunter once again in my fucking texts like he was going to makeanother bullshit move, I was pretty sure him being here now would be a little too much for me to handle.
But I knew myself, and there wasn’t a chance I was going to tell him to leave.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. I say your name when I walked in, but you seemed…” He hesitated, and I wasn’t sure if it was the look on my face or if he was searching for a word in English. “Distracted. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I got out of the presser, and now I need a shower.” I started toward the door and was hoping that was his sign to fuck off, but in very Vanya style, he followed me.
“Pressers are the worst. Always talking so fast, one million questions, don’t have time to answer. Then they get angry at me because I just smile and give thumbs-up. My sister got me a tutor, you know? This year? For English…”
“Don’t you Europeans all get, like, English lessons as babies or something?” I stripped off my shirt and pants, then loosened the jock belt before sliding it off. I wondered if Vanya was watching the show.
I wasn’t sure I should be doing this. He wanted me. He was making it obvious every chance he got. This felt like a terrible, cruel tease. But he wasn’t going to leave, and I wasn’t going to stew in my own juices, so he could enjoy my nice, firm, lily-white ass.
“Such English supremacy,” he said, padding after me as I stepped under one of the showerheads andfelt along the wall for the knob. I hissed when it came out cold, but it warmed up quickly. God bless the NHL money that helped pay for all this.
“That’s a big word for you, English Tutor,” I said as my fingers grazed the shelf for all my supplies.
He laughed. “Yes. I watch a lot of TV.”
Of course he did.
Grabbing the soap, I lathered up and groaned when my fingers made contact with the back of my neck. Everything was so fucking tense, and it had nothing to do with stopping the puck with my body. I kneaded my muscles for a moment, and then I heard Vanya sigh before I heard the sound of rubber soles slapping on wet tile.
“Here. I can help.”
“What the—dude, we are not going to do this here—” I started, but Vanya shoved my hands down and immediately began to dig his annoyingly strong fingers into my muscles. “Oh shit. Oh my god, Vanya. That feels amazing.”
“I know,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Am very good. I know is stereotype that Russians are good at all things, but this is not one. I am very good at massage.”
“Quit your job and be my personal masseur.”
He snorted and leaned in, rubbing his nose over my shoulder before pulling back. “Maybe, if you can match my salary.”
“Fuck off.” I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the cool tiles, and took in a deep breath. “Iknow what you make. All you NHL fuckers make so much more than us.”
He was quiet for a second. “Yes, I know. It’s very unfair.”
God, did he have to be so agreeable all the damn time? It was so annoying, especially on nights I would have loved to pick a fight. He should hate me right now for this whole push-pull thing I knew I was doing.
But he had his hands on me, and it felt good, and he wasn’t asking for more. I didn’t know why that meant everything, but it did.
I bit back another groan of pleasure as one of the knots in my shoulder loosened. “So, ah, why does your English suck so much?”
He hummed. “I take French at school. I learn a little English when I was young, but our teacher…she wasn’t very good. I struggle, and she was not very patient. Then I join the KHL and teammate there—his parents from Croatia, but he growing up in Montreal, so he start teaching me French. When I’m drafted to Boston, I felt…a lot of panic.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I bet. They don’t speak a lot of Russian or French around here.”
“Mm, no, but there is some Russian neighborhoods. Restaurants, bakeries,” he said softly. His fingers dug in deeper, and I kind of wanted to cry because goddamn, not even the trainer made me feel this good. Things inside my body begin to unknot, which was dangerous because the knots were keeping me from falling apart.
He stepped in closer, and I could feel the warmth in him, and fuck me, but I wanted to feel him pressed against me again. I wanted to lose myself in him once more. I wanted him to wrap his calloused, gorgeous hand around my dick and force a fucking orgasm right out of my body.
But I wasn’t brave enough to ask for that. Not now. Not tonight.
