by Amarie Avant
That reminds me, when is the last time I checked on her? Though Zamora Haskins was in our presence for two weeks, I have learned to make it a habit to ensure that everyone my wife loves is safe. The girls have such a good relationship with each other that she’s flying to California every other month or so. Her brother, Martin, is a family man, and with a nine-to-five, and a wife and three kids to take care of, I suspect he isn’t available all the time for Mrs. Haskins.
While warming my borscht soup on the stove, I pull out my cell phone and dial Yuri.
“I’m still looking into the email, Vassili. Alvarez has sent the contract, what do you want to negotiate, we can’t have everything?” he says instead of hello.
“Fuck you to, Yuri. You act like you’re being run like a lap dog.” I argue, although I am about to add more to his plate.
“Did you review the contract? The fight’s in Atlanta, mid-July.”
“Nah, I didn’t look over that shit, Alvarez can suck these hairy balls for all I’m concerned. He’s nobody.” I stir the copper pot as the soup begins to simmer.
Yuri sighs. “You say you want to fight. Then you hound me about when, where, how. Shit, Vassili, the venue is enough to offset the bone he’s willing to throw you.”
“Look, I want you to go to Atlanta.”
“We can fax back the contract.”
“Net! Yuri, listen, this is about Zariah’s mom.” I grab the remote, and turn on the television which is near the sliding glass door. The low drum of a sitcom sets my nerves at ease. Can’t have Zariah hearing what I’m about to say, no need for her to be worrying. “I think she might be getting punched around—”
“Ms. Haskins?”
“Yes, idiot, Zariah only has one mother.”
“By who? When?”
I pull the phone away from my ears. I’m getting fucking investigated through a loudspeaker, here. “Zamora has a boyfriend, I don’t know his name yet. But she and Zariah Facetime during every single call except tonight. When we were on vacation, she didn’t mention much about the bastard. Just now, they were talking, and Zamora blew her off. They’re too close for that shit. Something isn’t right.”
There’s silence at the end of the receiver for a moment. “Alvarez’s camp is gunning for the Center Stage Theater—”
“Why you bring him up now, huh? Yuri, we’re talking about Zariah’s mother and you bring up that disrespectful mudak.”
“Vassili, breathe,” he cuts in. “We’ll go check out the venue and see about Ms. Haskins. Best case scenario, she makes my cookies, we come home. Worst case scenario, you handle the fuck who’s crossing the line with her, and I toss out the trash.”
My eyebrows crinkle. “What the fuck? I just gave you an assignment.”
“Remember your daughter’s first birthday two days ago. You said we were a team, so teammate, should I get the tickets so that we can go check on her, or will you?”
I sigh heavily, recalling the whining Yuri did in my office that day. He’s right, I need to handle this myself. “Fine. You get the tickets, though.”
“Should I bump him? You dump him?”
“Nyet! I'll handle the shit myself. Nobody touches a hair on my loved ones, Yuri.”
“That’s what I wanna hear, kazen.”
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Zariah murmurs from the entrance to the kitchen.
Fuck, what do I tell Zariah? I hate it when she worries.
Zariah
Vassili looks up at me, almost as if he didn’t hear me enter. From my view of the kitchen, while walking down the hall, he’d been discussing something serious. His brow is furrowed, his sexy lips set into a frown.
“Yuri,” he says, tossing his cellphone onto the marble countertop. “He sent me a bullshit contract from Alvarez, says we can fight at this convention center. I’ve never had a match there. But he believes I can make more than enough money selling my shit there.”
It’s a new day for my husband if he agrees to the proposal. Vassili talks way too much shit, so I ask, “So, you’re gonna agree with the contract?”
“I’ll go to Atlanta, check out the scene. See if it’s worth signing the papers.”
My heart sinks. We just got to a good place, how will we stay there if he leaves so soon? “Aw, can’t you virtual tour the center online? I hate when you go away. We just got back from vacation but you’re already on the run.”
“C’mere,” he orders. The sexy thickness of his Russian voice seems to wrap around me from yards away as he says, “I’ll just have to fuck you so hard you can’t think until I return.”
“Oh, that defeats the purpose of me staying home and going to work,” I grin at him, while heading over. “One day I won’t allow you to fuck me into submission. Sex doesn’t make everything better.”
“Pft! It’s either I fuck you brainless or feed you borscht?” he jokes.
“My palate isn’t fit for that soup, and you know it.” I tease.
He grunts. “I know exactly what your mouth is fit for.”
My tongue dips out and plays across my bottom lip as I stop before Vassili. I inhale the scent of him. It’s perfect, the epitome of masculinity. Fresh woods and patchouli scented. My eyes close as I breathe in more of his strength.
“To your knees, Zariah,” he commands, right here in the middle of the kitchen.
I’m obedient of his request, and kneel in front of him before his long, venous cock flops out. Looking like it weighs a ton.
“No hands, girl.” His hard voice plays somewhere between sinful and sultry. “I bet that mouth of yours is so fucking wet, just as wet as between those thighs.”
My body melts. My pink tongue darts out to lick the lengthy curve of him, riding along the wide planes of his dick. When my mouth sucks him down my throat, Vassili’s groan is likened to the sound of a tiger’s deep, low, powerful, rumble.
My mouth holds him in a snug fit, slides up and down the entire length of his cock, wetting him even more.
“You wanna use your hands, don’t you?”
I sigh as response.
“Nyet, beautiful, not on me. You can fuck yourself if you’d like.”
A trickle of honey flows from my pussy. I bang his cock against my tonsils, in a repetitive motion, needing his seed to fill my mouth, to slide down my throat. Needing him to satiate me.
“Zariah, fuck yourself.” His command slams through me.
My hand slips into my runner shorts, past the soft hairs of my pussy and right to my swollen lips. When my palm caresses along my clit, my throat moans against the head of his cock. I start to gather a rhythm, my fingers pressing deep inside my ocean, my mouth a second ocean for his dick.
“Stop, Zariah.”
My brown eyes rise, glancing past ridges of tattoos on his six pack, up to his chiseled jaw.
“No,” I murmur, taking him further, while taking myself further.
“Stop, beautiful. This is about me blowing your mind, Zar.” He takes my hand and I arise. “You’re sweet, right?”
“I’m so wet…”
“Let me see how sweet you are.” Vassili grips my wrist and brings my hands to my mouth. His tongue flicks out, mine does too. I taste the juices that I’ve made for us, he tastes them as well. Then his mouth meets mine in a kiss.
“Fuck,” he says, “You ready to go crazy?”
I’ve hardly bobbed my head once, and Vassili has me over his shoulder. He carries me into the den, where a bear fur rug is on the center of the floor. Vassili lays me down and has me out of the sports bra and shorts in a second.
“Wai… wait…” I try to grab at his mohawk, but his head is dodging for the sweetness between my thick thighs before I can remind him that I just did four miles on the bike upstairs. My left leg gets to jerking as his tongue spears inside of my pussy, thick enough to get the job done and zeroing in on my g-spot. My first orgasm slams through my body, leaving my eyes shut tightly, and a falsetto piercing from my lungs.
“Vassili…” I scream.
He doesn’t offer me a moment’s reprieve as he licks away at the cum squirting out of me. My skin goosebumps and burns as Vassili rubs a hand up along my waist and to my breast. He’s furious in his eating, and my hips have risen off the floor to match the vigor of his tongue. While he snacks greedily on my pussy, he tweaks my nipple, and I swear that my pussy must taste like the world’s best pie, because he’s working another orgasm to the surface. I can feel it rising from my toes, my leg tenses again. I grab at the fur beneath me, and scream aloud.
“Shit, damn—shit, damn, motherfucker,” I can feel my body begin to cave into the floor, but Vassili lifts my ass up, and continues to dig in. “Shit, da-damn, motherfucker,” I shout again. Wait a minute, that’s a D’Angelo song. The crooner was losing his mind with rage in that song, and I’m losing my mind with desire all the same. My fist clamps onto Vassili’s wavy brown hair as I slide my hips around. It feels like his chin is pressing against my asshole as he keeps it lifted up.
He mustn’t need air?
Why exactly did I just think of that?
My lungs are burning. I realize that, hell, I need air.
Vassili eats my pussy until I’m weak. Tears stream down my face, and I have clawed at the bear fur until it’s probably missing patches. “Vassili,” I cry, whimpering, sniveling, the works.
“Da krasivaya,” he responds in Russian. I’m beginning to learn. That means “Yes, beautiful.”
Vassili climbs up my body and I plant my face along his neck. “Baby, that was so good, I’m gonna cry now. I’m sorry, but I have to cry.” I break out into a sob. My husband hates it when I’m drawn to waterworks, and I rarely am. But the dam bursts and tears fall as the glistening, wet lips of my pussy whimper with proof of my desire.
He just screwed me seven ways to heaven, and it’s over. I sob. This husband of mine. He’s murdered for me. He tears men limb from limb. And he loves my body. He cherishes me. How did I deserve this? The tears of joy rattle through me.
“Don’t cry,” he catches a tear with his mouth, kisses and licks it away. Vassili places himself between my legs, pressing my ankles over his shoulders. I shiver in anticipation as Vassili lines his cock with my pulsating entrance. He leans down, his face burrowing between my breasts. He blows hard while letting his head wriggle around.
I laugh through the tears. “Fuck me, Vassili,” I beg. The wait will be the death of me.
“God, your pussy is soaking wet,” Vassili growls, while allowing his rock-hard cock to glide along my wetness. I arch my hips, ready to aim for my own target, but he just gives this boisterous laugh that reminds me who the hell is boss.
“I hate you, Vassili,” I reply. I might not be in my right mind, but I’m begging like a 90s R&B singer, he should screw me crazy…. Crazier than I am now.
“You hate me, eh?” the head of his cock thumps my clit.
I hiss, shit that feels good. My hands fist the bear rug, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, the damn thing now probably looks like it could use a couple bottles of Rogaine.
His cock slams into me, the muscle stretches my insides, and as he works his hips back and forth, each drive goes deeper. Tilting my hips as much as I can, I channel my inner yoga, well whatever the damn position I’m in is called, as I welcome the depth of his cock. Sweat slicks across his muscles as he goes out and back in. My tits shake up and down, and I snatch more fists full of fur, while screaming. My throat is becoming raw, and I like the sound of my sultry Beyoncé voice—maybe I’m delusional enough to think so, but hell, I like the sound of my voice. I may or may not sound like a scalding cat instead, as Vassili’s cock pummels my g-spot.
And… then… Vassili… sits there. His cock living within my wet walls, loving the mold he’s made. My breaths are ragged, my throat is dead. He starts to rock into me slowly.
The tears have returned. He kisses those away, while his cock glides inches in and inches out. Ten inches in, and ten inches out. My lashes flutter, kissing my cheeks. I’m aware of every minute second of it. And I die within his arms as he screws me slowly.
When we come together I’m delirious enough to say, “Baby, get me pregnant…”
He kisses me hard on the lips. “That’s what I’m saying, girl. Let’s get you pregnant again.”
We chuckle together as his hard muscles sag into my body.
***
It’s almost midnight, way past my bedtime on a weekday. My body is glued to Vassili’s as we lay in our sex. Somehow, he ended up on his back, my breasts are against his muscular chest. The Kremlin from Moscow is shaped in a crown along his hard muscles, and my index finger follows the trail of it. The artistry still knocks me out, although the menacing wolf head atop it still scares me. The lifelike design seems to leap from his skin.
I mumble the Latin words, “oderint dum metuant below.”
Then my finger trails down to those X-rated matryoshka dolls, which the cross of Jesus, conveniently cuts through.
“You know what,” I murmur, half asleep.
“What?”
“I want all these titties off your back?”
“What titties?” he responds, thick Russian voice sounding too sexy. The bastard knows what I’m talking about.
I roll off of him. “Um-hmm, you can cover that shit up with my face.”
“All you have to do is ask.”
I lay on my side. Vassili turns to spoon me now. Once more my eyes close slowly, but I jerk my head awake. When I do, my sight adjusts more. I glance around me at the chocolate brown fur patches on the ground. “Damn,” I pause. What the hell was that? Okay, so maybe I really didn’t sound like Beyoncé meets Billie Holiday, but instead like Rupaul.
“What is it?” Vassili’s cock begins to stiffen against my ass cheek.
I wiggle my buttocks, and then say, “Besides me sounding like I have balls between my legs, look at the floor.”
“Girl, if you had balls between your legs, you’d be dead.” Vassili leans his head up, and glances around. “Fuck, between you and Natasha, I can’t have shit.”
He settles down and I punch him softly, although his joke wasn’t too far from the truth. “You ready to go to sleep, Zar?”
“Nope, Yuri just texted that you guys leave tomorrow. I hate missing you like crazy, so I’ll stay awake.”
He kisses my forehead. “But you’re falling asleep.”
“I’m not.”
The arched eyebrow looks he gives is enough to rest his case. I sigh heavily. “Remember when I was eighteen?”
“Shit, I fucking thanked God you weren’t jailbait. You were the hottest piece of ass I’d ever laid eyes on.”
I pout. He kisses the corners of my lips until they curve into a smile. “Talk to me, Zariah. You never stop thinking.”
“I was just thinking about all those years I spent giving you a hard time.”
“Seven.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” I offer something of a smirk, but my eyes are getting heavier. “Let’s look at those old videos.”
“Again?”
I grin. They say the way to a man’s heart is food, but Vassili and I are still cultures apart in that regard. So, I know how to motivate, uplift and love my husband I reply, “Yes, again. The ones from matches when you were still a cocky asshole, before you had the title that you’ll be snatching again soon enough.”
He grabs my face and bruises my mouth with a kiss. “This is why you are my wife.”
Vassili
Atlanta, Georgia
Zariah and I stayed up until the sun peeked over the Hollywood Hills. Natasha and I sent her to work with her favorite Dior sunglasses and most beloved canister of coffee. After picking up Yuri, who has no reservations with wearing a suit in the summer heat, I dropped off Natasha with Taryn, and we head to LAX.
Now, it’s late afternoon, when the guy at the car dealership escorts us to a supercar. My knucklehead of a cousin squared away everything. I take the keys, and we get into the shiny red Acura NSX.
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I ask the idiot, “Shit, kazen, God forbid Zamora is being smacked around. How will we look knocking him around and driving away in a $150 thousand-dollar car?”
“First of all, if Zariah’s mom is being treated any other way than right, we’re gonna kill the fucker and drop ‘em in a ditch with his own car. And yeah, $150 ‘kay.’ Should we have upgraded?” Yuri asks. His ugly mug is set in a smirk.
“Nyet. This is good. I need speed.” I rev the engine. The rental car representative gives a fist pump. Fucking idiot. I can’t open this bitch up, not in this area, and I sure as fuck don’t need a cheerleader to get ‘er wet. The purr is perfect. I head to the exit, saying, “When I need to think I’m on my Ducati. Seeing that there’s no way in hell that your fat, ugly ass is fitting on the back of one, this is how we roll.”
“Speaking of ugly motherfuckers. Did you narrow the list down?” he asks.
I stop at the final checkpoint, and hand over the rental car agreement for it to be stamped. “Narrow what, Yuri? There’s only Anatoly or Maxwell who’d send that email. Why?”
“Dah, why?” he parrots. This is exactly the reason that I don’t work with people. I delegate shit, but let my cousin tell it, he’s been butt hurt and we have to be a ‘team.’
I grab the stamped paperwork, hand it to Yuri, and make a smooth getaway. “My dad wants The Red Door. And that mudak will do anything to get it. Maxwell, man, I don’t know. She tried to invite him to Natasha’s birthday. The bitch didn’t even come see his first grandchild by his only daughter. Of course, that mudak would gain satisfaction from locking me in jail, but why now?”
“Why now? Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, Vassili. Zariah’s father waiting this long? Brings new meaning to trying to catch you off guard. The timing is right for your father. I can see Anatoly pushing you into a corner for defying him, but he’d make a request.”
A sea of yellow cabs mixes and mingle with various Lyft and Uber drivers, while we all navigate toward the airport exit. I breathe heavily. Is this idiot listening to anything I’ve said? “Anatoly made a request.”
