“You ready to stand?”
“Hmmm,” I am so disoriented that my eyes close. I can feel my ass has halfway fallen to the floor by now. Probably looking like a hot mess, but do I give a damn? No, my body is in a state of euphoria.
He repeats himself, “Stand, Zariah.”
Vassili offers a hand. I arise in such a daze that my toes clinch under.
“Look, so much ass,” his hand slams down on my cheek, squeezing so tight it sobers me and steadies my stance.
With a hand to my chin, Vassili brings my gaze to his dark, sinful eyes. “You still with me?”
My tongue darts out along my bottom lip, I nod.
“Khorosho. Khorosho.” His thumb caresses over the subtle wetness I just left my mouth. “Touch your toes.”
“I don't think I can,” I murmur, brain turned to mush. My tongue is tied, heavy. I feel like I’ve been drugged. Something highly addictive courses through my veins, and I’m tipsy off the stacks of muscles on his heavily tattooed body.
He’s behind me now, reaching around me with a hug. Caressing my breasts. I expect a bit of sympathy, due to his mouth fucking me so well. But with my breast filling out his large palm, Vassili offers a little squeeze. “You can, Zar. Touch your toes.”
I sway gently back against him. His support is along my belly button as I lean forward.
“Spread your legs.”
Widening my stance helps my equilibrium return. My ass arches, my pussy rises as I reach all the way over to interlock my hands around my ankles. From my position, between the triangle of my sturdy legs, I have an eyeful of his beautiful, large balls and the underside of his manhood.
He lets in a harsh gasp from behind me.
“What, Vassili, what?”
“Most amazing sight ever,” he falls to his knees behind me. “Your lips are so tender.”
“My lips?” The blood is rushing to my brain by now. Then I groan, “Ohhh…” Then more vodka is poured against my backside. Slithering down the tiny opening of my ass. He pours more until the liquid begins to drench from my ass to my pussy, dripping from my clit and down my legs.
The first lick is sensual, sliding from my clit and up along my labia. He probes the folds of my soft wetness with a tongue that isn’t as stiff as before. It slips into the heat of my core, and now I’m dousing his tongue with more musky, sweetness than the vodka had offered.
I remove my grip from around my ankles, finding better leverage by bracing my hands against the floor. I tilt my ass downward. The bristles of his jaw are sharp, painful along the inside of my thighs, but I rotate my hips and continue to toot my ass lower, beckoning him. Damn, Vassili leans back against his calves, working my pussy out with his tongue.
He’s moaning, and licking me harder again. Arousal at its highest peak, I warn, “Vassili, I won’t—”
In a second, his arm is around my waist, and he saddles me down on his cock so hard that I cry out in pain as my pussy takes more of him than it ever has. My thighs are over his muscular thighs, calves spread along his. With my knees on the floor, I lean forward again, this time it’s much easier since we’re both on the floor kneeling. With me in reverse cowgirl position, he reaches forward, his nose, mouth and jaw saturated with my juices. I tongue him, loving the taste of myself. There are no more nervous jitters as he pumps in and out of me.
He strokes my ass and hips. Cock buried deep inside of my body, Vassili acknowledges, “You were strong, Zariah. Those thighs and hips, so strong.”
A beam brightens my face at that. “I love you, Vassili,” I murmur.
He murmurs his love for me, while reaching around to toy with my clit. Several times he tapers off his hard thrust so I can catch my breath. The incredible sensation of his dick pumping in and out, has my breasts jiggling with each thrust. Another tailspin of sensation shatters through my body as we explode together.
Vassili
All weekend long, I became more acquainted with Zariah's gorgeous body. We talked more than I've ever had in my entire life. It's Monday night and I just finished sparing with Nestor at Vadim's.
With my gym bag over my shoulder, I push along the wet sand. There's not a person in sight this evening. Smells like rain.
My body was pushed to the max, now my muscles feel like shit. Jogging along the dark Venice shore, I'm not ready for my usual after-workout routine of cooking dinner and television.
Zariah's smile is engrained in my brain, and I can just hear her arguing about eating Russian food. The only cooking of mine she will eat issyrniki.
A quarter of a mile away from my home, my cell phone rings. I pull it out, press the away button to my father's call, without breaking a sweat. The piz’da heard me full well during our last conversation. Anatoly has called nonstop since I left Moscow, which is new for him. Most times I cross paths with him, it's me threatening his life, him threatening mine and the sound of guns being clicked off safety.
I was six years old the last time I was scared when a gun was placed to my head. My grandfather, Anatoly Senior, had gone senile. We were all foot soldiers to him. Soon as we came to visit, my grandfather would get confused. He'd cock back the hammer, even pulled the trigger a few times, but my dad had taken all of his ammunition by then.
“Don't show fear, Vassili,” my grandfather would say—after being reminded of who I was to him. Then he'd place a hand behind my neck and exclaim that I was his right hand. Now his right hand was rotting away in jail because someone had to take the fall for murdering the head of defense.
My gaze narrows as I notice someone standing beneath the stairs to my place. He's in the shadows of the wooden pillars, blending well with the wooden pillar of the stair. I pretend not to notice. But in half a second, I've learned that it's one of those “to protect and serve” motherfuckers.
With a hard frown, I play stupid, continuing at my current pace.
There’s a baton at his side. In the last second, the cop lifts it. Fog mists from his mouth as he says, “A message from—”
The stick whips against my palms so roughly, it breaks my skin. I grab the baton from his hands.
“You're gonna fucking hit me?!” I whack him across the head with the stick determined to break the damn thing. Then my hand goes to his neck, slamming him against a pillar. His feet dangle, his white face turning red. I’m numb to those feeble attempts of his, punching me in the face and neck.
“Next time you’re given an assignment, back your shit up,” I squeeze so tightly. I've never been so angry in my life that I don't even enjoy the weakening of his pulse. One second I'm holding him up, next he’s dead weight. I slide him down to the ground. Fuck, what have I done?
I reach down and check his pulse.
Weak.
I glance around. There are million dollar homes in each direction. Bright lights shining, but nobody is looking out the window, and the lights at my place are out.
Was you here for Maxwell Washington or my father or Malich?
My father just called so that shit is a little suspicious. I just returned from Russia to sell out my favorite uncle to my mudak of a father, so that adds Malich to the fold. Chief Washington is on the list for obvious reasons.
I dig into my phone and dial the only person who would get his fat ass up at this hour.
“Come over. I'm at the bottom of the stairwell at my place.”
Yuri huffs and then hangs up.
Less than thirty minutes later, I hear a creak of the wood steps and heavy breathing as my cousin comes downstairs.
When I step out of the shadows, his gun is to my head in an instant.
“What the fuck, kazen, I owe you a slug to the balls for treating me like shit But there'll come a time when you can pay up.” He places the gun down.
“Is my father fucking with me?” I knead my temple, almost too tired to give a damn.
“Seriously? You had me leave the comfort of my bed for—”
“Look,” I growl, not ready to ask him if his father did thi
s!
Yuri peers through the darkness. “What is it?”
“A cop.”
He pulls out his iPhone and turns on the flashlight application. Ducking his head, Yuri moves to where I placed the unconscious cop and he digs in his pocket again. Less than ten seconds later, there's a quiet puff sound. That fool put a silencer on his gun.
“You fucking killed him?”
“Yeah,” Yuri nods, stepping back out from beneath the stairway, with a badge in his hands. “By the top of the hour, we will know who his family is.”
“Yuri,” I search his gaze. He's closer to me than all my half brothers and sisters. Closer than I ever was to both my parents or Sasha even. “Do know him?”
“Wow! You think?” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “Man, Vassili, you and your father have a dysfunctional crazy relationship, but shit! I've never laid eyes on him. We require bigger fish, much better ranking than that. And the name doesn't ring a bell so my pop hasn't put him on for your dad. Now, I need to know who you're screwing with before I leave with the stiff. Like I said, give me a few and his entire family—”
“We aren't killing his family, Yuri.”
He cocks an eyebrow and then he leans over, hands on his knees to laugh. “I forgot. The girl. This is all because of the girl. She's that cop’s daughter from the past, huh?”
“Yeah.” I rub my tensed face. Relieved that none of my family sicced a dirty cop on me.
“Then I'll kill her dad.” He offers.
“No.”
“Don’t worry, I'll do it without so much as having a conversation with your precious girl. You said stay away, I didn't forget.” He placed up his palms. “I may be big, but I can get in and out without—”
“No, Yuri. Just get rid of that fucking cop,” I growl through gritted teeth.
###
The speed-punching bag torpedoes at top speed. My fists slamming down on it rapidly as Kendrick Lamar’s newest rap blares in my eardrums.
It's been nine weeks since Zariah and I've jumped into the deep end. We've gotten around from The Griffith Observatory to fucking faces on the “It's a small world” ride at Disneyland. Since she and her father are fans of the Lakers. I got court side tickets to the playoffs in April; it wasn't till the second quarter that her dad texted about not being able to make it.
Besides that there's been no more resistance from her father.
Benny, one of Vadim’s Gym’s employees catches my eye.
I pull off one earphone while one handing the bag. “What?”
“You got visitors.”
“Who?”
“How should I know?” He cocks his head to the front. “Fans probably. I made them stand at the front desk.”
I glare at him.
“Whoever they are, hurry them along, Vadim isn't happy with you.”
My eyebrow cocks.
“You weren't here yesterday to workout. Matter fact, looks like you've eaten well. Remember how much you hated getting down to weight as a rookie?”
“I'll make weight,” I snap.
“Sure, the belt can sit across from you in the sauna as you pedal.”
“Fuck off, Benny,” I huff, imagining the sauna suit clinging to the sweat on my skin. Duct tape to lock in every entry point while I'm coasting on a bike in the sauna. I shake my head imagining my title belt draped across the sauna seat. At least that will be new, I haven't had to shit pounds and shed water in at least a year or two.
This is what love does to you. Makes you soft. Makes you lenient.
There's nobody standing at the front desk, beach goers are biking or skating by on the pathway outside, so I step out the double doors to take a look.
There's a dude in a suit, puffing on a cigarette, next to a blond chick in an ultra-tight dress, who is chatting on the phone. They look out of place, with the beach as a backdrop. I start to step back inside when the suit notices me.
“Karo, Karo!” He smashed the cigarette into the steel bike rack.
“Vassili,” the blond corrects, hanging up her phone without so much as a goodbye to whomever she was speaking too. “Mr. Vassili Resnov, I'm Jennifer Pruit. This is my business partner, Dale Landry.” She has a business card between her fingers in a half second.
“Talk to my manager.” I shrug her off, but the bitch still has her fingers extended. “Ms. Pruit, save the card for my manager.”
“Have you heard of Power Water?”
I stop dead in my tracks. This newer line is blowing Smart Water out of the motherfucking water these days.
“Let’s do dinner tonight, Mr. Resnov. Bring your manager. Bring a date.” Jennifer’s blue orbs lock onto mine as if she's imagining riding my cock.
“All right, I'll do both.” I address Dale only, hopefully she can see that my only interest is Power Water. Besides, this past week training camp for the Vegas fight has started, and though Zariah and I are two months solid, I haven’t laid eyes on her in almost a week.
Soon as I return to the back of the gym, Vadim shouts from the cage. “Vassili, get your ass in here. I swear, you can't keep up, I'll be sparing with you myself.”
“My takedown is for snow-haired mudaks too, Vadim,” I shoot back, climbing the steps. “Let me know if you'd like to wake up sooner or later.”
I somersault and come into a stand, dominating the canvas. My sparring partner, shakes his head. Though these days I reserve the cockiness to entertain the fans on stage, sometimes it gets the old man to crack a smile.
We rarely ever smile.
###
“I rarely get to see my favorite kazen these days. With the girl too? You tell me to stay the fuck away from the girl.” Yuri points his cigarette at me. “Now you want me to go to dinner with the girl?”
“That's right, glupyy—stupid.” I lean back in the chair, shot glass in my hand. We are sitting at a card table in his father’s home.
“When do I get to meet the girl?” Malich asks, coming into the room. He places the LA Times newspaper under his arm and pulls off his glasses. He's genuinely interested. I can recall the day Yuri’s brother, Igor, which is Malich’s oldest, began to talk about engagement rings and shit, Malich was right there. Ready to meet the girl, telling Igor how the girl reminded him of their mother.
Zariah might like him, set aside the syndicate, they'd make good friends. But for starters, this week I'm telling her that Anatoly is my father. It's now or never. Then I may or may not introduce her to more family.
Or if I've underestimated our love, then I lose her. So introductions with my uncle are unnecessary anyway.
“You coming to Vegas?” I ask. Malich’s only claim to entertainment is my games. Well it was before I started fighting out of state and international. He does anything for his family, but I'm sure the next time he gets on a plane, a tragedy or celebrating a new life will be the cause.
“Vegas? Ah, how about you bring her for dinner.” He rubs the back of his neck, actually considering it. “Maybe I can, it's not all that far. Should I get Yuri or one of these other knuckle heads to—”
Yuri cuts in, “No way, pop, if I can break bread with the girl tonight, I'm going to Vegas on Friday. Shit, I’m probably not going to be able to get that shipment in San Pedro in two days, Vassili has to be in New York for promotions. I go too.”
“What about your responsibilities, Yuri? I should fucking…” Malich threatens, poising his backhand, though he’s all smiles while doing so.
“Don't talk back to your father, you fat fuck,” I argue, shuffling the cards. They both chuckle. Damn, how personal of a relationship would I have with my father if I called that motherfucker ‘pop’ instead of father, mudak, piz’da or, the obvious, Anatoly. All of which I call him to his face so there's that.
“Shit, had I been more like your dad,” Malich says, “Yuri, Igor, all of my boys would have showed more respect. There'd be no saying I'm going to New York or Vegas with my kazen.”
“C’mon,” Yuri picks up his cards, one a
t a time. “I'm perfect in every way.”
Malich has pours us all another round. I hope for Christ’s sake, Yuri doesn't scare off my woman. Come Thursday it's truth time.
Zariah
“Connie, if I never get rewarded with a red vine again, it won't be too soon.” I pluck the candy up that she just tossed at the side of my head and shoot it back into her direction.
“Well, we have half a tube left. It's not my fault you excelled in Constitutional law today. Now we better beat my uncle Samuel to the car or he will honestly leave without us. He has this habit of being on time to court.”
We arise from our seats. The conference room of Billingsley Legal is cluttered with textbooks, the quintessential hub of my bar exam studies and a few cases that Connie is currently assigned too.
Connie gets to the exit first and opens it. It's refreshing to see a predominantly minority group of lawyers and assistants scattered throughout the office.
Samuel is already headed toward the front door. Navy blue business suit, canvas briefcase strapped to his shoulder, and phone super glued to his ear.
“Sam,” Connie’s voice is a respectable inner-office increase as she calls out.
“Oh, sweetie, I almost forgot about the two of you.” He pulls the phone from his ear, murmuring to whomever was on the line that he will be there shortly.
“We are a stellar team in the making,” he brags, patting my shoulder while allowing us to pass through the door first.
###
Later in the evening, I attend a birthday dinner for the governor, Taryn’s father. I had no intentions of attending, but this is the moment where my father planned to ‘plant the seed’ in his quest to run for mayor. Since I haven't moved out of his house yet, and we hardly see each other in passing, I felt half bad for excusing myself from it.
I'm in a golden cocktail dress that hugs at my curves. As I glance around the venue, I notice people are dressed to the nines. Many of them are in the Republican Party, who my dad swore told him it would be a good idea to run.
Fearless: a Sports Romance Page 14