Page 75 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

i’d like a gift

Reagan

One month later.

Well, this is awkward.

I’m in the stands at the ice arena, watching the Crush play their second game in a best of seven.

It’s playoff season, and the Crush are, according to Mikhail, in good position to win the Cup again.

On my right are Jozem and Maria Zelenka, Mikhail’s parents.

On my left are his sisters, Iliana and Daniella, and his nephew, Roman.

Me, smack dab in the middle of a family I only just met last night, over an uncomfortable dinner at an overpriced restaurant.

Maria is very sweet. She has an infectious smile, which is made even brighter next to her husband’s stoic expression.

Jozem Zelenka is as intimidating as I’d imagined.

He has a hawk’s eye on his son’s every movement on the ice.

I can tell he’s making a mental tally of every perceived mistake, every missed opportunity.

Even when Mikhail scores, which he has twice in this game, Jozem never smiles.

Zero celebration of his son’s accomplishments on the ice from the man.

Iliana and Daniella are both beautiful and dark-haired, like their brother, but their personalities are very different.

Iliana is quiet, like her brother, serious.

She’s career-focused and will have to return to the East Coast for work on a red-eye that leaves tonight after the game.

Daniella is a little wilder, it seems, a little less focused.

She dotes over her son, who clearly looks up to his uncle.

She tells me she’s taking classes at a community college while she works at a coffee shop.

“You’ll be joining us for dinner after the game, yes?” Maria asks as the third period begins.

“I’d be happy to join you. Thanks.”

When the game ends with a Crush win, we all head out to a waiting town car. I offer to stay behind to wait for Mikhail, but they tell me to jump in and that he’ll meet us at the restaurant. I guess he has to do a media thing. I’m still learning about the business of hockey.

At the restaurant, Daniella and Roman order appetizers, while Jozem literally sits at the head of the table, writing notes in a small notebook.

I look at Maria for explanation, and she says, “My husband is a fierce competitor to this day. He likes to write down his notes so he can share them with Mikhail later.”

Mikhail arrives about thirty minutes behind us, wearing a collared dress shirt and gray slacks, per the dress code for game days.

He’s ditched his jacket and tie, but he still looks yummy.

I’m enjoying the dressier side of his wardrobe, as he’s required to wear a suit and tie to the arena for games.

It’s a whole thing with the media filming the players arriving in their custom suits.

He favors athletic gear or more trendy flannels and boots when it’s not a game day, which is how I always saw him before we officially got together a month ago.

He usually wears a leather bracelet on one wrist—a gift he tells me came from his sisters this past Christmas.

I love everything about his style—from his hair to his many tattoos, to his clothes, to his stoic expressions.

He’s the perfect man wrapped in a perfect package, for me.

“Hey, sharp dresser,” I say as he takes his seat beside me after kissing me on the top of the head.

“Ugh,” he grunts. “I hate those stupid press events.”

“Those stupid press events put your face out there to the world,” Jozem says. “The fact that the press gives a shit about you is important. If they didn’t care to speak to you, you’d know your relevance to the game.”

Mikhail sighs next to me. I put my hand on his knee beneath the table just to show him some support and that I understand.

“Roman,” Mikhail says, trying to change the subject without creating conflict, “did you have fun at the game?”

“It was a blast. Two goals for you, Uncle Mikky,” Roman says with a couple cute fist pumps. “My hockey team sucks.”

“Stinks,” Maria corrects. “Don’t say naughty words.”

“Mama,” Daniella interjects. “Sucks is not a naughty word.”

Maria’s pursed lips show that she feels otherwise.

The ensuing silence at the table opens up another opportunity for Jozem, who tells Mikhail that he felt his reactions were slow tonight, his passes sloppy.

He recaps about six different plays as we eat our dinner, telling his son, in precise detail, the ways in which he would’ve played differently, for a better result.

Mikhail just nods through it all. He just takes it, not taking the bait, not fighting back, barely looking up at his father, who clearly has no regard for his son’s feelings. I feel so bad for Mikhail. This is exactly what he meant when he told me about his dad.

No matter what Maria or Daniella do to try to change the subject, Jozem stays laser-focused on Mikhail and on his game play. It actually makes me lose my appetite.

The waitress comes to take our plates and asks if we want dessert. Roman says yes, obviously, but Jozem firmly says, “No one needs those calories.” He takes the check and slips his credit card into the sleeve, handing it back to the server.

Mikhail seizes the moment, standing abruptly. “You know, I’m pretty beat. I think we’re going to head out.”

I look at his parents and at his sister, not sure what to do. Mikhail holds out his hand to help me up from my chair. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, smiling at Maria and Daniella and winking at Roman. I can’t bear to really look at Mikhail’s dad. He’s oppressive even when silent.

Maria looks like she might cry. Mikhail stops to kiss his sister on the cheek and to give Roman a bear hug from behind with a buzz to the top of his messy little boy hair.

Then he steps behind his mom’s chair and puts his hands lovingly on her shoulders.

He leans down to kiss her on the cheek and whispers something in her ear before turning back to me and leading me out of there.

He still stays quiet out on the sidewalk as he hails a cab.

When one pulls up to us and we slide inside, he’s finally able to let his feelings out.

He puts his arm around me and tugs me close to his side, burying his head at my neck and breathing in.

“I fucking hated you witnessing that. I’m sorry, babe. ”

“Why don’t you stand up to him?” I ask honestly. Mikhail is a strong person with strong convictions. He does nothing on a whim, so it surprises me to see him overpowered by someone else like I witnessed tonight at dinner.

“The man lives for hockey. Everything else is secondary to the game. His wife. His kids. I’d be shocked if he even knew his grandson’s birthday.

Someone with that much focus, and who’s had that much success?

He doesn’t give a shit what I have to say.

No one is going to change him, so why bother wasting my breath or emotional energy on an argument I can’t win? ”

He has a point, I suppose. Still…“It’s sad that he can’t see you as your own man, your own player. Does he expect you to recreate his career or something?”

“He sees me as an extension of his reputation. Anything I do that’s bad tarnishes how people see him.”

“Does he treat your sisters the same way?”

“No. He does not. He’s sexist that way. It was assumed I would play, but he’s never pushed them, even though girls were definitely starting to play when we were growing up.”

“But Roman plays hockey. Does your father push him, too?”

Mikhail laughs. “Ah, that’d be a big, fat no. Daniella would kill him if he pulled that bullshit with her kid.”

“Family dynamics are weird,” I comment. “I don’t have siblings, so this was interesting.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he says, chuckling as we pull up in front of the building. He tosses way more cash than necessary up to the driver as we unload. “But welcome to my world.”

Once we’re inside his apartment, he says, “Thank you for being there tonight. I do hate that you had to sit through that crap with my dad, but I loved that you got to spend time with the rest of my family and they got to meet you.” Mikhail pulls me in for a kiss.

And another. And another. “So they could see for themselves how special you are.”

My heart swells, having the support of this man.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he picks me up, carrying me into the bedroom.

Off goes my dress. I take my time unbuttoning his dress shirt, running my hands over his chest and abs.

I undo his belt and pants, savoring the unwrapping of this amazing specimen.

“What a gift you are,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“Is that right?”

“Indeed, it is, Mr. Hockey.” I stare at him, my beautiful man, admiring that exceptional part of him he’ll have inside me soon.

“I’d like a gift from you.” He tilts his head at me, his stance wide with his pants undone but still on his body, muscled arms folded across his bare tattooed chest, and his cock hard and gunning for me.

“Oh? What might that be?” I lick my lips at the thought of his cock in my mouth and how he feels when he’s there.

“Probably not what you’re thinking.” He smirks wickedly.

“Well, put me out of my misery and tell me then.” I lick my lips again and wait.

He groans under his breath, but then just says it in a rush, “Move in with me. That’s the gift I want from you. Live here with me. Starting tonight.”

Definitely not what I was expecting him to ask for.

I step closer to him and slowly look up his body until I reach his dark blue eyes, which are laser focused on me, and deadly serious. “Well, then, I say yes to that. I will happily give Mr. Hockey his gift because he deserves it, but mostly because I love him to infinity and beyond.”

“Thank you, Reagan. And the Buzz Lightyear quote was a cute add.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Hockey. I try.”

“Careful, now,” he growls, but with a smile underneath the growl. “You’re going to give Mr. Hockey a big head.”

I grip his cock and stroke it from base to tip with extra attention. “It’s already pretty big as it is.”

His response is to kiss me, hard, as he backs me against the bed.

We end up on the mattress, Mikhail shaking off his shoes and pants, me nearly desperate to tear his boxer briefs away, to fully free him.

He bites my nipples through my lace bra, rubs my clit through my satin panties.

I’m moaning, my hips moving wildly, heat pulsing through my core as he works me to a frenzy.

When he pulls away my bra and underwear, I’m wet and ready. I open my legs wide for him, letting him see every bit of me. He buries his tongue in between the folds of my pussy, savoring, sucking, licking. When he adds his fingers, I nearly come on the spot. It’s so good.

“Mmmm, Mikhail, I want you. Fuck me. Please.”

He backs away, and I nearly cry at being left without his touch. He grabs a condom and holds it up in question. Always the gentleman, never assuming consent. “We don’t need those anymore,” I tell him. “I’m protected, and I need you to come over here and fuck me, please.”

His mouth quirks up in a very pleased with himself half-smile as he puts on a show of tossing the condom over his shoulder to fly across the room.

When he positions himself between my legs, the vibe changes.

This time, he kisses me softly. Tenderly.

“I want to make love to you, Reagan. I don’t want just a quick fuck.

I want you to know how much you mean to me. ”

If that wasn’t enough to make me self-implode, the slow burn of friction as he moves inside of me might.

He holds my hands above my head as his powerful body moves slowly, leisurely, his hips pumping in and out at a pace that makes the buildup last forever.

His eyes never leave mine, his lips dip to touch mine, his tongue tasting my bottom lip, his teeth nipping at my jawline.

I’m lost to him, to his love making. Good definition. It’s exactly what he’s doing—making love to me. When I come, it’s long and luxurious—a trip to another place, another dimension. Endless. He rides the wave with me, his kisses deepening, whispering, “I love you, Reagan,” in my ear.

I explode, a second orgasm that’s nearly violent in the way it makes my hips rise. His cock dips deep inside of me, and he groans, picking up the pace.

“Fuuuck. What you do to me, woman.”

“I love you, too. I love you, too.”

It’s like my mantra, a chant I can’t stop repeating.

“I love you, too, Mikhail.”

He pushes my legs back, nearly folding me in half to take him deeper.

His kisses are fierce and devouring, like he can’t get far enough inside me to satisfy himself.

I love being loved like this by him.

And when he comes inside me for the very first time, it’s with a very deep love and on a roar, my name falling from his lips over and over and over.

Reagan…

Reagan…

Reagan…