Fearless: a Sports Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  “My wife and I never had daughters. Anatoly wouldn't let us bring Sasha to the States though she was a good child, and my brah wanted nothing to do with her. My wife cried, begged, she cried more, but Anatoly said no. To this day, I regret not saying anything, but my brother isn't the type to be persuaded. He’s just a crazed mudak on a power trip. He could never love his daughter. He can never love a woman.”

  “That's why their mom abandoned them?”

  “Abandonment? No, they're poor mother never had a chance.”

  I can feel the pain of her being snatched from my hands. I was seven. She had me in one hand, Sasha in the other. Tears so strong they stained the collar of her dress.

  Anatoly said the bitch had to go.

  She didn't try harder.

  Zariah

  “I apologize. But where I'm from, a man touches your wife, or looks at her funny, he is handled.” Vassili’s words from our first big argument ring in my ears. He loves me and just wants to protect me the only way he can; by redirecting his family from me as he has done up until Malich knocked on his office door. And then I recall the look on his face after Phil showed his ass in the front of my father’s house. He must have felt like Phil was humiliating me. Not goading him but, shaming me.

  My heart crumbles within my chest cavity as Malich speaks of Vassili’s mother. Her husband never laid a hand on her. He had his ways of embarrassing and shaming her in front of crowds. Tying her to a post in the middle of the street. The disgraceful sign that hung around her neck was abuse enough.

  He had her head shaved until it bled. His crew touched her. That's what Malich says. Anatoly never laid a hand on her, too repulsed by his wife after she'd given him two kids.

  Every one of his goons that hurt her, Malich’s people retaliated. Though it was met by amusement from his older brother. And Anatoly had more thugs to spare when it came to roughing up people, so nothing helped.

  I sat in disbelief as Malich spoke. I almost asked why he didn’t just take out Anatoly himself. Then Vassili had come out and said, “That's enough.”

  We left the get-together shortly thereafter. Now, hot torrents soothe my bruised ego as I wash my hair in the shower and I reflect on the ride home. Though I rode on the back of Vassili’s motorcycle, it felt like I was hugging a cement wall. All those muscles weren’t my haven. I twist my lips, glancing over my shoulder. Damn, he won’t even take a shower with me?

  My fingers graze the knob when Vassili steps into the bathroom, fully naked. He opens the glass door, and gets in. Though there’s ample room and plenty of rain sprouts, his thick frame presses against my ass and back, allowing me to breathe for the first time in hours.

  Vassili’s hand glides across my tiny waist, his chin nestling in my thick, wet, coils of hair. “Ask whatever you’d like to know about them later.”

  “Okay.”

  His fingers skim up my breasts, squeezing my hardened nipples then trail higher for my jaw. The slight pressure from his fingertips and my face raises so he can reach around and taste my mouth. “These fucking lips. I love these lips, Zar.”

  Vassili turns me around. While kissing me, his thumb sneaks into my mouth. Instead of caressing his tongue with mine, I suck at the ridges in his thumb. The vigorous way my mouth works is like I’m drawing his seed. The strands of my hair are tugged, and I kneel before my husband.

  I work him sloppy, sucking him so good that his toes curl and those sturdy legs of his lock. I grip his ass cheeks, letting the crown of his cock bang and bruise my tonsils. Damn, I’ve never sucked a cock with this much ambition before. Never tasted cum nor wanted to. Now, I’m sucking for dear life like Vassili’s seed is my sustenance. A jet of warm semen erupts, coating the roof of my mouth, my tongue and soaring down my throat. I drink him down to the last drop.

  Vassili sinks down to the travertine seat, water drumming against his skin. The mist shielding much of his contoured muscles. “You next,” he tells me, dark eyes filled with lust. I stand before him, placing my leg onto the shower seat, next to his hip. His fingers skim up the inside of my thigh. Damn, I’m dripping wet. The flush of water on my skin masks the lust dripping from my pussy as he reaches out to lick the swollen folds. I angle my hip, he digs in, chopping softly at my clit, and spearing my G-spot with his tongue.

  Vassili squeezes my bulbous ass, his nose nudging my clit while he laps up my pussy like a rabid dog. My leg begins to shake. His hand slams down onto it. “Steady, beautiful. Work those nipples.”

  I bite my lip and tweak at my erect nipples, which is like asking someone to rub their stomach, jump, while reciting their ABC’s backwards, while he eats me. Vassili is a pro at screwing me with his mouth. He’s fisting his cock. The miraculous shaft expands in length by the second, he groans in my nether regions. Then Vassili stands up, helping me place my leg back onto the floor. He presses me against the travertine wall, my chest against the cool tile, it soothes my hard nipples. A hard slap against my ass smacks with the sound of water as Vassili, grips my ass cheek. My back arches, and he squats somewhat before entering my pussy from behind. I clutch frantically at the wall, “Fuck, shit, damn…” I scream, stars in my eyes at how perfectly he fills me up.

  “Keep steady,” he growls once more, hammering in and out of my body like a piston.

  “Fuck me, Vassili!” I cry out, begging for more. His cock goes deeper, my moaning becomes raw. He screws me until I’m spent, only to send a jet of cum inside of me before my body caves to weakness. Tonight, Vassili holds me in his arms, his ebony jewel. Gone is this feeling between us that he’s unreachable as my hands skim over his tattoos. Sleep beckons me, and I forgot to ask about his mother and Sasha. Something tells me that it will be a while before he is willing to speak of them again…

  ###

  October

  After grabbing the mail from the box, I kick off my stilettos, lock the front door, and then sift through the envelopes. My heart clutches as I read “The State Bar of California.” Ice frosts my veins. “Babe, it’s—” I stop shouting and shriek

  “Damn it, Vassili!” I clutch the mail to my chest. He's upside down in the doorway, completing curl ups. “I'll never get used to this.”

  “Stop being so scary, Zariah. Open up the—”

  The envelopes go falling as I smack my hands over my lips while sprinting to the restroom.

  “Baby, what the fuck?” I can hear his large frame landing onto the floor.

  He’s on my heels before I even make it to the toilet. I release every bit of lunch into the porcelain bowl. My hair is gently pulled from my face. As I toss up sushi, Vassili softly rubs my back.

  When it's all complete, my body weighs more than it did prior to my attempt to extract my esophagus. I turn and sink down onto my bottom. “Go away. I look like shit.”

  “Nah, can't do that.” He grabs a face towel from the rack, wets it, and wipes my face. “Zariah, what’s wrong, baby?”

  “Bad poki,” I mumble, head in hands

  “Make a doctor’s appointment.”

  “For what?” I stir into a better seated position.

  “Because I told you to.” He scoops me up while I complain about my bad breath

  “Okay, okay.” Vassili sits me onto the counter, then grabs a toothpaste and a toothbrush.

  “Thanks. My test, go get it,” I murmur before starting to brush.

  He returns while my mouth is foamy and clean. I gesture for him to open it up. Vassili does as I ask. His dark eyes scanning he paper. He puts it down, mouth taut.

  “Aw, no… I can't fail,” I grumble. “You just won your last match. I was supposed to pass, but I'm a fail—”

  “Don't say that shit, Zar. No, baby, you aren't a failure,” he says but I'm half listening, spitting out the paste and quickly pooling enough water to wash my mouth out That damn test is right before my eyes. I see it as if it were yesterday. I grab up the paper, fingers poised to rip it into shreds.

  Yet Vassili is offering one of those rare, gorge
ous, devilish smiles.

  “Damn it, Vassili,” I pout. “We've only been married for half a precious year and you already get on my last nerve!”

  He hugs me, “Congrats, Zariah.”

  Zariah

  It's the first Friday in November. The last day for my father to formally declare his intent to run for mayor. I bite my lip considering calling to remind him that he has until noon to complete the process—a process that he's fully aware of and versed me on.

  “Worried about your first tango in the courtroom?” Connie inquires, while stepping into my new office. The tiniest one, nevertheless I am blessed.

  I shake my head. “No, my client is a really good father. It was a shame I had to convince him that judges don't automatically award children to mothers.”

  “Girl, that child’s mother …” she shakes her head. “There are some awful black men out there, why try to ruin a good one.”

  “Yeah, there are,” I smile at a photo of Martin and his junior on my desk, the background is neutral, it was the only 5 by 7 left since my mom hogged all of the Thanksgiving style photos of every size they had completed in preparation for the babies first turkey holiday.

  “Hey, did you ever make yourself a doctor appointment last month? I didn't get sick, but our accounting manager called in this morning, saying something about what he ate at lunch.”

  “Travion?” I frown. Damn, he was mumbling an old Wyclef, from back in the day, song just yesterday morning.

  “Yeah, I didn't speak with him, though, we won't ever visit Pokilicious ever again.”

  “Oh hell no! Never, ever, eva,” I shake my head. “But no, after shoveling out all the contents of my stomach, I celebrated the bar …” I pause. Vassili had asked me a few times since then, yet I kept pushing it off.

  “On second hand, Travion is too cool for sushi. Though he doesn't know what he's missing. Pokilicious is gooood. I’ll ask around, hopefully you’re just pregnant and we can go soon.”

  “Ha!” I arise, gathering the file for court. “Wouldn't that be my luck? At the commencement of my career? No, thank you. My husband just added another submission under his belt and signed to Power Water. We are too busy.”

  ###

  This evening, I have a celebratory bottle of wine in my hand. Though Vassili has offered to cook, I’ve learned that not all Russian food must have cabbage or a sour taste, and had hurried to decline his offer since he believes in these two staples anyway. He has just placed an organic lasagna in the oven and is on the phone with his fairly new manager from The Red Door when I come into the kitchen and set down my purse.

  He rubs my hair away and kisses my forehead before returning to the conversation. I grimace as he talks into the phone, this man has the most sensuous voice with me. With others his tone is concrete, scary

  I retreat to the bedroom, sit on the accent chair and undo my stilettos. Then I grab my iPhone from my slacks and dial my father on FaceTime.

  My thumb is already poised over the ‘off’ button. He pops up on screen, releasing the cuff the top button of his sharp linen shirt.

  “You didn’t run for mayor?”

  “No. It’s nice to hear from my daughter other than the token brief call on the weekend.”

  “Well, once you’re prepared to respect my choices you and I can return to more time. Besides, my husband just wants New Year’s, Mom is a stickler for Christmas, so Thanksgiving is up for grabs”

  “Will you attend alone?”

  “The fuck she will,” Vassili cuts in from behind me.

  “Goodbye, Dad,” I cut the call. Hocking the phone onto the bed, my head tilts as I glance at my husband. He’s leaning in the doorway, muscles on display.

  Something in me is itching to argue, so I snap, “When there’s no testosterone involved I’m a relatively good debater, just won my first case. So let me just toss this out into the universe, how about you having faith in my ability to deescalate an argument?”

  “Have you ever considered distancing yourself from Maxwell?” He paws at the scruff along his chiseled jaw.

  “I’ve only visited with my dad a handful of times in the months that we’ve been married, Vassili. We were having a simple conversation about why he wasn’t amongst the candidates to file for mayor after all the sweet talking he’s done this year.”

  He runs his teeth along his knuckles, it’s clear that he’s measuring his words and probably his anger too. “What was his response?”

  “We didn’t get that far. He deviated about us not seeing each other, and then you came in before I could redirect his black ass.” I glower with my own damn frown.

  “So Maxwell didn’t get a chance to point the blame. How about he’d make a lousy fucking mayor,” Vassili chuckles, “Or rather, your father would bring shame to himself.”

  “Okay, you’re tired of him. I get it.”

  “Zariah, you don’t know your father, do you?”

  “He has his faults.”

  “Have we had this conversation before?” His gaze tapers in thought, though I know damn well Vassili is angry. He is more direct in our conversations than this.

  “Whateva, Vassili. I’m sorry you’ve had to distance yourself from your father. You really don’t have to on my account. But I have the notion you’d like to tell me not to see my dad, hell no.”

  “Sweetheart, Anatoly is a very bad man. I have distanced myself from him. Prior to you, I have gone years without seeing him and couldn't give a fuck. We never had much of a relationship from the start. Sasha and I lived with one of his bitches, and I mean like child boarders, while the girl would raise our half siblings. Anatoly will never cross paths with you—just so we are clear. That being said, you need to reevaluate your relationship with your father.”

  I repeat his words about reevaluating in a sardonic tone.

  “Our fathers are the same type of people, different businesses, Zariah.”

  My face contorts as I feel a sharp pain.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You, starting an argument for…” I pause, grimacing. “My father was being petty, you were ready to match him—Ouch!” My abdomen sinks in, I double over in the chair, “Vassili!”

  ###

  His dark eyes were sparkling with worry as he had scooped me up and took me straight to the car. On the way to Kaiser Permanente, I’d tried to tell Vassili that I was okay. The pain had subsided, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I finally weaseled my way out of ER for Urgent Care. I’m seated on the examination table, dressed in those robes that show all your ass. My legs are dangling. Vassili is seated next to me. He already argued with the nurse about having to wait for a doctor when she completed the task of taking my vitals, and took a urine sample.

  Now, my head kisses his shoulder, and he says, “Zar, how you feeling?”

  “Baby, I already told you, I’m all right. Just a few cramps, my period is coming, Vassili, you are so damn extra,” I smile up at him.

  He rubs my back. “That doctor will tell us if I overreacted. For now, we wait.” On second thought, he starts to arise. I clasp his hand.

  “You were right about waiting, the RN left us just a few minutes ago. And you scare people too easily. Don't have us kicked out.”

  A few minutes later, the door opens. My general practitioner, Dr. Washburn, who has built rapport with me since I was sixteen and needed birth control to regulate my acne, comes in. Her snow white bob pops against her rich, dark complexion.

  “Hello Ms. Washington. Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Resnov, you returned home this past winter and I haven’t even gotten the hang of it. You’re married and moving so swiftly, I love it.”

  “Yes, this is my husband, Vassili,” I tell her. “It was spur of the moment.”

  She shakes his hand. “Well, congratulations, Vassili. Marriage, a new baby on the way. Some families wait years to welcome bundles of joy. I like your style.”

  “Fuck! She’s pregnant?” Vassili asks. He then apologizes for cussing while pulling me in
to a bear hug all at the same time. My body becomes numb.

  “You two were unaware?” Dr. Washburn sighs.

  I gasp for air. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes, you are,” my doctor grins. “You’re most likely feeling mild tummy cramps which are a totally normal part of early pregnancy. Have you bled any?”

  “Yes, yes!” I place my arms around my belly. This is too soon.

  “Still it may be nothing to worry about. Some women cramp, with a little bleeding when the embryo implants itself to the walls of their womb. But we will schedule you with an OB/GYN who can assist a lot more than I can.”

  “And prenatal vitamins?” Vassili speaks up.

  “Yes, Vassili, I can write up a prescription for those, folic acid as well. So let’s see how quickly we can have you scheduled. I’m sure you’re both eager to view your first ultrasound and learn how many weeks along you are.” Dr. Washburn steps out of the room.

  Vassili arises from the examination table by my side, he stands before me. I open my legs to welcome him closer. His hand clasps the back of my neck, kneading it ever so softly and my eyes close on key.

  “Look at me, baby,” his low growl is soothing.

  “But this feels so good.” I sigh, opening my eyes.

  “Through every moment of pregnancy, Zariah, I will be there.” He touches my womb. “You’ll keep him safe—”

  “Her,” I correct. “I was eating your words until then.”

  “Him. Every man needs a son first, to help watch his daughter. You’ll keep him healthy. But I’m gonna be there beside you.”

  “I know you will.” My eyes brim with tears. I laugh, “You sound like you’re coaching me.”

  “I am. We have created a life, Zariah. Our children must be ten times better than us. That’s where you and I come in.”

  My mouth seeks his. Our lips lock, tongues tasting and loving each other

  Vassili