Sin Shot: Vegas Crush #2

by Miller, Raine

  I push my hand between us, feeling the hardness of him through his jeans. He moans and grinds against my hand. I push back, rubbing him harder, my hips rolling in circles, my back arching as he pushes my bra down, exposing my nipples. He groans before bringing his lips to them.

  God.

  The feel of his lips and teeth on my sensitive nubs as he sucks and pulls with gentle bites is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I don't want him to stop.

  It's purely indescribable, possibly enough to get me off if he kept at it. As I writhe beneath him, the heaviness of his body against me sends me into another realm of consciousness. I know my panties have to be wet.

  I want so much more.

  And it's time for his jeans to be gone.

  I fumble a bit as I unbutton him but he helps me push the jeans away from his hips. He's wearing black boxer briefs, tight enough to show the bulge of a big hard cock I can't wait to meet. I rub him some more through the fabric and he twitches in response.

  "Touch me," he murmurs against my breasts. "Kosnites' yego."

  "You don't know what that Russian does to me," I say, dipping my hand down between his skin and the fabric. I grip him and slide my hand up and down the silky-smooth skin. He pumps his hips and fucks into my hand.

  "Tak khorosho," he moans. "Feels so fucking good."

  As if he can't take any more, he jerks away from my grip, scooting down, his hands focused on getting me free of my jeans. I shimmy out of them, feeling so very naked as his eyes go dark. He buries his face between my legs, his mouth hot through my sheer pink panties. Quickly, though, he looks up at me, desire all over his face.

  "You smell so good…like dessert. Sweet. Let me taste you?"

  I gulp, meeting his eyes. I nod and relax my legs, wanting nothing more than to feel that wicked tongue, those talented lips on me.

  His hands work quickly and my panties are gone in an instant, tossed aside somewhere, my fresh wax-job on full display for him. Thank you, Ellie at The Pretty Kitty.

  His hands grip between my thighs and spread me open as he groans again. "Bare pussy. Fuck, Pamela, you're so gorgeous."

  Then, Georg's mouth is there. His beautiful, kissable lips are there, sucking, his tongue delving in to find my clit. My hips push up, the build beginning as he uses his fingers to push my pussy apart, that magical tongue of his flicking against my clit with abandon.

  When he pushes his tongue deep inside me, I nearly lose it, crying out. The reverberation of his sexy chuckle against my clit cranks me a notch closer.

  "So close, Georg," I say, barely able to speak. "Please."

  Then the wicked, wicked man backs away. He gives me a lopsided, ornery grin and shakes his head as he pulls away his boxer briefs, freeing his thick cock. He strokes it a few times, just to make a point, and then reaches out and pulls my hand there, too.

  Together, we stroke him. Our eyes never leave each other's. It's so erotic, and that heavy feeling of want builds between my legs again. I need to come.

  I need it so badly.

  I open my mouth and watch his green eyes widen for an instant as he gets my meaning. He scoots up, slowly inserting himself into my mouth. He's slow. Gentle. He makes sure I can handle it. He pumps, only a little at first but then goes deeper. I have to force my throat open in order to take his length but I want him in all the way to the hilt. He fucks my mouth slowly over and over, sighing heavily each time he bottoms out at the back of my throat.

  I'm so lost in the moment that I barely notice when he turns his whole body. I keep sucking on him, wanting nothing more in the moment than to make him come. But then his lips are between my legs again, his wicked tongue back to ply me into a spectacular orgasm. God, yes.

  He licks me all the way down to door number two. Wha? Now that was unexpected, but sinfully pleasurable, much to my shock. I don't have time to dwell on it though, because his busy mouth trails its way back to where he started and picks up the pace. His tongue delves deep as his fingers work my clit. I know I'm making nonsensical noises, but I don't even care. Moans and groans fall from my lips as the orgasm I need so badly grows closer and closer. I want him to come with me though, and so I stroke the area underneath his balls as I suck him even deeper. He grunts in response and I can feel his cock grow harder in my mouth. He's close too.

  As soon as I feel myself fall over that cliff face, my body tensing beneath his tongue, he starts to spurt warm and salty into my mouth. Simultaneous oral orgasms. Say that three times fast. Except I'm pretty sure I won't be able to even say my name for an hour or two. The climax hits both of us hard as we cry out in that delicious instant of perfect pleasure. I swallow everything he gives me as he kicks his cock deep into my mouth to finish, at the same time licking me to completion.

  Wow.

  When he nestles beside me, upright again, I'm still clenching with aftershocks down below. He kisses my neck, his hand on my belly. I push it down and he inserts his middle finger as my hips move. His palm grinds against my clit and I feel the buildup once more, falling into a second, longer orgasm that literally takes my breath away.

  I'm unable to do anything beyond turning onto my side and resting my head on his chest. He runs his hand through my hair and holds me close. Years pass. Maybe a century, even. It doesn't matter because I suddenly feel the need to do something that I’ve never wanted to do before. I’ve never trusted anyone before, which is mind-boggling, because this is Georg Kolochev. Curious Georg. Hockey playboy bad boy. Yet I trust him… and I’ve never felt this comfortable with a man before, as if we’re equals. Kindred spirits, even though the concept sounds ridiculous. But there is more to him that the outside package. I just hope I’m right.

  "I want to tell you something." I can hear his heart thumping inside his chest against my ear. I love the way our bodies feel pressed together.

  "You came?" he asks playfully.

  "Well, that, too, but actually…I—I am a virgin."

  He stops breathing. A heartbeat thuds. Another. "What the fuck?"

  "I'm…I've never…had intercourse." He tenses underneath me. I've never been given an orgasm by another person, either, but I keep that one to myself. "I've shocked you."

  "I guess? Yeah, I just assumed…a woman in her twenties…that you would've…"

  "No. Close, but never penetration. I've just—it's complicated. But I was never ready."

  "I am glad we only did this foreplay, then." He kisses my hair.

  "Why are you glad we didn't do…more?"

  "Because if I were to be your first, I’d want it to be very special. I’d want to make it special for you…when you were sure you were ready."

  My heart melts at his sweet words. "Well, this was really good. A really good start."

  He kisses the top of my head again. "I may not be here though," he says. "If I get traded—"

  "You won't," I answer firmly, feeling my chest clench at the thought of him leaving.

  "I might."

  "Well, I don't want you to go."

  He's quiet for a long time. So long that I think he might have fallen asleep. I start to nod off, comfortable in his arms. When he finally speaks again, I'm almost sure it's a dream.

  "I don't want to go either," he whispers. "I want to stay here. With you, krasivaya. With you."

  Fifteen

  Georg

  ONE BIG MOTHERPUCKER

  Our first practice with the new guys. Viktor is as intimidating a physical presence as he's always been, and some of our younger guys are clearly in awe of the big man.

  Mikhail goes right up against him and gets shut down quickly. Viktor’s an enforcer, and there's a reason the Crush wanted him on the team. Mikhail, cocky as always, just keeps trying, getting more and more angry with every check against the boards. He finally throws off his helmet and spews his frustration at Viktor in Russian. Viktor, for his part, looks bored. He's certainly heard worse.

  "That is one big motherfucker…" Evan says as we watch the whole exchange go
down.

  "Shouldn't you be stopping them from coming to blows instead of commenting on the guy's size there, Captain Crush?"

  "I'm just saying…"

  "Sure, he is big, but he looks worse against Mikhail."

  "True," Evan agrees. "All right, let me get in there between this little spat."

  He skates over and breaks it up. Mikhail is not as large as some of the other players on our team. He's certainly not over the six-foot mark, and wiry with muscle, rather than bulky. He's quick on his feet and quick-tempered. I hated him the first half of his rookie year, but he's grown on me a bit since then. And even though he's a hothead, I know Viktor could, and would, smash him like a bug if he stepped over a line. I'm just not sure what that line is at this point.

  I get paired with the rookie, Tyler, who was the "add-on" to Viktor's trade. He's young, blond, tatted-up, and all over the fuckin' place. We take turns blocking shots from one of our second-string forwards and though he's quick on his skates, his passing accuracy is for shit and his blocking is inconsistent. I leave the feedback to the defensive coaching staff and try my best to make nice with him.

  "How you liking Vegas so far?" I ask as the coaching staff resets for a new drill.

  "It's good."

  "Not pissed about the trade?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "I just wanna play. Don't care where."

  "Why the quick trade, though?"

  "It was too quick for me to get pissed." He lets out a grunt of frustration. "I'm too rash. Not disciplined enough. Need more mentoring. Whatever the fuck that means. Pretty sure the NHL wouldn't have picked me up if I wasn't good. They should just play me."

  I'm not sure what face I'm making, but I'm shocked he's being so open about why he got traded. "I mean, sure, yeah, I don't know why someone would take you on only to trade you," I say.

  "I played first string varsity hockey for Boston College. Hot prospect," he says with another shrug. "Barely had time to get to know the team. Barely got ice time in the preseason. Fuck ’em anyway."

  I chuckle at this. "I think I like you, kid."

  "Yeah?" he asks. "That's cool. You're the guy who got in a brawl with big Brutus over there during All-Star weekend, right?"

  "You call him Brutus?"

  "Not to his face," Tyler answers. "I like my teeth in my mouth."

  "Ha!"

  "Looked like you pummeled his ass."

  I definitely like this kid. Yes, I do. "I put him down, that's for sure. I was surprised he took the blame for that whole thing."

  "From what I heard, he was the dick who started it. Fuckin' deserved it. I'd have had your back if I was there."

  "You don't like him?" I ask.

  "I like him just fine. He ain't done nothin' to me, but I'm always down for a good brawl." He gives me a cocky smirk.

  "Fair enough. Well, we've got some history. Goes back a few years."

  "Figured as much," he says.

  We go back to work and for whatever reason, practice is way more interesting than it's been all season. This kid will probably get next to zero playing time this season, but he's fun to talk to anyway.

  After an extra-long practice, we head back into the locker rooms. Coach talks about what he's seeing out there, and actually says we're looking pretty good. We've all gotten notes and feedback, but this is the first practice where he's had anything positive to say. I'll take it.

  As everyone starts for the showers, I pull Viktor aside. Evan is hanging a few steps back and the new kid Tyler is flanking my other side.

  "Viktor," I say flatly.

  "Georg."

  He's so huge. Tan. Crazy muscular. Military-style haircut. Intense eyes. I'm not afraid of him but damn, he's like John Cena, for fuck's sake. Personally, I think he tries to be like John Cena. I've heard that he does underground MMA fights in the off-season.

  "I wanted to see if we could put our shit into the past, work together now that we’re on the same team. I appreciated that you fell on your sword after that bar fight last season. It was a gesture that didn't go unnoticed."

  "That night I was plastered," he answers, his English good but his accent thick. Much thicker than mine. "I barely remember my words."

  "You insulted my wife," Evan chimes in from behind my left shoulder.

  "She was not your wife then," he says. "But yes, I was offensive to the ladies that night."

  "It's not like that's the first time your mouth has gotten you in trouble, Demoskev. Let's be honest."

  "This is true," he concedes. "You are no saint, either, Kolochev. Two drunken assholes, we are. It's a wonder we are not friends."

  Why is he being so agreeable? I'm leery, but I don't want to press too much. I just say, "Don't see that happening, but I'm willing to let the past go. You?"

  He holds out a hand and we shake on it. And that's the end of it. The big brute wanders off to shower and I turn around and make a face at Evan.

  "That was totally anticlimactic," Evan comments under his breath.

  "Fucking pussies," Tyler mutters as he grabs his shower caddy and stomps off.

  "What the fuck?" Evan muses as he stares after Tyler.

  "He's a character. Have fun getting that little shit in line."

  "Great," Evan groans as he wanders back to his locker.

  * * *

  The next night, we're back on the ice and on the road. The first period is flat on both sides. Not much energy, a fact that both Evan and Coach Brown focus on during the period break.

  In the second period, Evan is practically on fire, scoring three goals in about a six-minute span. The momentum is enough that Mikhail manages a score, as well, and we head into the third period with a three-goal lead.

  Viktor and I are on the ice together in the third, with Mikhail and Evan on the warpath to score again. Anaheim has other plans, though, and they come out taking shots on goal like it's nobody's business. It's all we can do on the defensive line to keep the puck away from our keeper, let alone make sure it gets to our wingers.

  Frustrated, one of Anaheim's defensive players plows Viktor into the glass—a truly ugly check that starts a battle on the ice. But Viktor actually uses his words like a big boy—even though they are nasty Russian curses—still, it's not at all how I expected him to react.

  The Anaheim player swings at him, knocking his helmet off his head. I skate over and get in between the two of them, pushing them apart, telling them both to simmer down. The ref joins us and sends the Anaheim player to the penalty box, putting the Crush on a power play.

  Viktor gets benched for the last few minutes of the game and the rookie Tyler comes in. We make the most of the power play as I end up with the puck. Anaheim knows Evan and I work as a unit, so they focus their entire defense on him, leaving Mikhail uncovered. I whip the puck over to him and he strikes, scoring his second goal of the night.

  With a five-one win, we leave Anaheim feeling the beginning of a good thing happening. The slump we had in the preseason now seems like a distant memory.

  In the locker room, I get a head-nod from Viktor, a thank you for coming to his aid in the game. I nod back, feeling some of the tension of our past melt away.

  Tyler suggests a group of us go out for drinks to celebrate. Evan, of course, declines. His days of partying are over. Holly is due in just a couple weeks, and he wants to FaceTime her and make sure she's okay. I haven't been drinking much these past weeks, but I do want to go out. I feel antsy, with pent-up energy from our game. Pent-up energy after the night I spent making Pam cry out my name as she came on my tongue.

  I hate to admit how much I want her. It scares me. I've certainly dated, but nothing has ever felt serious. And I don't know if this thing with her is serious, but it certainly feels different from other flings. It feels like a much deeper connection. I want to know her…and please her.

  I want to be her first.

  I'm still actually floored by her revelation. There's certainly more to the story of why she's still a virgin. Damn. And stra
ngely, I hope we get to the point where she wants to tell me all of it.

  At the last minute, Viktor decides to join our group and we end up walking from the hotel to a small dive bar. Classic country music plays on an old-school jukebox as we sidle up to the bar. Viktor draws a lot of looks from his sheer size. When he opens his mouth and a thick accent comes out, he draws more than looks. Two attractive women, probably a bit older than all of us, make their way over to ask us where we're from. Tyler's South Boston accent is just as much of a hit, and the two guys flirt hardcore, both clearly in need of some physical release after a fast-paced game.

  I pace myself, joking that I'm the "party dad" for the night. I alternate between sipping a beer and putting more money in the jukebox. I have a thing for Garth Brooks—don't fucking judge—and I play all the songs they have of his, starting with the classic Friends in Low Places. Of course, everyone in the bar sings along.

  "You remember that junior league game where Kuztnetsorov broke his ankle?" Viktor asks me after his third or fourth beer. He's slurring a little, definitely feeling pretty loose.

  We've moved from the bar to a booth, and both Tyler and Viktor still have the rapt attention of the two women from earlier. I've only just started on my second beer and pretty clearheaded. I do remember that game. "It was crazy. The most violent game I’ve ever played in, hands down."

  "I think only his skate prevented his foot from coming off." Viktor laughs. "It was gruesome."

  "Sounds awesome," Tyler chimes in.

  "In the way disgusting things are awesome," I answer. "I think I got a black eye in that game. It was a joke."

  "The after-party was no joke, though," Viktor recollects. "Champagne. Women. Crazy sex. I think there were seven people in that room. Naked. You were there, yes?"

  "Uhh," I groan, making a face as the other three at the table go wide-eyed. "I may have been."

  "You were," he says with a knowing, amused look. "Your scrawny ass was tits-up with at least two women that night."