Queen of Miami

by M?ta Smith

  Amara just laughs but I don’t see what the fuck is so funny. I guarantee that Amara wouldn’t be laughing if Misty were draping herself all over Dimitri like a cheap suit.

  “Why is she here? Why is she at this party?” I ask. “Is Mikhail working some kind of deal?” I ask Amara.

  “Mikhail is always working a deal. Everything is business. Everything,” she says.

  The last straw comes when Misty plants a big, sloppy, wet kiss dead on Mikhail’s mouth. Her dime-store lip gloss is smeared all over his mouth. Oh hell no! I’m about to check this bitch right now. There’s no way in hell I’m trying to kiss behind that skeezer. She needs to step off! I leave Amara and confront Misty and Mikhail.

  “Hi, Barbie,” she giggles, “fancy seeing you here.” Misty plays with Mikhail’s hair and blows seductively in his ear.

  I stand back with my hands on my hips and give her the once-over. My lips are curled into a sneer, and my hands are balled into fists that I’m ready to swing at any time. “It’s Bobbi. Ms. Bobbi. I hope that name isn’t too difficult for you to pronounce,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Besides, why wouldn’t I be here? I’m Mikhail’s woman,” I tell her. I’ve never claimed Mikhail as my man before, and it sounds strange coming out of my mouth, but Misty needs to know that her days of hanging with Mikhail are over. I’m not sharing my time with Mikhail with some hooker. I step in between Mikhail and Misty and remove her hand from his hair. I’m this close to her, and if she so much as blinks too much I’m going to chin-check her.

  “Ooh, lucky girl. Mikey’s a stallion in the sack,” she replies. Her eyes, covered in too much cheap makeup, challenge me to say something. Be careful what you ask for, tramp!

  “Excuse you, bitch?” I ask her. I draw my arm back because I’m about to deliver a blow that could lay out Mike Tyson, but Mikhail grabs my hand before I can land it.

  “Now ladies, there, there,” Mikhail says.

  “There, there my ass,” I snap.

  “Oops, sorry,” Misty says. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” That bitch is so phony that I waste no time telling her so.

  “You phony bitch!” I shout, and then I realize that people are staring. I can’t let my temper get the best of me. She wants to provoke me, and I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of making me look like a violent, crazed fool in front of all these people. I crack an equally fake smile and grab her by the hand. I crush her bony fingers with all my might and throw back my head in laughter. “I will toss your ass overboard if I catch you disrespecting me again, you got that?” I say through my teeth. I drop her hand, and her big blue eyes fill with tears.

  “Excuse me,” she says quickly, before sashaying her sleazy ass over to where Bentley and Dez are seated. Mikhail shoots me a look so heated it could start a fire, but I don’t care. Misty crossed the line, and if Mikhail isn’t going to check her, I certainly will. But has Misty learned her lesson about fucking with other women’s men? No.

  Misty is wedged in between Bentley and Dez, and Bentley looks very uncomfortable, Dez looks like she is going to choke the life out of Misty, and I won’t blame her if she does. Hell, I’ll join in if some shit pops off, and if Mikhail tries to stop me he can get some too. For a second, Dez and I lock eyes. I mouth to her, “What a bitch!” For the first time that night, Dez cracks a smile. I give her a sympathetic look and a wink. She shakes her head and winks back, in a gesture of solidarity. I guess she realizes that I’m not the enemy, because even if I do have the hots for her guy, I would never pull the crazy shit Misty is trying to pull.

  Then all of a sudden, Dez stops smiling and her hand sweeps across Misty’s face with a loud crack before Bentley or Misty can do a thing about it. I laugh my ass off. Two men in white tuxedos swoop in. Dez’s neck is rolling a mile a minute, and Beyoncé comes to her side. I guess she doesn’t like what she hears, because the two men escort Misty away from the scene and Beyoncé stays there talking to Dez. I’m dying of curiosity. I want to know what Misty said that warranted Dez slapping her, but before I can go over there and get my snoop on, Mikhail grabs me by the hand and whispers to me, “Stay out of this.” I want to tell him to go fuck himself, because I’m mad that he didn’t let me get a crack at Misty, but I let it go.

  After the party is over and Mikhail and I are back onboard Krizia, he explodes.

  “I saw how you were flirting with Bentley. You were dying to go over there after Misty and his girlfriend seemed to have words,” he shouts.

  “They didn’t seem to have words. Dez slapped the shit out of your friend Misty, and I can only imagine why. I didn’t want to go over there to talk to Bentley, I wanted to help Dez whoop that ho’s ass,” I say.

  “You are shameless, you know that? You were blatantly throwing yourself at him, and right in front of his woman,” Mikhail says as if he hasn’t even heard me.

  “Are you taking crazy pills? If anyone was throwing herself at anyone, it was Misty. She threw herself at you and then she threw herself at Bentley. She should stop trying sisters before one day someone really gives her a beatdown.”

  “Leave Misty out of this. You were throwing yourself at Bentley and you know it.”

  “Oh please!” I say with a laugh. Mikhail seems like he’s just aching for a reason to pick a fight. “I was just being cordial. I know Bentley. We work in the same business. It was a party and I was networking,” I say. “We were talking about how to approach Dez about a collaboration, that’s all.”

  “Well, act like it. I will not have you disrespecting me,” Mikhail says, grabbing me by the chin roughly. He glares at me, his jaws pulsating from him clenching his teeth.

  “What? Like the way you’re disrespecting me now?” I ask him, slapping his hand away. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, mister! Don’t put your hands on me! Your porno whore mysteriously shows up here and then has the unmitigated gall to kiss you in front of me and then you get mad at me? She sticks her tongue in your mouth, plays with your hair, and blows in your ear, and you’re talking about my behavior? Oh, and then to top it all off, she strolls her skanky ass over and sits in between Dez and Bentley. That’s some rude shit. You need to check her, not me, because if that isn’t disrespect I don’t know what is.”

  My brown eyes lock with his green ones. We stand there staring at each other, breathing heavily. I’m fuming, and for the first time, I don’t feel as if I’ll melt under his gaze. His eyes are icy and frightening. I’m mad as hell, but I’m also a little afraid. So I back down, and it is never like me to back down in an argument. But something inside tells me to let it go. He’s already put his hands on me, and there’s no telling what else he’s going to do or how he’s going to respond. I don’t want to provoke him any more. And as shameful as it is, I start thinking about the money and fame he has promised me, and I don’t want to risk losing it.

  “I’m warning you, Bobbi. Don’t even think about being with another man. I won’t share you,” Mikhail finally says, coldly.

  He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything; he just turns and walks out of the stateroom, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape.

  I plop down on the bed in a state of confusion. What am I doing here? Why am I across the globe with a man I barely know, a man who’s into who knows what? I should be packing my shit and hauling ass right now on the first thing smoking back to the States. But I’m not packing. I’m sitting here because I don’t want to go. And it’s starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not just afraid of losing out on an opportunity. Maybe I’m afraid of losing Mikhail. Maybe I’m starting to feel something for him, even though he just acted like a plum fool. There’s something that keeps me drawn to Mikhail, and I’m not sure what it is. Could it be that all the while I was running game, I got caught up in it?

  EVENTUALLY, MIKHAIL COMES BACK TO THE CABIN. I’M STILL sitting in the same spot I’d been in for at least two or three hours.

  “I brought you something,” he says.

  “You c
an’t buy my forgiveness,” I say to him, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Good, because I didn’t buy you anything,” he says. I look at him in disbelief. No, he can’t buy my forgiveness, but he can try. He could at least say it with flowers, although jewelry would be better. He should be kissing my pretty ass right now after the way he acted.

  Mikhail is holding a silver serving platter with a lid on top.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at it.

  “It’s something from my country,” he explains, removing the lid to reveal a glass of milk and some crisp-looking little cookies. “They’re called khvorost. They’re fried cookies with vodka in them.”

  “Cookies with vodka?” I ask.

  “Sure. They are very popular in Russia. My mother used to make them as a peace offering for me when I was a little boy. She had a very bad temper and sometimes she would take things a little too far. She would get so angry it would frighten me. Sometimes she would even get physical.” Mikhail’s eyes look soft and distant. “I’ve made them for you,” he tells me. He holds out the tray in front of me like a butler.

  I take a cookie from the platter and pop it in my mouth.

  “This is delicious,” I say, and it’s true. The cookie practically melts on my tongue. Mikhail climbs into bed with me.

  “My sweet angel, I don’t want to hurt you. I love you so much. I just can’t bear the thought of you with another man. I’m not used to a woman like you. Women usually do whatever I want without my having to ask. You have a mind of your own. It makes me a little crazy sometimes,” he says.

  “You don’t want me to have a mind of my own?” I ask.

  “That is not it at all. I want you to stay just the way you are.”

  “What about Misty?” I ask him.

  “What about her?”

  “You let her touch you, you let her kiss you,” I say, choking on my words with disgust. “Do you like her just the way she is?”

  “Misty is nothing to me. She never has been, and she never will be. I feel sorry for her; she’s had a really hard life. And I guess that my sympathy for her has made me allow her to behave in a way that isn’t appropriate. I won’t let her come between us,” he says. “I won’t let anyone or anything come between us again, I promise.”

  “You’ve got to promise me something else,” I tell him.

  “Anything.”

  “You can’t ever put your hands on me like that again. I don’t like how you were all in my face. You make me think you wanted to hit me, and that’s the one thing that I will not stand for.”

  “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” he says, and seems sincere.

  “And will you trust me?” I ask him. “I’m not doing anything to disrespect you. I really care about you. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. I’m not going to disrespect you or our relationship, not our personal relationship and not our professional one either. I appreciate what you do for me and how you’ve let me into your life. But you’ve got to trust me and give me a little time to let you into my life. You’ve got to let me be me. Can you do that?” I ask. Mikhail nods yes and kisses me softly.

  Mikhail has gotten under my skin. I’m not sure when it happened, but he’s there. I want to think that I’ve just been playing some rich old white guy, getting what I want for my career. But there’s more to it than that. Mikhail isn’t just some rich old white guy who sits around in seersucker suits, sipping on mint juleps. He’s got swagger, and I’m checking for that. It isn’t love but I really dig him, and it isn’t just because he’s doing so much for me. Mikhail has fire and passion, not just for me but for life. When he talks, people listen. People respect him and some even fear him. I’m even a little afraid of him, but that doesn’t repel me. It just turns me on. He’s clearly a force to be reckoned with. He makes his own rules. He’s everything I want to be. And he’s crazy about me.

  Soon Mikhail’s hands are everywhere, but his touch isn’t urgent. It’s gentle and soft and he doesn’t miss any of my pleasure points. Mikhail removes the feathered and sequined bra that I had been wearing as a part of my carnival getup. He kisses me lightly, then his lips move from my mouth to my neck, where he nips and sucks my flesh until I’m squirming. He makes his way down to my shoulder blades and bites gently, driving me wild as his fingertips go to work on my erect nipples. I’m so hot that I have an orgasm as soon as he puts his mouth on one. I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before. I beg him to give me all of him; I want to feel him inside me so bad.

  “Not yet,” he says. “I want to taste you.”

  “I can’t take it,” I say.

  “You can and you will take it,” he replies. His tone has changed; he’s no longer sweet and soft, he’s a little more aggressive.

  “Do you trust me, Bobbi?” Mikhail asks. I’m panting and moaning so hard, I don’t answer. But the truth is I don’t want to answer because I don’t trust him.

  “I want to do something to you,” he says. “But you have to trust me. Will you let me do it?” he asks. I nod yes.

  Make-up sex is always intense; you always forget what it is you were mad about, and I’m craving that intensity. Mikhail stands up and removes his belt. He lays me down on the bed and raises my arms above my head. Mikhail looks me in the eyes and asks, “Do you want me?” I nod in the affirmative.

  “Say it,” he says.

  “I want you,” I tell him. He wraps the belt around my wrists several times and fastens it tightly. My arms tingle and I wince a little. I’m kind of afraid because being tied up is something I’ve never done before, but it’s just adding fuel to the fire of my desire. I think to myself that this is sick, that it can’t be healthy. I think only perverts are into bondage. But I guess that makes me a pervert because I want to do this.

  Mikhail spreads my legs a little and strokes the fishnet hose that cover my skin. I’m wearing a feathered and sequined pair of booty shorts that just cover my ass over the fishnets, but no underwear. As he pulls the shorts off, he licks his lips at the sight of my pussy peeking through the holes of the fishnets. Mikhail spreads my legs wider and begins flicking his tongue over my clit through the hose. I gasp as he grabs the stockings with his teeth and begins ripping and clawing at the thin material. He sensually rips and pulls the stockings apart and uses them to tie my ankles together. Mikhail bends and twists my limbs to give him the desired access to my pussy and ass. He licks and sucks it all and then looks up at me as he slips a finger in my ass and wiggles it around.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I moan.

  “You like it up the ass, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I fuck you in the ass, Bobbi?” Mikhail asks.

  “Yes,” I tell him. Anal is no stranger to my sexual repertoire. I know a lot of women think it’s nasty and they won’t do it, but the truth is I love it. I’m just freaky like that.

  Mikhail starts speaking in Russian as he pushes himself inside of me.

  “Tell me what it means,” I ask, as I arch my back in order to pull him deeper inside.

  “ Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you,” he says, thrusting in sync with his words. “I am the happiest man in the world since I met you,” he says, slapping my ass. His hand reaches around to my front and he manipulates my clit with his fingers while he slips his thumb inside my pussy. I come almost instantly and Mikhail comes soon after. He unties me and we take a shower together. Mikhail kisses me the whole time and tells me he loves me over and over again.

  “You belong to me, Bobbi,” he says as we snuggle in bed afterward.

  “Mikhail . . .” I say. He cuts me off.

  “You don’t need any other man. I can give you more than any man you know.”

  “Mikhail, why me?” I ask. “What makes me so special that you’ve just got to have me? Why have you gone through so much trouble for me?” I know that men hate questions like that, but I need to know what his angle is. Mikhail is clearly sprung, but t
he jealousy, the control issues, I wonder if what I’ve seen is just the tip of the iceberg.

  “Because I love you. You’re beautiful and smart. You have talent, and I love making love to you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You come from a good family, you were raised with honor, yet you don’t act like a socialite. You don’t act like the world owes you something. Socialite women are so boring, but you are exciting. You make me feel young and alive. Your whole agenda isn’t about how much of my money you can spend so that you can go to lunch or have tea with your girlfriends and compare what you have. And I think we believe in the same things.”

  “You don’t know what I believe in,” I tell him. Because even I don’t know anymore.

  MIKHAIL AND I DON’T DISCUSS THE ARGUMENT WE HAD OVER Misty and Bentley again, but it isn’t the last argument we have. It’s just the first in what turns out to be a string of confrontations. Mikhail isn’t handling my growing fame very well, and he gets jealous over the littlest things. He is keeping me on a very short leash, and it’s making me very testy. I verbally attack him with the ferocity of a mad dog. And what does Mikhail do? He provokes me further. A kinky pattern arises. We argue and yell and then we fuck like animals, always involving some kind of bondage or some form of domination and submission.

  I come to realize that the roller coaster is what gets Mikhail off. Mikhail enjoys keeping me in a state of confusion, making things unpredictable, and trying to control every aspect of my life. Everything is a power game for him, and I don’t think that Mikhail knows what it’s like to be anything other than the alpha dog, the pack leader. He tries to assert his control over my appearance by buying me clothes. He controls where I go because I’m on his ship. He controls my career by getting me gigs and making sure that they pay too much for me to turn them down. And he controls my body with pleasure. And pain.

  Mikhail is a sadist. He likes to inflict pain, both mental and physical. In my case, he likes to mix his forms of punishment. Mikhail calls me names; he taunts and pushes and shoves and insults me. He doesn’t do this to hurt me; it isn’t done in a violent manner. I believe that Mikhail does this for the strong reaction it provokes. He picks and probes and irritates me until I explode. My anger is what makes him hard, and when I cry or scream or do something very dramatic he gets really, really aroused and the sex that follows is always very, very rough. It incites my anger, my fear, and my passion, and he loves it. He wants me to wonder what he’ll do next, just as he enjoys trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. It makes him hot.