by Amarie Avant
Thirty minutes later, I tiptoe to the door of the nursery. I consider washing the day off, but head downstairs instead. Zariah is in the den, seated in my leather chair. She’s got her legs folded under her, and those freshly showered dark brown thighs look creamy in just a pajama shirt. There’s a carton of chow mein in her hand. She’s eating it with chopsticks and offering me an angry stare. I head to the kitchen, pick up the brown paper bag from the island. It’s empty.
Really?
From the open kitchen/den floor plan, Zariah grumbles. “Don’t be so dramatic, Vassili. Yours is sitting in the oven. Although, I considered getting your least favorite.”
I grab my food, and instead of going near my wife, I sit at the table. We eat in an ocean of silence.
I’m finishing up when Zariah heads into the kitchen with her empty container. Though I made a promise to Zamora, I’ll try to explain my rationale for bashing Matthew's face in to her daughter. He’s an asshole should suffice…
“You ready to chat, Zar?”
“Are you and Yuri done with the deception?”
I scoff. “Are you fucking kidding me? Deception? Okay counselor, that’s left field.”
“Then you’ll tell me everything? Vassili, you have my heart. I’m scared, okay? I can’t be without you.”
“You’re mine, Zariah. I love you.” My tone is hard, raw, confident.
“What possessed you to beat some man, on the street, within an inch of his life?”
There’s longing in her eyes as her hands plant on her wide hips. She must notice the slight hesitation on my face because Zariah returns to her spot. She clicks on the DVR list, choosing a Lifetime Movie.
I can’t fucking tell her that the mudak whose skull I bashed in was beating on her mother, so I head upstairs to take a shower.
A few minutes have passed, moisture plumes around me as hot water slams down from the rain spout.
“Will you turn down the heat?” Zariah asks, standing wide legged, arms folded.
She’s watching the water glide over my chest. My cock rises at just the sight of her in that long t-shirt that swallows her curves. I fist my cock in my hand.
She licks her lips. “I’m still angry with you.”
“Okay.” My wrist glides slowly. I imagine her lips sliding over my shaft. No, her pussy or that virgin ass, skimming up and down my cock.
She gulps. I turn down the water temperature, and the shirt goes over Zariah’s head. She starts for her short-panties, the ones that cling to her ass, and leaves the bottom of those thick cheeks out. I love those fucking undies more than when she wears a thong. I grasp her hand and pull her inside before she can remove those.
“Vassili,” she scoffs.
“Don’t act like you weren’t already wet,” I shoot back in my thick accent.
Water waves up her thick weave. She caresses my cheek, and I glance down at her.
“Vassili, should I be mad, truly angry with you? I’m sorry for earlier, but should I be angry?”
I kneel, planting a trail of love against her gratifying lips, down her flat stomach, and to the top of her panties. The panties are soaking wet. I bet it has nothing on her soaking pussy though. I bite the back of her ass where it falls out of the bottom of her panty shorts.
The rain shower masks much of her moan. Zariah places her hands against the glass wall for support. With effort, I peel the material off one hip at a time. With a shaded, lustful gaze, I admire all that ass in my face. I slap one cheek and then palm the dark meat in my tan hand.
“Fuck, you are thick in all the right places.”
Then I rise. I can feel her heart slam into her throat. I turn Zariah around. “You still mad, girl?” My hand smacks and cups her pulsating lips. My fingers delve into silk curls, seeking out her clit. Her pussy lips tighten and contract.
I press fully against her, dominating her soft body. Her nipples are hard against my chest. “You wet or are you mad, girl?”
“Both.”
I nip and then murmur in her ear, “I like that.”
Once again, I press her up against the wall. My chest now to her back. Her hips rise, her ass thrusts back, spearing my cock against her left ass cheek. The attitude she has causes me to chuckle. I clamp a hand along her neck, and command, “Tilt that ass more, Zar.”
Her hips curve, her ass rises. I bend down again, getting a good look at the angle of her butt.
“Tilt more or I’m gonna have to fuck that ass, sweetheart. Angry as you are, you’re still scared of it.” I grunt in laughter.
Her eyes flash at me. I cock a grin up at her. From the side profile, I run my hand over her buttocks and then my thumb stretches out in search of her pussy. Yeah, she’s afraid of me screwing that tiny little hole. My thumb finds her wet, sopping pussy with ease. I stand back up. My hand once again claims the back of her neck.
The side of her face is pressed to the glass. I kiss her lips and ask, “You ready for me to fuck you?”
“Fuck me, baby!”
My cock is harder than titanium as my legs take on a wide stance. I clutch the back of her neck, and glide in.
She’s angry. I can feel that shit way down in my bones. I grip her neck and drive my cock into her pussy, letting her ass cheeks slam against my dick.
My other hand swats against her ass so hard that Zariah almost straightens. “Keep the motherfucking position,” I growl. She has a bone to pick with me. Fuck that, me too. She compared me to my father. My dick slams into her, balls deep.
Zariah
The water pours down on us in torrents. My nipples slap against the cool glass wall with each thrust. I’m on my tippy toes, as Vassili hits it from the back. The angle of his cock slaughters my walls, making my pussy release mini orgasms with each driving force. I can’t even count how many times he’s taken me to heaven while bettering me with his dick.
Mmmm, I love that pain.
“I’m beating the fuck out my pussy, Zar.”
“This pussy is yours, Daddy.” I gasp, my lips against the glass. It’s pure greed, that has me leveraging myself to slam back against him. “Fuck me.”
“Shit,” he grunts. “I’m gonna break this pussy.”
I scamper to clasp the walls, wanting to pull my hair out. He’s screwing so deep in my tummy, that my future walk will forever be changed. “Harder,” I beg. Each thrust clears my mind of all the red flags. He’s dangerous. Everything about him is dangerous except his promises.
His swat along my hip brings stars to my eyes, and death to any thoughts of him being like his father. A sharp breath escapes my mouth as he flogs the same spot. The hurt catches fire from the center point of my pussy and expands it outward. The instant it reaches my hair follicles and toes, my mind goes dumb. And I beg for more hurt.
“Shit, Vassili, fuck.” I once again feel like a drunken woman, steadying herself on weak legs and tiptoes.
The way he screws me insides sends me to another galaxy. It’s enough to clear him of a thousand misgivings. I reach between my body and the glass wall to fuck with my clit. My fingers work the shit out of it. I’m still angry. The pain becomes my haven.
With strong arms that have beaten many of his opponents, Vassili turns me around. He’s screwed the tension right out of me. My legs go around his hips, as he buries his dick deep inside me. Our hearts implode against each other’s chests, creating their own drumming symphony.
“I don’t give a fuck how angry you are, Zariah,” he whispers in my ear, cock sitting deep in my juices. “You belong to me.”
I reach my arms around him, pulling the Russian stone God to me, and kiss him hard. “I belong to you,” I solidify his claim while our tongues dart together.
He drives cock inside of me one last time. His warm seed is so strong that it erupts deep inside my pussy. I cling to him, neither one of us is ready to let go.
***
My cell phone alarm awakens me. The clock we use is on Vassili’s side of the bed because he’s always up at the c
rack of dawn for a run, and I feel like I’ve exerted too much energy rolling over and turning it off when he’s gone.
“Zariah, baby, turn it off,” Vassili kisses my lips.
I’m still submerged in a contented shade of black. My eyes are closed. They’re not ready to open yet.
“Hmmm,” I grin, blindly, feeling my husband looking at me.
“It’s Saturday, sweetheart. What’s with the reminder?”
The reminder? Oh, yeah, dread seeps into my heart. I open my eyes, reach over and turn off my cell phone. “We have to meet with Sammy before he leaves for a seminar this afternoon.”
“We? I thought he was cooking us dinner tomorrow evening? Sunday dinners are his thing.”
“He is, but I can’t wait until then, Vassili. We need to go over your case.”
There’s a hint of hesitation in Vassili’s demeanor. Then he scoops me up, and plants me on his waist. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry?”
While straddling him, I offer a faint smile. “You did. But I can’t stop, Vassili. I love you.”
***
There’s a vein pulsating in the side of Vassili’s neck. Doesn’t he know that this is the wrong time to bump heads?
We’re at Samuel’s Venice Beach home. The beach surrounds us in a 90-degree angle. The furniture is perfect for a man who doesn’t have tiny terrors running around, ready to stamp a train of dirty fingerprints everywhere.
I can’t believe, almost two years ago my mentor was eyeing Vassili during his jog, and telling me to keep away from the riff raff. Now, he sits on the low-seated chair between the two love seats that Vassili and I have claimed.
My leg is crossed, my foot rattling with irritation. Samuel attempts to rationalize with him. “The more you tell us now, the more we’re able to defend you.”
Duh! Sammy’s voice is too friendly. He’s offering my husband a choice, one that he doesn’t have. I will help regardless of what nonsense is going through Vassili’s mind.
“Vassili, you have two lawyers here ready to build a titanium case for you.” I sit forward in my seat. “I love you, let me help you.”
“Girl, I won’t have you as my attorney.” His chuckle is contrite. “I’ve already said it. End of discussion.”
“Why? Because I’m not seasoned? Sammy is, talk to him.” I gesture.
“No. Zariah, I believe in you,” he sighs. Rubbing the chain link tattoo on his forearm, he turns to my mentor. “Sam, this meeting … I don’t need it. I’m going to handle the situation myself. Come Tuesday morning, I’ll be dressed in a suit, and will speak to the judge myself. Zariah and I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow. She’s wasting your time.”
“Are you sure?” Samuel asks.
“He’s not,” I butt in.
“Judge McKinley is a hard ass,” Samuel tries. “My connections will not be of any use without your side of the story—”
Again, I speak up. “Yes, his side of the story. I’m sure you told my mom why she had to bail you out of jail, Vassili.”
His lips bunch into a frown.
“Well, if he won’t give it, then my mom will.” I snatch up my leather purse.
My husband is cussing in Russian underneath his breath. Then he addresses me, palms out in a truce. “Zariah, c’mon, beautiful, stop the madness. Do you want to get your mother into this mess?”
“Zamora?” Samuel arches an eyebrow. “What does Mora have to do with it?”
“Hello, Mom,” I place her on speaker. “I need you to tell me what happened the night Vassili and Yuri were arrested.”
Her voice rings loud and clear and hesitant. “Tsk, honey, they didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Mom, please explain it to me.” I can feel the tears slithering down my cheeks. Vassili’s eyes warm with concern before he leans his head back and takes a breath. His dark as sin eyes glower, causing me to feel hot coils against my skin. What the hell did I do? I’m trying to save him!
“Ms. Haskins,” he cuts in. “You don’t know anything.”
Samuel glances around in consideration. My husband’s comment was leading! Totally leading. Heck, he really sounds like a Russian mobster, prepared to cap a potential witness.
“Honey, are you crying?” My mom asks.
“Yes, mom. My husband is in more trouble than he realizes. Vassili, you aren’t as invincible as you think. Think about Natasha. This is a crucial time in her life to be gone.” An image of him behind bars pops up on an imaginary projector before me, whisking away the deep blue sea. His love has me drowning. “Someone tell me something!”
“Okay,” My mom speaks up.
“It’s nothing,” Vassili says just as she admits to knowing Matthew Overstreet.
The muscles in my abdomen knead, twisting rapidly, and a sinking feeling overwhelms me.
“Is he the man you’ve been dating?”
“Yes, honey. We were dating for a year.”
“That’s a rather long time without introductions, Mom. You know how I am, queen of interrogations. 21 questions an all.” I scoff, more anxious than I let on.
My husband shakes his head at me.
But I still ask the question I’m highly suspicious I already know the answer to. “Does he… does he hurt you, mom?”
There’s a heavy silence. Samuel breaks it, his distraught matching my own. “Mora, love, does he—”
“Sammy? What are you doing there?” The embarrassment in my mother’s voice rings into my ears….
***
The community park near our home is an upgrade from when I grew up, and I’m not just mentioning the switch from seesaws to a sandbox, which teaches outdoor science. I also grew up in a well-to-do area of Los Angeles. But our park is child developmentally friendly. The sections are for early development, middle grade, and even the skateboard sections a few blocks down are fit for that crazy sports channel Vassili watches sometimes.
I’m halfheartedly pushing Natasha in a swing, with an extensive seatbelt contraption. These rich mothers can never be too safe. Who am I kidding, I’ve seen more au pairs than bio moms at the park. My mind is inundated with other things.
“I’m awful, aren’t I?” I ask Vassili as my mother’s story twines in my ear. She told the story about her relationship with Matthew Overstreet to save Vassili, and I know it broke her heart that Sammy listened to every word. If she could only see his face. “Vassili, answer me. Am I awful?”
“You are,” Vassili says, grabbing Natasha’s feet. She’s angled with her frizzy hair blowing in the wind. “Now, move. Our baby is a stunt double.”
“Dang, tell me how you really feel,” I grumble taking a few paces back.
“You’re in trouble, no discussion needed. You’ll pay later,” his voice is ominously sexy. And I’d like to see myself pay later, if I didn’t feel like a jackass. In the next instant, the frown is expunged from his face, a smile in its stead. As Vassili lifts Natasha’s feet higher, she’s damn near upside down. Then he says, “Swoosh.”
“Daddy!” she giggles before being flipped back. I have to move further as Natasha soars higher than I’ve ever attempted.
“Boy!” I shout a warning which lands on deaf ears. Natasha vaults back toward him, fat fists waving around like she’s preparing to go to war. She loves it. Natasha swings back and forth a few times before Vassili catches her legs and repeats, sending her higher into the universe.
“She needs a helmet,” I grumble.
“Nyet, our daughter loves it.”
***
Vassili plants me on the kitchen counter after we’ve double teamed—fed, bathed, and put Natasha to sleep. “I need a shot of Hennessey,” I tell him.
The sexy laugh that comes from deep in my husband’s abdominals makes my body wet. He places his thick waist between my thighs, and pulls off his shirt.
“Got damn, Vassil, I’m asking for a petty party. Which means you have the tools at your disposal to get me drunk. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“Ok
ay,” he moves away. My hands barely have a chance to caress the eight pack of his. He pauses, then in a sarcastic voice inquires, “Oh, can I get your drink, your highness?”
“Humph, you’re still being an asshole, aren’t you? Earlier, my only thought was saving you from joining the Aryan nation in jail—”
“What the fuck?” His thick eyebrow rises.
“Hello, you’re white. There’s only one place for you in the pen. So that’s my excuse for setting up my mom. I feel like middle school, there was this one time when Ronisha, you remember her?”
“Of course, Zar.”
“Tsk, my mind is frazzled. There was this one time when Ronisha got me on the party line—a phone call with random kids. Needless to say, I was too ‘white girl’ for most of the people on the call. I blindsided my mom with Samuel’s presence. Now, I need copious amounts of liquor to help me forget. Which, might I add, can be how I repay you.” I bite my lip as my hand slides over the smooth ridges and then let my index finger glide over the KILLER KARO tattoo which is spread across his chest.
“Oh, you think you are allowed to state how your punishment will play out?”
“I’m offering you the grand opportunity to get me drunk as fuck, Vassili, be calculating and ambitious.”
He moves back into my area, brushes a kiss along my neck. “When I give you an order, you have to start listening.”
“Yeah, you told me not to have the meeting with Samuel. I’m wrong, can’t admitting my faults be punishment enough.” I feel myself tearing up. The hurt in my mother’s voice while explaining how Matthew Overstreet treated her, didn’t exceed the pain of knowing Samuel was aware that she was in another abusive relationship.
He kisses my lips. “I’m your husband, Zariah. You must trust that whatever action I chose to take is for the best interest for our family.”
“Wait,” I grab out for him as he pulls away again.
“No using me like a piece of ass.” He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the vodka.
“Oh no, I want some brown, brown persuasion. That stuff will have me acting a fool.”
“Maybe I want you ready to be committed, Zariah. The crazier you are the easier it is for me to get to certain parts of your body, i.e. your true punishment.” He opens up the Resnov Water and gestures for me to tip my chin. Vassili pours some into my mouth, a small bit trickles down my chin and neck. He licks that up. My pussy starts to rain down in my pants just like the vodka that was just dripping down my neck.
