Page 62 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

Reagan

Mikhail has decided on superhero movies. He said he couldn’t care less if I knew the game of hockey, but superhero culture was non-negotiable.

Starting with Iron Man, which he claims, “launched the Marvel movie enterprise.” I have no clue what this means, but I nod and go along with it. I guess, in addition to upping my knowledge of hockey, I’m also going to have to learn what the heck Marvel is.

It’s adorable, actually, him so into this whole superhero culture. I know it means something to Mikhail, more than just regular entertainment, because he got jazzed when I told him he was my own personal superhero that one time.

“Do you ever wish you had superpowers?” I blurt out the question.

I figure he’ll laugh or something, but he seems to have put some serious thought into this.

“Well, I think the average person has the capacity to be a hero. I don’t mean that they’ll have some adrenaline rush and lift a car or some cliché like that.

I just mean they can step in and do the right thing when the right thing is needed, you know what I mean? ”

“I do.” I nod, thinking back on how he stepped in to help me in that alleyway.

“You’re thinking of me right now, but I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of how you stepped in and took charge for your mom. You put yourself in harm’s way for her. You’re the hero in that story.”

“I don’t think of it that way. And besides, that’s not what I asked. I asked if you’d ever want to have actual superpowers. Like super speed or super strength or whatever.”

“Sure,” he answers, sitting back on the couch, hands clasped behind his head.

It shows off his carved, inked biceps, otherwise known as thirst traps of hotness.

“I’ve wished I could have all kinds of powers throughout my life.

One seems cooler than the next. But I also like the idea of normal people being heroes.

I mean, look at Tony Stark. He’s a genius, sure, and he’s uber rich, but he doesn’t have any actual superhuman traits. ”

“Who’s Tony Stark?”

Mikhail sucks in a horrified breath. “What? Seriously?”

“What?”

He looks genuinely offended. “Tony Stark is Iron Man, Reagan.”

“Oh.”

“Have you lived under a rock your whole life? How on earth did—I just can’t even with you—what you just said to me—” He stammers, making me laugh out loud at his frustration with my Tony Stark ignorant self.

“Sorry.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay. I’ll pay attention. We can add Superhero 101 to my list of things to do. Tony Stark is Iron Man.”

Mikhail reaches over and tickles my side, telling me I’d better get up on my superhero game, or we simply cannot be friends.

I giggle and kick at him, but he’s overpowering and ends up hovering over me, between my legs.

Everything stops. Time stops. The space between us feels magnetized as we consume each other with our eyes.

Tony who?

My mind’s on one, and only one, superhero right now. His name is not Tony Stark or Iron Man.

But Mikhail doesn’t give me the chance to tell him any of that. The part about how I’m only interested in one superhero on the list—the one I put up top of mine.

Mere mortal, Mikhail Zelenka, living a double life by showing up at just the right moment for people in desperate need of a savior. And don’t forget to add that he's also super-hot, uber-ripped, excessively tatted, and the famous professional athlete I named Mr. Hock—

Because his lips come crashing down on mine.

His tongue. His teeth. His cock feels dangerously hard behind his jeans as he pushes between my legs. Too much denim between us. Too much.

My hands work at his fly, undoing the button, unzipping the zipper. I push my hand beneath the fabric of his boxers to press down on his cock as he moans and kisses me with such force I forget to breathe, let alone tell him about the cool superhero name I created for him.

I push on him, and he backs away, kind of dazed, as I tell him to get on his back.

He pulls his shirt over his head and lies down, his jeans undone, his hair a wild mess, his cock out and hard for me.

“God, you’re hot.” I pull my shirt over my head, my jeans down over my hips.

I’m in plain cotton underwear, both thong and bra.

Not the sexiest of lingerie by a long shot, but it doesn’t matter.

When I crawl on top and straddle him, the only thing between us is the thin cotton of my thong, and we aren’t caring about underwear choices even a little bit.

“Did you score tonight?” I ask, leaning in, my lips hovering so close to his but just out of reach.

“I already told you I did.” He laughs, but then he sees the expression on my face. His changes to a half-smile and a raised eyebrow as he says, “Nope. Not yet.”

I move my hips, the friction of my panties and my clit and his cock giving me all the feels between the legs.

Mikhail’s fingertips play at my nipples through my bra as we kiss and kiss, sloppy and sensual and deep.

“I fucking love your tits…in my mouth,” he growls, his big hands roughly pushing my bra aside to get to them.

The sight of him devouring my breast might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

Watching him kiss and bite and suck at my nipple sends me over the edge when the whole sensory experience culminates into a sudden and blinding orgasm.

I howl at the unexpected release, throwing my head back and going somewhere not of this world, grateful for his strong arms holding me from falling back onto the floor.

When I open my eyes, Mikhail’s dark blues are looking up at mine with his lips still grazing my nipple. Still just as hot of an image after my orgasm as before, but I can tell he is looking for reassurance from me when he asks, “Fuuuck…what just happened there?”

“You. You happened and rocked me out of this world.”

“Well, I guess I rock, then.” He grins and pulls up to kiss me, his tongue spearing in deep to tangle with mine while his hands snake down to my ass.

His busy fingers pushing aside my thong and dipping down to bury between my folds.

His fingers press inside me where I’m wet and ready.

The sensation of rubbing myself against his cock from the front, while having him finger me from behind, is nearly enough to set me off again.

His mouth returns to my nipple, but this time, it’s the other breast. I’m making all kinds of noises, like an animal unleashed as I feel the buildup begin again, another orgasm is coming for me.

“So responsive…it’s fucking hot,” he growls, moving his mouth back up to find mine once more. “Now come here and sit on my face.”

Turned on by the direct order, I peel away my panties and scoot up, hovering over his mouth.

He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me down, tongue probing.

My hips move as I ride his face, my hands braced on the arm of the couch.

I really do feel like a wild animal, totally free and uninhibited.

I feel dirty and sexy and primal. He doesn’t stop until I’ve forgotten my name, until I come so hard, I stop breathing.

Until I fall onto him, my legs wobbly and my breath uneven.

I lie along the length of him as I float back to earth, his fingertips tracing along the bare skin of my back. “Can I just stay here forever?” I ask, feeling dreamy and far, far away from my problems.

Mikhail doesn’t answer, and when I look up at him, his eyes are dark.

I move my hand to his cock, gripping it, sliding against it.

He moans as his hips push up to meet my touch.

It’s only minutes before he flips us over, pulling my legs up on his shoulders as he leans in for a fierce kiss that makes my toes curl.

When he pushes his cock inside me, I cry out at the fullness.

He moves slowly at first, but then goes deeper and deeper, the friction building as his pelvis rubs against my throbbing clit.

I scratch my fingernails down his back, frenzied as he fucks his cock harder and harder into me, as deep as he can go.

He pulls out just before his release, and I take over from there.

His big cock in my small hand, but I get the job done.

I watch him as I stroke up and down his shuddering length, feeling powerful when he begins to come on my stomach.

His face is fierce and beautiful. His eyes never leave mine the whole time he’s coming.

Good God, this man is sexy.

Sex with Mikhail is the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed, ever done, ever experienced.

After an intense few moments of just looking at each other, he reaches back to find his T-shirt from wherever it landed when he took it off, his inked bicep flexing as he stretches for it.

He uses it to wipe away the cum from my stomach before falling to my side, pulling my back to his front, his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close.

We lie together like that, spooning, for a long time. I think I nod off a few times, until Mikhail’s voice wakes me back up. “Don’t ghost me again, okay?”

I open my mouth to respond several times. Eventually, I settle on “I won’t, but I just don’t want to pull you into all of my nonsense.”

“But I’m a big boy,” he says, kissing my shoulder. My whole body erupts in goose flesh. I shiver, so he pulls a blanket free from the back of the couch, throwing it over our naked bodies. “I can handle myself.”

“Yes, you are a big boy,” I say, innuendo thick in my tone. He pumps his hips toward my backside in response. “Still, these are criminals. You caught that guy off guard in the alleyway that night. We can’t guarantee you’ll catch them off guard a second time.”

“I’m not afraid, Reagan. What kind of man would I be if I left a friend without someone at her side?”

You wouldn’t be my superhero. My lovely Mr. Hockey protector.

But I don’t say that to him out loud. Instead, I turn to face him and cup his cheek in my hand. “You dear, sweet man, I’m so thankful for you. In so many ways. But I cannot deal if they come after you too, Mikhail. I could never forgive myself if they hurt you because of me.”

“Hush,” he says with a hard squeeze of his arms around me.

“It’s not even something you need to be afraid of, okay?

I’m good. And you’re good.” He starts kissing me again, probably to shut me up about a topic he clearly doesn’t believe bears his concern, but it’s still lovely to be kissed to sleep, held safely in his superhero arms on this night.

So lovely, yes.

And I will never forget this wonderful night with Mikhail, making me feel sexy and desired and safe and protected. He’s making it very hard for me to think of him as just a friend. He’s so much more than that already.

Even so, other nights will come and go. We both know he can’t be in two places at once. He might be my Mr. Hockey, superhero extraordinaire, but he’s no immortal. I won’t fuss anymore about it tonight and ruin the moment. He’s made his feelings clear, and he’s not worried for himself.

Even though I am. And I will be until this Sodorov business is behind me.