Page 78 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

takes one to know one

Mikhail

I know it’s them before I even open the door. And in spite of knowing, my heart still feels like it beats out of my chest as I brace myself for the onslaught. My girlfriend is disrespectful. I’m a disappointment. He raised me to be a king and here I am, just a joker.

Reagan smooths her hair and the front of her dress. Her cheeks are pink, her luscious nipples hard through the thin fabric.

“I’d rather ignore the door and fuck you until you can’t remember your name,” I growl, pulling her in for one more kiss.

She groans and points toward the door. “You can’t say things like that to me when your parents are on the other side of that door.”

Another knock, this time more impatient, and I know I have to abandon lust and deal with reality. I started this by telling him off in the first place. Now, I need to finish it.

I open the door and bow with a flourish to my father, a sweeping gesture to welcome them into my home. My mother grabs my hand and squeezes before walking right over to Reagan. They hug, and my mom puts her arm around Reagan’s waist, pulling her in tightly, showing her allegiance.

I back away slightly, toward my kitchen. “Can I get you two anything?”

My father steps forward, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t answer my question. My mom doesn’t answer my question. Instead, the two women who mean the most to me just stand there, watching my father and me engage in some sort of mental showdown.

My mom clears her throat and says, “Jozem,” in a tone I rarely hear her use with him.

He looks at her, at Reagan, and then again at me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Mikhail,” he begins, his accent thicker than usual, “I know you feel I’ve been hard on you. I know you have not always liked hearing my feedback.”

“Dad.” I put my hand up to stop him. “If you’ve just come here to hand me some bullshit about how you pushed me so hard because you loved me, you can just head on back to Detroit. I’m not interested.”

“No, I did not come to say anything like that, son.”

“Right, yeah.” I chuckle darkly. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard you tell anyone you loved them. Sorry, that was my bad.”

“Stop, son, please.” His voice is far less commanding than I’m used to, and I realize he’s out of his comfort zone. “Yes, I wanted you to achieve at a high level. I wanted you to be better than I was, and anything less than that, for me, would have been a disappointment.”

My hackles rise again, and I huff at him, ready to tell him to get the hell out of my home if he can’t act like a decent human being.

He makes a face, and sensing my impatience with this conversation, he says, “Wait, please let me finish. I know I pushed you. Maybe further than I should have, and maybe at the expense of our relationship. But I saw so much potential in you. From the beginning, you understood the game. You took to skates as if you were born in them. I wanted to help coax out the brilliance I could see in you. I wanted to see your name beside mine on the list of Greats in our sport. I wanted glory for you—not for me, but with me. Beside me. I dreamt of it always.”

“I’ve played hard. I’ve done well. I’m part of something really good with the Crush. And if I get traded, I’ll work hard for that team, too.”

“I know that. I see it. You have always had a good work ethic. You have always been serious about the game. And I’d like to believe that I helped develop that focus. So, I won’t apologize for pushing you, for wanting you to be your best.”

How do I respond to this? I hear him trying. Do I expect him to apologize? Do I expect him to suddenly become a man who says he’s sorry or that he was wrong?

And yet, he surprises me.

“I will apologize for making my only son feel like he was nothing more than a projection of my own ego. I will apologize for making you feel as if I did not care about you. Of course I love all my children. I spent so many hours there with you, more hours than I ever spent with your sisters. I thought you would know, somehow, that I just wanted the best for you, that I believed in your talent so much that I would give much of my time to assuring your success.”

My mother is holding on hard to Reagan. Both of their eyes shine with tears. Reagan looks at me and nods.

“Dad—” I don’t know what I expected to come out, but all that does is a sigh as I close my mouth again, the words evaporated.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he says, looking me in the eye.

This is more than I could ever imagine from him. He has apologized. He has asked for forgiveness. I shove my hand out and he takes it, shaking on this new, tentative truce between us.

“I’ve never wanted to have conflict with you, Dad.” He nods sharply. “And I do want to make you proud.”

He looks from me to Reagan, who blushes under his gaze. “That one has balls,” he says. “She will go somewhere in her life. You better keep her.”

This makes me laugh. It’s a new experience to laugh at a joke coming from my father’s mouth, for sure.

Mom and Reagan both move toward us, my mother pulling me into a hug, then turning to her husband and touching his cheek.

She says something softly to him in Czech that I can’t hear, and he gives her the slightest of smiles.

Another rare thing: my father’s smile. It means something, and this one is private—just between the two of them.

It shows me that there is genuine love and real respect between them.

Slinging my arm over Reagan’s shoulder, I whisper, “You are a miracle worker. My real-life warrior princess superhero.”

“Takes one to know one,” she whispers back.

My mother turns to me. “We love you so, so much, son, and we are so proud of the man you have become.” Then, to Reagan. “Thank you for loving our son and for caring enough to talk to us. We are so grateful.”

I offer to take them to dinner, but they have a flight to catch.

My father has one of his usual charity events back home, but they felt that it was important to come out and hear what Reagan had to say in person.

It goes unsaid that my last words to my father during our phone call left him unsettled.

Left me unsettled, too. Despite the endless coaching and criticism, my father has been a constant figure, looming larger than life, since I was very small.

The idea of not having him there at all left me feeling more than a little bereft.

There are many more words we should probably say to each other, but this is enough for now.

After they leave, I lock the door and turn to the woman I love. “Where were we, my superhero princess?”

She literally runs at me, leaping onto me, her legs locking around my waist, her arms around my neck, her lips on mine. I stumble back a bit, but get us steadied, my mouth not leaving hers as I navigate us to the bedroom.

She finds her feet and pushes me to the bed. “Take off your clothes,” she orders.

I bow my head, grinning. “Yes, princess.”

As I strip, so does she, pulling her dress over her head, revealing her beautiful breasts and a tiny, white thong.

I could come just looking at her, her full round breasts tipped with their dark pink nipples calling to my mouth.

She gives me a sly smile and touches them, pinching the tips, then sliding her hand down beneath the fabric of her panties.

She touches herself, and it drives me nuts, not knowing if she’s rubbing up and down her pussy or touching her clit.

“Take those off and let me see.”

That little slip of fabric is on the floor in zero-point-four seconds.

Reagan stands in front of me, totally bare. Her two fingers are spreading her pussy to expose that sweet button, touching herself, her hips pushing forward as she closes her eyes, moaning in a way that has me stroking my cock like a teenager watching porn.

“Do you like this?” she breathes, her eyelids heavy as she rubs herself, slipping her middle finger into her slick sex.

I can barely breathe; I like it so much. I certainly can’t formulate a sentence. My resulting groan is one of affirmation and need.

“Do you want me on top of you?” she asks.

“I do,” I answer, huskily, reaching out a hand to beckon her to me. “Come.”

She grins and crawls atop my lap, spreading her slim hips wide as she slides down on top of me with a gasp as my cock fills her deeply all the way to my balls. “Ohhh…I will,” she says on a breathy sigh.

She moves slowly, at first, my fingers playing at her clit as she cups her breasts, pinches her nipples, her hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. I could watch this all day, the way her body moves against mine, the way her creamy skin flushes as she grows closer to orgasm.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur, sitting up slightly, taking one of her gorgeous tits into my mouth.

She moans, liking the closer connection, riding me harder, faster, her hands moving to my hair.

I keep one thumb working at her clit, the other steadying my balance as she takes total control.

I bite and suck and lick those tight, budded nipples.

Reagan throws her head back, a gasp escaping as her orgasm crests, her pussy tightening around my cock, squeezing me tight as she rides the wave.

As it subsides, she blinks, slightly disoriented, then grins as she realizes she totally left the planet for a moment.

“Good one?” I ask.

Something nonsensical comes out of her mouth, making me chuckle as I flip us over without losing connection. I spread her wide for me and start to move—slow at first, but then faster as her nails dig into my ass, pushing me forward.

I kiss her long and deep as I sink into her, following her lead. She throws her legs up over my shoulders, giving me deeper access, her arms reaching back to grab the headboard.

“Fuck me, Mikhail. Please, please.”

Well, when you put it like that…

I slam into her. She cries, “Yes, yes,” chanting at me. “Yes, yes, Mikhail, fuck me. Yessss.”

It’s all I can do to hold myself back, but as I feel her tensing for another orgasm, I can’t help myself from going over the edge.

She’s coming, and the sight of my cock spearing into her cunt as she makes sounds that can’t be described with words sets me off.

I follow her, an explosive culmination of pleasure and love washing over me as we both cry out each other’s names like ancient prayers.

Collapsing, breathing heavily, I tell her how amazing she is. I tell her I love her so much. I tell her she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

She rolls over on top of me and lays her head on my chest. “Your heart is beating so fast,” she says between heavy breathing.

My hands travel up and down her naked body, dewy with the sweat of exertion. My hands find her ass, cupping each cheek, pushing her hips toward my still-twitching cock.

“I always want you. It never stops for me.”

“I feel the same,” she says with a press of her lips over the place where my heart beats just below them.

“I can’t believe my dumb luck you came into my life, Reagan Marlowe. I mean it. So fuckin’ lucky.”

She lifts her head from my chest to look at me. “But I was the lucky one. I might not be here, if not for you…my superhero, Mr. Hockey, the love of my life.”

A pang slices across my heart but I try hard to push it down.

I don’t think I will ever forget the terror of believing I’d lost her before I could ever have the chance to tell her I love her.

I’ll have to learn to use that painful moment for something good, but I don’t know what that is yet.

I’ll figure it out. My alter ego will find a way to make that happen.

Kissing the top of her head, I sit up and carry her into the shower.

I hold her and kiss her as the water warms, and when we step inside, she slips her feet to the ground, tossing her head back into the spray as I soap up my hands and gently clean the sensitive space between her legs.

She gasps and widens for me, and suddenly, I’m not cleaning her up anymore, but instead pushing my fingers deep inside of her, watching her eyes roll back in her head as she comes again.

“Not done, huh?”

She sighs and moans as I continue pushing my fingers in and out of her, my free hand at her back, holding her up as she goes boneless, her hips flexing as her pussy clenches tightly around my fingers.

I’m hard again as she rides another wave of ecstasy, so I pick her up and pull her to me, impaling her on my cock, holding her against the shower wall.

Burying myself as deep as I can go inside her, again and again, my mouth at her neck as she comes apart in my arms, my name falling from her lips. Mik-hail…

Which sends me over the edge to my own release the instant I hear her saying it.

This time, when I pull out of her to come, she finds me quickly with her delicate hand and strokes me through to the end of the orgasm as she likes to do.

This beautiful and brave woman who owns me…

from yesterday to today to tomorrow to forever.

It takes us both several minutes to recover enough to finish getting clean; time we spend just holding each other, my chin on the top of her head as I like to do.

She lets me dry her from head to toe with a towel and then carry her back to bed, where I can hold her some more.

I have a lot of holding Reagan in my arms to make up for.

For all those days and nights when I never imagined I could ever find this kind of deep connection of peace and love and acceptance with another person.

But I did.

Because once, there was this beautiful but lonely princess in terrible trouble who needed a hero. And by some random luck or accidental miracle across space and time, she picked me to be that hero at the exact moment she needed one.

It all happened just like that for us.

She chose me.

And when she did, she gave her heart to me in exchange for mine.

That deal is done.

Because Mr. Hockey will be keeping it forever.