Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  “Dad, she misses Vassili.” I stop myself from the innate need to remind Maxwell of my child’s bond. Don’t need my father initiating his own plan of attack. “If you and Mom had divorced while I was so young . . .”

  “Okay, Zariah.” He holds up his hands, palms out. “I get it. She’s innocent in all of this. I hope her naivety doesn’t trickle over to you. How are the divorce papers coming along?”

  I chew my lip. Might as well have plunged myself into an interrogation room down at the precinct. The dynamics fit me, saying that I don’t know how to find the bastard to serve him the paper. That’s the usual “excuse” for most people. Since Vassili hasn’t reached out, I haven’t bothered Tyrese with executing my request for a divorce. It almost feels like if I have him served, that makes this farce real.

  I reply, “Nicks has been busy.”

  “While you’re waiting for your co-worker to draw up the payers, reconsider the date I suggested?” Again, I’m eyed like a criminal. With a smile on his face, Maxwell adds. “Jackson’s swinging by shortly for a chat with me anyway.”

  “Oh, what kind of chat? Business?” Damn, the lawyer in me has no problem taking the “A” out of Q & A. I clear my throat. “I could, but Natasha’s restless tonight.”

  “What are grandparents for?”

  I smile, arising and setting Natasha down onto her stubby feet. I almost pluck her back up as she takes a few stumbled steps toward him. My ornery father is more than willing to meet her the rest of the way. He scoops her into his arms.

  I’ve been tempted to sneak Natasha away from my father and Jackson. I’d found the three of them in the kitchen after dressing in ripped jeans, a blouse, and blazer. If only she could share what they’d chatted about, but that was the professional in me. Needing to work all the angles.

  Jackson and I stroll down the Universal Boardwalk. A multitude of people passes by on either side. We stop at the Voodoo Donut shop. We grab our items, sit at a table outside next to the famous Voodoo gingerbread man, and watch people.

  After a little while, I ask, “So . . . How is it with my dad as a boss?”

  His vanilla and pistachio covered donut is an inch away from his lips when he lets out a chuckle. “I’m that awful company?”

  “No.” I pause to take a breath. I try not to imagine myself in a courtroom. Albeit not badgering a witness on the opposite team, it would be nice to get some useful information out of Jackson.

  “I get it. Your dad was insistent about this date. If you’re anything like I was. . . I must’ve searched divorce attorneys a thousand times before I took the plunge.”

  The edges of my lips pull up, just enough for me to play the part. “You forget one thing. I could’ve created my own documents.” I bump shoulders with him.

  “You don’t think you’d need an outside factor, Zariah? Someone to fight for your half… visitation, stuff like that?”

  Fat chance, asshole, I think with a smile. “I considered it…” I try to segue our conversation back to him. “How did you pass the time after your divorce?”

  “Work helped.”

  Bingo! I clear my throat. “How did you get so close to my father? You’re still on the beat?”

  A little something flickers in his eyes. I expected push back from Jackson, but he says, “Nope. I was promoted. Kissed a few asses to get out of the uniform the boys in blue wear.”

  “Hey, I thought women loved men in uniforms,” I pause from rolling my eyes at the cliché. “You kissed my dad’s ass too?”

  “For the past three months I’ve been D1,” he says of recently making detective. “I know how he likes his coffee. I always spoke up during debriefings. Made all the relevant suggestions, volunteered to work in the worst areas.”

  Now my brain is on overdrive. Thoughts slam through it. How did Jackson make detective? Was it legit? The things he’s named are good ways to be seen by higher-ups at the precinct, but I’m stuck.

  It’s almost ten at night. I’ve checked in on Natasha and talked myself out of a shower so many times before I pull myself into the bathroom. Like a Spike Lee flick, I’m moving around no thought to it. In the shower, I start to scream, but nothing comes out.

  I snatch up the Bath & Body Works. In my haste, I drop the loofah. Mouth gritted, I leave the damn thing on the ground, lather the soap in my hands and begin to wash.

  “Years later,” the sexiest Russian voice ever permeates my thoughts. “You still haven’t learned how to work that pretty pussy in the shower…”

  Eyes brightening, I search through the haze of smoke that my steamy shower had made. I breathe out, “Vassili?”

  Vassili

  She’d been frustrated as fuck when I come into the bedroom. I’d left her alone for a few minutes. Shit, I’d left Zariah alone far too long. Tonight, I’d left her alone while Natasha and I were at the window to the nursery. My daughter and I watched her mom return home with the mudak. It took something out of me not to go downstairs and give the cop the same action Kong got. It took even more out of me to put Natasha back into the crib that her sorry excuse for a grandpa bought.

  My baby cried for me. Her happy chuckles went straight to tears. I hid in Natasha’s closet. Zariah had come straight upstairs, giving me a reason to believe the mudak didn’t taste my wife’s lips.

  Listening to Zariah sing a lullaby calmed the frayed nerves, settled my muscles. When she’d gone to change, Natasha’s fat paws for hands clutched at the crib. She held herself up and waited for me again.

  I made a few promises that I intend to keep only to find Zariah in the shower muttering under her breath. She rubbed her sudsy hands over her body all wrong.

  Didn’t show her luscious dark skin any of the love it’s grown accustomed too. Her disrespect for her sexy curves reminded me of the first time I came to see her after murdering Sergio. She’d been trying to fuck herself because she’d met me.

  She’d been doing it all wrong.

  Rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, I say, “Years later. You still haven’t learned how to work that pretty pussy in the shower.”

  “Vassili…” her breath catches in her throat. That beautiful throat of hers needs to be glossed with my cum right now. With a wide-legged stance and my hands in my jean pockets, I stay on the fuzzy rug.

  The glass door swings open. She clings to me. The pent-up air I didn’t even know I’d been holding in my lungs releases.

  My wife is loyal. My wife belongs to me, despite the bullshit game we’re all playing for Danushka and Anatoly. Her hot, wet body cleaves to me as if she won’t let me go. Even if I order her to. Water drips from her hands as she loops them behind my neck. My shirt is all wet, jeans dampening.

  “I called you so many times,” she murmurs.

  “I thought about you a million more times than you called, Zar,” I groan.

  Clasping her hair, I wonder if she’s crying. I can’t see that shit right now. Happy tears, sad tears. The fighter in me doesn’t know how to differentiate and doesn’t give a fuck to try. She’s still clinging to me. One arm at a time, I shove off my leather jacket, then I rip my shirt. My pants are shoved down as Zariah’s mouth presses against mine.

  I don’t dare look into her eyes. Confirm her tears. Instead, I walk backward until we’re both in the shower. The water washes away the truth I refuse to see.

  Her straightened hair zips into natural curls.

  “Much better.”

  “Much better?” Zariah cocks an eyebrow in confusion at my words.

  I’m not mentioning the shit I hate. The shit that reminds me that I’m more like my father, and she’s more like my mother than I’d care to know. Always crying because of him. I clasp the back of her neck. “Tonight, we’re going to do all the same shit we did from our first night together—”

  “But we didn’t have sex, Vassili,” she groans.

  “Don’t talk back, girl.”

  She sighs.

  “I’m the one that gets to say but. I’ll cum i
nside that pretty pussy when you can’t take it anymore.”

  “Oh, Vassili,” she purrs.

  “First, fuck yourself like you did when you didn’t know I was watching, Zar. This time you know how it is to be filled with my cock.” I rub my thumb over her lips. “That mouth, that pussy, that ass. You know good and fucking well, Zar. So, touch yourself. Do it with love.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is delectable as she roams a hand down the center of her breast.

  “Nyet. You don’t understand yet. If you don’t touch yourself right, then I’m not cumming in any of those beautiful places made for me.” Though my voice is hard, there’s no way in hell I’m not filling her up tonight. She’ll pout and learn just how beautiful it is to watch me watch her.

  “I—”

  “I’ll cum, and you’ll watch with envy,” I lie.

  Delicious anger flashes before her eyes. The attorney in my wife is ready for a challenge. Her tongue darts out, gliding over her lips. I crave this. The hard lust and determination in her will become our perfect night.

  This time, when her hand slides across her breast, she tweaks a nipple. Fuck, half of me feels like a mudak for not doing it for her. The other half of me is on fire for not having her in so long.

  Little does my wife know, I haven’t fucked her in so long. I need all this foreplay so that my cock can slam deep, go long.

  With the water streaming down on her heavenly curves, Zariah places her foot on the shower seat. She spreads her thick walls. I gulp down the desire riding through me as her fingers disappear into her cunt. Her mouth sets, lips tense, pretty face filled with determination.

  A fierce growl rolls through me as I watch her fingers fuck deep into her pussy. I step forward, and her breathing intensifies, pace falters. My paws press into the flesh of her ass, I stand so close my hard chest crushes her nipples. I whisper against her ear, “You almost stopped, girl. Now you have to be punished.”

  My words leave her heart bursting against my chest. I rub my hand across my bristled jaw, fighting the animal in me; the animal that wants to leap out. To fuck the rules and have her this very second. With a smile, I reach between her legs and grab her pussy. My fingers massage at her fat folds. I slip my arm around her and crush her with my body while showing her how to work her clit and her lips at the same time. “Do it like this for me, Zar.”

  “Shit . . . Shit . . .” She pants, biting down on my shoulder, body trembling between my arms. “Ye-yes.”

  “You,” I tell her, kissing her lips with each word. “Taste. So. Motherfucking. Good.” My mouth lingers at hers, fist snatching a shock full of her hair. “Do it right this time, or you continue to suffer.” Baby, don’t make us suffer.

  I sit down on the ledge of the shower, leaning back, I watch Zariah gaze over my muscular body. “Get to it, Girl.”

  She places her foot on the ledge beside me.

  “Open that pussy for me, Zar.”

  With trembling fingers, she does it right this time. She pushes back her thick ass lips so I can see that little hood, I reach forward and kiss her clit. Zariah moans deep, steadying her hand on the glass.

  “Work your pussy,” I growl.

  Holding her lips open, Zariah lets her finger dip inside her cunt. She strokes her core. I reach up, giving her pussy my middle finger. With her fingers and my one finger stretching her walls, I teach her the erotic rhythm. Slow and delicate. I know my wife is on track when her hips start working on our fingers. I reach to the side and bite down on a juicy curve where her ass meets her hips. She rides harder, grinding down, moaning and groaning.

  “You look so beautiful fucking yourself.” I sit forward this time, letting her leg hook over my shoulder just as she’s ready to cum. So, I can drink the feast she’s made. My tongue dives in, lapping her up like a dog.

  She doesn’t have a second to come down from her high when I’m standing, pressing her breast against the glass. My hand swats hard at her ass, sending her back arching. I drive my cock into her core, balls slamming against the inside of her thigh.

  “Dayyyyum!” Zariah tries to clutch at the wall as I sit deep in her pussy. Then out, and then gliding into her. I grab her arms from over her head, bring her elbows behind her. Now, I have the ultimate power as I thrust into her. Her ass claps back at my every thrust. My solid, rough body holds tight to her delicate one, and I stake claim to the thickness of her ass. My heavy erection gives her pussy the beating of its life.

  22

  Zariah

  “Say you’ll stay.” I fall into Vassili. My pussy spasms out of control after all the attention. His ropy, strong arms beckon me as he holds me in the bed. The fighter becomes my haven as I catch my breath, my heart slamming against his chiseled chest. The hard beating of it is the only power I have over him. “Vassili, please say you’ll stay.”

  “Zar . . .” Vassili mumbles, his Russian accent thickening by the second.

  “The man I married was invincible,” my voice trembles. I close my eyes, and then apologize for the low blow.

  Callused fingers glide across my jaw. Vassili’s thick, pleasing mouth presses against my lips. “Girl, you didn’t give me half a second to respond. I’ll stay for—”

  “Yes,” I screech at the top of my lungs and then glance around wide-eyed. The balcony door is open; the night is set off by a half-moon. There’s not a sound, and it’s after midnight. I assault his face with kisses and try to keep my glee under lock and key.

  “Zariah,” he grabs ahold of my neck, not squeezing but enough to gather my attention. “Listen to me. I’m staying the night, but you have to do something for me.”

  Dread swallows me whole. “Please, can it not have anything to do with your family?”

  Vassili’s dark gray eyes become stark black for a moment. He licks his lips. “Zariah, you’re my wife. Let me change my tone here, girl. You will do what needs to be done. Understand?”

  I start to climb off my husband. His hand stops skimming my neck and he grabs the fat of my hips, locking me in place.

  “No lip. Promise me now that what I have to say, you’ll do,” he grits.

  “Yes,” I snap, attempting to slap at his chest. His hands snake up from my hips, and he locks my wrists. My pristine education growing up reminds me that my husband is king of the takedown. Vassili’s leg locks around mine. Somehow, he lands on top. Except, my face is in the pillow, and his miraculous cock is piercing at my ass.

  “Zariah, you talk back too much.” The only love he’s showing me is the caress of his breath against the nape of my neck and side of my cheek. “We got shit to do, girl. What did I say to you from the beginning? What did I tell you that one night in Italy?”

  “You’re doing this for us,” I murmur. My mouth is muffled by my attempt to suffocate myself with this feather pillow.

  In Russian, Vassili grits, “What?”

  “You’re doing this for us,” I reply more assertive this time.

  “That’s right. For us. I love you, Zariah.” Vassili scoots down in the bed, his mouth pressing against my spine. Each descent lands another kiss against the center of my back. Each one is more delicate than the last.

  I squirm, needing the coach in him to coax me toward whatever shitty goal he has for us now.

  My back arches and Vassili’s lips plant against my puckered asshole. His tongue begins to slither around and wedge between my cheeks. My pussy, though achy, cries for him. I bite down on the very spot of the pillow that was helping suffocate me a few seconds ago. My moaning and groaning increase a few octaves as his tongue darts into my ass. Vassili presses his thumbs into my pussy, slamming at my g-spot.

  As he sleeps, I cry. One of those silent cries where it hurts so bad that the sound refuses to exit your mouth. This morning, I awake to salt streams dried on my cheeks and loneliness creeping into my chest. He’s left a note.

  Wearing designer sunglasses and my favorite cheery, yellow dresses, I head to work. I drop Natasha off with Taryn and swing by Pan
era Bread for bagels for the entire office. When I arrive, I stop at the front of the building. The clerical staff come from their cubicles, Connie too, as I put out various cream cheeses with the bagels.

  “I thought I smelled heavenly carbohydrates.” Samuel’s niece moans as she plucks up a cinnamon bagel.

  “What’s the occasion?” Tyrese’s luscious voice comes from behind me. With my emotions unraveled, I smile up at him.

  “Hey, I think I promised you bagels when we finished that thing,” I murmur.

  His brown eyes lock onto mine, approval sparks across his gaze. That thing is my divorce.

  “What thing . . .” Connie begins. She’s had a crush on our coworker for the longest time. Yet she stops glancing at the two of us to squeal as Samuel enters Billingslea Legal. He has bags with one of our favorite southern restaurant emblems on the side.

  “Chicken and Waffles for Ty and clerical, Connie and Zariah, I’ve got you covered too.”

  “Black Santa,” Lynette chortles, helping him with a bag.

  “Well, I guess you can all put your bagels in a zip lock baggie for tomorrow.” I shrug, recalling that I’m supposed to play the part that my husband gave me. A woman on the verge of divorce. Vassili requested to be served while he’s with Danny. He and his sister have established a relationship. It includes a Russian restaurant on Friday evenings.

  “Zariah, get over here,” Samuel calls after me as we head toward the break room. Tyrese attempts to catch my eye contact. I’m sure he prefers more clarity, due to my ominous statement. I’d been so wishy-washy since Vassili asked me to initiate the divorce last month.

  “We can talk later,” I mumble to him as we all ‘round the corner. The break room has a coffee table with two couches parallel to it. Across from it all is a lengthy table with cheap chairs. Most of the folks who love to grub have grabbed the to-go boxes and have claimed the couches. Samuel’s eyebrows press together. He hands me the box with my favorite French Toast.