Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  “Khorosho,” I mumble.

  The mudak in me that’s just like my father wants to say more. To say that her response was nothing to me. That regardless of her declaration, either way, she would forever be mine. I’m a fighter and not some piz’da who uses his mouth to threaten. I back my shit up with action. The type of response she craves.

  My mouth moves from her lips to her jaw, down the length of her neck. When my lips press against the pulse of her neck, Zariah lets out a moan. My left hand drags into her flat-ironed hair, gripping the strands while tugging. Her pulse taps against my bottom lip, I sink my teeth into her flesh, sucking and biting.

  “There isn’t a single reason for me to cheat, Zariah. Everything you have makes me crazy.” I suck at her neck, leaving a sign of my love there. “I love that mouth, your walk, your ass. I’m addicted to finding more reasons to put a smile on your face. I own you.” We own each other.

  “Oh, Vassili,” she moans.

  “No reason for me to look at another woman, girl. You have water between those fucking thighs, all a man like me needs to live on.”

  The thickest thighs I’ve ever known splay further for my muscular frame. My lips travel down to her breasts. I reach around her and tear the seam of her blouse then unhook her bra.

  Leaning back on my haunches, I order, “Get undressed.”

  My heart booms inside of my chest. It beats hard as fuck as Zariah slides to the left side of her hips, pushing her skirt and panties down at the same time. Her curvy frame lifts on the opposite side. My hands skim up her legs, meeting hers as she gathers the material. I yank it off for her, then I’m leaning back again. Like a tiger whose next meal is the feast of its life, this mudak needs a moment to contemplate how he plans to dig in.

  I’m going to beat this pussy up, TKO it. Before that, I’m going to break those glossed, fatty lips down slowly with my mouth.

  Zariah’s gaze flickers with desire, fear, and craving. “What should I do . . . Vassili?” She almost stutters as she did on our first time. Her first time. She’d been so innocent, and she still is.

  “Sit there,” I tell her, returning my gaze to her sex. I groan, “Damn, you’re getting wet for me, and I’m not even touching that pretty pussy. You want me to touch it, don’t you? Drink all that water?”

  Her hands fly to the sides of her, clutching the edges of the bed.

  I chuckle softly. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll touch it. Before I do, Daddy has a request.”

  My wife’s full lips hardly move as she begs, “Please . . .”

  “Keep that ass planted on the edge of the bed. Put your heels up on the edge of the bed too. I need to see more of that pretty pussy, examine your clit, your folds. See how wet you get while I watch,” I reply, though my attention is not leaving that gorgeous pussy of hers anytime. Zariah does my bidding. Her thick thighs press against the sides of her. Her breasts are right there in the center, followed by a tiny stomach that I’m eager to watch grow. That tiny waist of hers gives way to her legs shoved close to her body. What’s between those legs and pretty feet is all I ever wanted.

  While I’m eyeing her pussy like a hawk, I watch those fatty folds begin to twitch a little.

  “Vassili, this is torture. Your words, you’re eyeing me, it’s killing me. You can screw me, make love to me, or—or—or do something!”

  “Shhh.” I place my finger at my lips, gesturing to her sex. “Me and this pretty pussy haven’t had a chat in a good amount of time. I can’t just beat the pussy, not yet. We have to connect.”

  Again, her lips quiver. I’m not even thinking about blinking while staring at the glistening folds. My cock strains against my pants.

  She groans, “We don’t have time for—”

  “Don’t say another word, Zar,” I growl. My gaze has yet to leave my pleasure. I lean forward, and Zariah exhales. I lean back.

  “Vas—”

  “Shhh, girl,” I grit out. I look up at her, and she has a silly smile on her face.

  “I really hate you, Vassili.”

  Wagging a finger at her, I warn, “You fucked this entire process up, girl. Let’s start over. Pretty Pussy, are you—”

  “Oh, hell, no! You aren’t having a conversation with my lady bits.” Zariah starts to press her knees together.

  Leaning back on the floor, I fold my arms.

  She resumes position.

  “Remember when I showed you off in the mirror, Pretty Pussy?”

  “I—"

  “This is a conversation between me and Pretty Pussy,” I grit out. “Sorry about that, Pretty Pussy, some people lack respect.”

  Zariah’s lips purse and she stops herself from all the arguing that she’s accustomed too. She wraps her arms around her knees, but my pretty pussy is still on deck at the edge of the bed.

  I lean forward on my knees, then press my thumbs between Zariah’s slit. Her hands go behind her, and those hips curve; back arches, offering me more pussy. With my thumbs all glossed up from her outer folds, I press back the flesh and get a good look at her cunt. I lean forward even more, and she sighs again. It’s one of those ‘thank you’ sighs where I know I won’t have to hear her shit talk.

  My lips touch her clit. I’m 190 pounds of muscle, but I do that shit with such finesse that her legs tremble on either side of my biceps.

  “Fu-fu-fuck, Vassili,” she squeals.

  My wife has my lips so glossed up that I wouldn’t be picked out of a lineup.

  “I knew you missed me, Pretty Pussy,” I groan. “Wet as fuck at first touch. That’s what I’ve always loved about you.”

  “I love you too, Vassili,” Zariah chuckles.

  “Shhh, sweetheart. I’m having a private conversation.

  “Then you keep chatting and add some penetration, licking and sticking and chatting. How about that?”

  My breath lands against her sex as I laugh heartily before Zariah can continue arguing, my entire mouth plants across Pretty Pussy. My tongue darts deep as my mouth dances around her cunt.

  “I love you. I love you, I loveeeee you,” Zariah groans. Her silky, soft fingers clasp at the back of my neck as my tongue flicks and coats inside of her honey. The lion in me growls against her sopping wet flesh. And that growl is enough to unleash more sugar as she comes all over my mouth.

  “Oh shit, oh shit,” she murmurs, voice hardly audible. Her hips roll around on the edge of the bed, fucking my tongue slowly. I lean back on my haunches again, my fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, bringing Zariah with me.

  “Oh,” she yelps.

  Not paying her any attention, I move around until my calves are no longer over me, and I’m lying on the floor. Zariah straddles my face. I can’t breathe. That’s okay. It goes with the territory of being a professional in the MMA world. She can come again and offer one more fuck face that I can’t see now—at least. With her knees on the ground by my ears, Zariah works hard for her release. Somehow, I’ve sopped up some of her juices rolling down the side of my face and then my thumb plunges into her ass.

  My cock barks in my pants. Fuck, I should’ve undressed first. The beast is calling me all kinds of idiots and dumbfucks in Russian as I work her hole. My dick loves her dark brown cakes, and it can’t get to her.

  Zariah erupts on my face. The instant her body tenses up, she yelps again. Now she’s face down on the ground.

  “I am not in the friggen octagon, Vassili,” she groans. “This takedown was illegal.”

  “Shhhh…” My chest is against her back, and I lift myself on to one hand to unbuckle my pants. Fuck shoving them down. The blue balls I’ve suffered for weeks will be the death of me if I go another second without busting into her pussy. So that’s exactly what I do. Eyes rolling back in my head, I sit in Pretty Pussy for a second. Pretty, tight, wet, drug, fuck yes. My brain stops. My muscles relax, and I sit there in her cunt. This is what life is made of. The world can fall apart around us, but I’d kill a motherfucker first before I leave these wet walls.
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  14

  Zariah

  Hell to the no! Vassili’s cock slammed straight through my pussy. At the moment, it was enough for my walls to milk him for all of his worth, but I’m not done with him.

  His hungry gaze had my neither regions spazzing like crazy. Now they’re insane. My fingers clench the plush rug, and I slap my ass cheeks against his muscular frame. The Russian fighter is built like a brick. We are going to cum until our bodies are bathed in his seed.

  “Give my pussy a little more, Killer Karo,” I growl, ass slamming back, my pussy gobbling his dick.

  That rouses my husband because his hands claim my thighs, and he pumps hard enough that I have to stop helping him. I steady my knees and forearms as he thrusts deeper into my valley than I ever thought possible. His breathing becomes heavy, sounds so good to my ears.

  Understanding my plight, Vassili pulls out. “Clean me off, girl. You got my dick so wet . . .”

  “Mhhhh,” I’m moaning like Thanksgiving dinner before I’ve even placed my lips on his cock. Vassili sinks back onto the floor again, his back against the bed. I slither my tongue around his stiff, erection, taking extra care to stroke his deep veins. There’s nothing like a man with a veiny cock that grows to infinity. After I’ve licked off the sweet taste of me, I pull him into my mouth. Damn, he’s at the back of my tonsils, and I wish I had more room to give him. Half of my husband’s cock is going cold. I place my hand around the base of his shaft, and he growls.

  It’s the pure, animalistic growl he gave earlier. The one that set fireworks off my pussy lips before he even touched it! Fuck. An orgasm rushes down the inside of my thighs. I remove my hand from his cock and continue sucking.

  “That’s right, Zar, get Daddy good and clean.” His deep voice is silky and hypnotizing. “Don’t you ever use your fucking hands on me, beautiful. You’re better than that.”

  I almost pause. Vassili Karo Resnov is a cocky, confident bastard.

  “That’s enough. Get our lubricant,” Vassili nudges his square jaw to his nightstand, the one that’s clear over on the opposite side of the bed. How. The. Hell. Will. I. Get. There.

  As I sit on my hip, Vassili grabs my hair, and he glares at me. “Get the lubricant, Zariah.”

  My eyelid twitches. I pop up from the floor. In record speed, our ultra-comfy mattress has become my obstacle course as I bound over it. I yank the top drawer out, grab the lubricant, and start to climb back, but Vassili is seated on my side of the bed. His hands are behind his head. He hasn’t broken a sweat. His abdominals and massive chest are hardly moving while I work to catch my breath.

  He gestures for me, then bites his lip. I climb onto his cock, handing over the lubricant.

  Vassili presses a hand across my throat and squeezes it delicately. “Thank you, girl.”

  “You’re welcome, boy,” I reply, timing my aggressive response with just how sexy I feel while grinding on his cock.

  “Keep working that pussy for me, Zar.” He peppers my neck with kisses. “Next, you’ll work that ass.”

  “I am working my ass,” I offer him banter with a flutter of my eyes.

  “Not the way you will be when I tell you.” He offers a rare smile, but not the one I love. It’s contrite and snarlier than anything.

  With my body sliding up and down Vassili’s, I continue to let my juices flow on his cock. He sits up, and my hard nipples drag across his hard chest, titillatingly slow. I realize that I’ve been moaning so much that it almost hurts.

  My heart is filled with love. Vassili’s hand skims across the side of my breast. The delicious feeling of his hands on my body dies as he sets me on the bed. I lay on my side, watching him coat his magnificent cock with gel. He gestures for me to move positions, and I’m now in reverse cowgirl.

  “Now, you can work that ass . . .”

  I glance back at him, straddling his legs, but I pause. “Huh?” Alright, that sounds stupid. Of course, I’m aware of what my husband wants. And yes, I’ve had his thick, white cock in my ass, but only when he’s fucking me from behind. The control he’s offering scares me.

  He drags his fingertips across my spine. He orders, “Do it.”

  My mind flashes to Anatoly for a moment. A smooth, kind voice had clashed with actions that vastly deterred from it. I shove his father away from my mind as Vassili’s palm presses against my back.

  “You got this,” he says, his voice returning to the nurturing coach I love.

  I start back, aligning my anus with his lubricated cock. The cool gel feels good.

  “Fuck your clit, Zariah; it’ll clear your mind.”

  Feeling more like a team than we have been in the past, I skim my finger along my tiny pearl, press inside of me, and gather more gush. With my fingers coated, I caress my clit. Next, I realign my ass with his cock head. Measuring my breathing, I start to work his crown against my sphincter. This is all a mind fuck, a sensual, carnal mind-fuck because he’s done this before.

  The control part is what scares me. When it comes to sex, I trust my husband with my body more than I trust me. He’s well versed in the language and taught me everything I know. A feeling of bliss sends goosebumps sparkling along my forearms as I work my ass down on his massive cock. I move into a squatting position, lick my lips, and concentrate on my husband’s happiness.

  Then I do something I should’ve done from the start. I stop giving a damn about my emotions and focus on him.

  He’s breathing. It’s a phenomenon. The fighter can run five miles, TKO a slew of men and then take one influx of oxygen. His breathing is steady, heavy, and does something to me. In a squatted position, I press my hands onto my knees and pop my ass up and down. I breathe in the scent of all the sex we made with each thrust and work his cock in my ass.

  “Oh shit,” Vassili growls.

  “Cum in my ass,” I shout the words before they even came to fruition in my mind. My ass continues to pump his cock. “Cum in my ass, Vassili.”

  He screams my name, my ass gripping his cock as a volcano of hot seed sears into me. My pussy quakes, making my tiny asshole hurt. I revel in how his dick spasms inside of my ass. Heart slamming against my breast, I hold the position. My thighs are weaker than they’ve ever been before, but I take pride in keeping them up. After his eruption, I lay back on Vassili and breathe.

  “I missed you so much,” he murmurs in my hair.

  Pressing my hand over my drumline of a heart, I smile. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  With my eyes barely peeling open, I reach out for Vassili. A coldness creeps into my heart. His side of the bed is empty. Not even warm. I whimper.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” a baritone voice calls out.

  Beam wider than the sunshine, I turn around and sit up. Vassili is seated on the chaise, wide-legged. My bright smile falters at the sight of him. Yesterday evening, he’d been in the same spot, daring me to deny this life that we’ve built together. Daring me to say that I’d start over and go a different path. Gulping down my worries, I ask, “You’ve been thinking?”

  He directs a thumb over his shoulder. “I watched Natasha sleep for a few hours, then . . .”

  “Oh, Natasha,” I groan. Somehow, Simeon and Anatoly have worked it out so that my mother and daughter were out all evening. Vassili explained that they had some sort of text scrambler and sent a few messages to her from my number. She took Natasha to a Disney movie and dinner on the grounds that I needed time alone. “I know you’ve missed her, Vassili.”

  He looks away from me like he did for the first couple of times I mentioned his sister. It had been over a year before he even talked about his mom, so I smile softly. “We’ll fix things, baby. We have to—”

  “You’re going to live with your dad.”

  I chortle. “Whatever, Vassili.”

  He’s fisting something in his hands, then he tosses it over. It’s a burner phone.

  “Same passcode as I used to have on my other phone, Zar. You know, before the techy facial recog
nition bullshit.”

  Snatching up the phone, my eyebrows pull together. I tap in the code.

  “Look at the text messages, Zar.”

  “I am!” I snap, although I wouldn’t have known to do so without a prompt. The text application has been modified. It’s not a regular Apple app. I press on one that says, “The Bastard.” The blank face emojis that are a part of the name is exactly like I had re-entered my father’s number. I scan through the text messages.

  “I’m getting a divorce . . .” I read the words.

  In a slow, clipped voice, Vassili growls, “Don’t say that shit out loud. Please, baby, it’s the worst thing that could ever happen to us.”

  “Who-who wrote this? This was sent to my father’s number,” I murmur. “Why would we tell him I’m getting a divorce, Vassili! Wh-why! Danny is the only person who needs to believe we’re breaking up. Who wrote this!”

  His jaw clinches. “You sent it.”

  “Vassili, don’t fuck with me.” I hold the phone in both my hands. No matter how heated my flesh is, I can’t break the damn thing in half.

  “I wrote it, Zar. Your father misses you. Technically, just this morning, the two of you had a good text conversation. He asked if you’d call him to talk about the dynamics of you going home. He’ll be there for you when I can’t, baby. Think!”

  “Fuck you,” I screech, pulling the covers over my body.

  “Shhh…” He says. “Your mother is a few rooms over. She doesn’t know that I’m here, Zariah. Everyone must think—know that we—”

  “Fuck you, Vassili,” I snap again. “So, we’re getting a divorced.”

  “I said, don’t say that, Zar.” Though he’s making an order, his voice seems to soften. He’s been right there, across the way from me this entire time. Till this precise moment, he’s felt as far as he’d been for weeks. “We have to keep up pretenses—fuck, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever said. Zar, baby, we have to . . .”

  “Divorce,” I grit out then chew my bottom lip. “Oh yeah, it’s a ‘pretend’ divorce. Also, you ordered me not to say as much. Granted, all these rules are your rules. Yet, you can’t stomach your game plan. I can’t live with abandonment. Can’t live with me kissing another man. Fuck you-fuck you. Triple fuck you,” I whisper, tears slamming down my cheeks. “What are you up to, Vassili?”