by Amarie Avant
Well, at least I straightened my hair tonight. The place is a notch below black-tie, until I spot Taryn. With her tight eyes and dark skin, she is an exotic beauty. She's in a tutu like skirt that hides the fact that she wasn't blessed on her Black mother’s side with an ass or hips. Yet anybody else would look like a young girl, she would get a nod from Tyra Banks herself.
“Hey, where's your dad, so I can wish him happy birthday,” I tell her.
She hugs me. “Girl, see him later. Actually, my father told me that you probably should blow this joint, ha, ha.”
Her Asian father always thought he was a comedian. We let him tag along when the first ‘Hangover’ movie came out during our last year of high school. My eyebrows knead together. “What do you mean?”
“Phil,” she mouths. “C’mon, my father is the governator,” she jokes in a Terminator franchise voice. After Arnold Schwarzenegger’s term ended, her dad’s began. “However, my dad can't very well talk badly of his benefactors. And he knows about my yacht parties and how much ‘you know who’ was in love with you. Actually, scratch that. Still is in love with you.”
“You can't be serious,” I groan.
“Well, my dad, your dad, Phillip IV, they all had their expectations. So allow me to be frank,” Taryn says, though she's never offered any less than a hard dose of reality. “Maxwell and both the damn Phils are living in the olden days. That's why your dad begged you to come tonight.”
I grumble. “Well, they all have another thing coming.”
“Hey, where's your fighter?” Before I can answer, Taryn’s voice rises as she glances behind me, “Phillip Everly,” Taryn fakes interest, while cuing me to look behind me. “Wow you've traded in Ralph Lauren for custom made.”
I’m too irritated to thank her for the heads up. They hug. I glance around the venue, blatant disinterest. Damn, my father is sauntering up the stage now. From about fifteen yards away, yet at the side of the stage, glances at me. He then glances at Phil, smiling while his gaze pans toward me once more.
This is a setup if I ever knew one.
There's a round of applause as my dad starts sweet talking to the crowd.
“You look stunning,” Phil whispers, coming to stand next to me.
“Thank you.”
“I saw you the moment you walked in.” His arm goes around my back, skimming my opposite shoulder. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“About what? Beautiful little mulatto children?” I cackle, shrugging my shoulder. He doesn't remove his hand.
“Why am I still paying for what Landry said?” he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Excuse me, Phil. Maybe I confused you for your father or any other man who has balls enough to tell his friend off for speaking ill of your girlfriend. Landry mentioned how cute little mulatto kids are. He jokes and acts an idiot. Actually, I was seventeen, dumb too. I thought the best form of defense in responding to his covert racism was no, we aren't together for gold complexion offspring, but love. No, I never loved you, though I believed the stupid word you said about loving me. And it's not just Landry and his mulatto statement or the other snide shit he said. It's just the simple fact that you being a rich white boy doesn't mean I'm fortunate enough to date you. Oh, and I can't afford your love at the moment because it comes in the expensive, addictive white powder form. So fuck off.”
I stalk away, rubbing my skin where he’d touched it. Perhaps, I chewed his head off a tad more than necessary, but hopefully he will see this as a learning lesson for the woman who doesn't itch in his presence.
About an hour later, I'm able to inch my way into one of my father’s conversations.
“You've stolen every potential vote here, Dad, come November there'll be no stopping you. They all love you,” I whisper. “I'm gonna slip out the side door now.”
“Oh why? You have a hot date tonight? Every man in here dots on you, and wouldn't have to work too hard for my approval.”
Good for you “Actually, it's a group dinner I'm attending.” My tone is blasé so he isn't interested in more regarding my dinner with Vassili, two business persons, and another Resnov. He brushed us off at the Laker game, so why bother?
“Sounds like fun. Will you be accompanying Zariah as well?” He asks. I glance over and Taryn is there.
“I sure am.” She offers me a wink.
“Damn you,” I grumble as Taryn catches my stride, toward the exit. She's always embraced her Japanese side over the Black. “What happened to snagging rich boys with pedigree? I swear I saw royal-marriage material here.”
“Been there, Booboo.” She replies unamused. “You’re going to see Vassili, aren’t you? And if you’re going to see him, that cousin of his, Yuri, has a super fat cock—my name is written all over it and that's a place I can come again and again.”
###
Succoso Pomodoro–Juicy Tomato–is an expensive Italian restaurant on Rodeo Drive. The restaurant is a grand, dramatic environment with marble walls. Touches of oak wood offer a classic Italian villa style. And the aroma wafting through the place as Taryn and I are escorted to Vassili’s table is to die for. We’re already thirty minutes late, since Taryn had to say goodbye to her father, and I was obliged to ‘thank’ him for the heads up, even if Phil intended to push my button anyway.
Air hitches in my lungs as Vassili comes into view. He’s seated at a table, cater corner from me. The only tattoos visible are the ones creeping up the back of his neck, and disappearing into the curly tail end his Mohawk, and those along the back of his hands. He is dressed in a black suit, which complements broad shoulders and thick biceps. There’s a blond next to him. The trick does her best to touch him every chance she gets. Damn, his cold shoulder is fit for that nasty, little fly.
Another Caucasian man is seated on the opposite side of her, with Yuri rounding out the table.
“Good thing you brought me,” Taryn grits in a whisper. “That bitch will bow down one way or another.”
I shake my head. Taryn has never had to work, so the mean girl mentality from high school still rides deep on occasion.
The hostess parts ways with us as we continue to weave around the tables in the dark-lit atmosphere.
“Ah, you must be, Ms. Washington,” the man with the perfectly cropped hair says, arising first.
Vassili’s entire demeanor comes alive. The blonde’s ambitions fade into oblivion as he arises from his seat to hug me. Vassili hugs me so tightly that my body sways, and I mold to his muscles.
“Zariah, you brought Taryn. Damn, your family in my book,” Yuri raises his snifter, clear liquid sloshing around toward me while he pulls his arm around Taryn to grope her hip. He’s at least a hundred pounds more than her hundred pounds.
“Drinks! We need real drinks,” his voice rises.
“Yes, the best wine!” the man says.
“No, wine. Vodka.” Yuri snaps his fingers and a waiter rushes over. “Two extra chairs and your best vodka, don’t play me either, your best.”
“Baby, here sit.” Vassili offers me the chair next to the blond chick. “Oh this is… Uh… Dale Landry and Mrs.… Yuri, fucking help me out here. Manage the situation.”
They both laugh. Dale’s chuckle starts off slow, as if getting a feel for whose ass he should kiss. She is clearly his boss.
“Jennifer Pruit,” the blonde reaches out a hand to me as Yuri offers Taryn his seat, not paying a lick of attention to anything but her.
“The conversation has evolved around you for almost twenty minutes,” Jennifer tells me, which causes me to be even more unapologetic to her trifling ass. Either she's attempting to flatter me or this hoe tried to steal my man while he continued to mention me.
I offer a fake smile. “We were late.”
“It was all my fault,” Taryn chimes in as two chairs are positioned on either side of us.
“So tell us how you plan to make my man rich.”
“Direct. I like her.” Dale grins.
Yuri scoffs. “Word fr
om the wise, don’t like Zariah too much. It isn’t safe. The champ is a jealous man.”
Vassili places a possessive arm around me.
Yuri offers a smug grin. “See, and this is clearly how I manage the situation.”
My man reaches over to my ear, “I can’t eat this fucking food. When I get you home, I’ll have you all night long.”
A silly ass grin is slapped on my face, and anyone can ready his intentions.
With his arm around me, Vassili rubs my cheek with his thumb. “Look at that gorgeous, coy smile. So should I eat you tonight?”
“The best is here,” our waiter says, stepping to the table.
Before cheering with the rest of them, I subtly nod to Vassili, “Feel free to eat me all night long if you’d like.”
Vassili
Zariah gasps. The silk scarf falling from her silky hair. For the life of me, I don’t understand why she wraps her hair around her head into a weird ball when it’s straightened. Her long hair slips out of place and waves along her shoulder as she says, “Vassili, baby, what are you still doing here?”
“In my bed?” I ask, throat heavy from sleep.
“Uh, you know what I mean. You have another day of boot camp left before you leave to go to New York for promotions.” She cuddles close to me. “I expected to snuggle with your pillow like I did last Saturday morning. Are you okay?”
“Good, good,” I caress her cheek. Shit, there’s something I should recall, yet after the night we’ve had, all I remember is her pussy squirting in my mouth once she mastered the technique.
“Honestly?” she climbs onto my waist, thick curls in disarray. “Because you leave for New York and promotions tomorrow. Don’t you need one more day and night of crazy training, because I can’t watch as The Hauser slaps you around.”
“Slap me around? That’s blasphemy, baby.” In one fluid swoop, she’s beneath me again. “I’m going to grab him by the throat,” I say, placing my hand across her delicate neck and offering the faintest squeeze. “There’s power in feeling a man’s pulse fade.”
“Just as long as he doesn’t hit you. My heart can’t take it,” she murmurs as my lips smack down onto hers. The sweet little moan comes from her mouth. I deepen the kiss, moving my hand toward the back of her neck, kneading the tendons with my thumb. My foot hooks around hers, and once more, Zariah is flipped. Now, her ass is wedged against my hardened cock, my chest against her back. I kiss softly at her spine.
“Keep flipping me like your own personal toy,” she threatens and in the next breath purrs as my hand swims down into her pajama pants. My thumb works its way along the tightest, little hole ever.
“Vassili,” she groans.
“Okay, okay,” I chuckle, her nape again. “Tilt that fat ass for me.”
She rises to her knees, and I lift up some in support. My thumb glides between her ass cheeks, restraining myself, I continue to glide along toward her sweet pussy. I pet those thick petals before plunging inside of her.
“You sure you don’t want my cock in this ass? All that beautiful ass.”
“Vassili,” she growls, gyrating and stroking her pussy along my thumb “I. Will. Kick. Your. Ass.”
“But it’s the prettiest, roundest ass,” I laugh, removing my hand from her pants. I bite the tip of my thumb in thought and smile cocky. There’s an underlying lust behind her eyes, but I won’t push. I then lick her juices from my thumb.
“Grrrr…” Zariah wiggles her bottom.
“I’ve got more for you, girl, I always do.” I feel an amazing desire wash over me, bringing all the heat to my stiff cock. I want to eat her pussy, eat her ass, eat her, totally devour and demolish her juices until she’s more malleable in my hands. More willing to allow my cock into those chocolate cheeks—
Zariah’s phone rings on the bedside table. I reach over, ready to smash it into the wall, anything to stop the sound and return our focus, but she says, “It’s my mom, I have to answer it. After Vegas, no more boot camp.”
She sits up, crossing her legs and grabs the phone. “Hey, Momma!”
Fuck me, I'm left with a serious boner.
“Breakfast?” I mouth.
Zariah quickly shakes her head, lips sneered. She hates breakfast with me while I'm practicing for a match. “No thanks, baby.”
I’ll make her a smoothie anyway. I head to the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck. What did I have to do today? The thought slams into my mind. My alarm didn’t go off, and I’m uncertain if Vadim left a voicemail threatening my life for not visiting the gym yet.
I pull out the protein, peanut butter, and the extra ripe bananas Zariah had asked for the last time I made her a smoothie, along with a few other sweet fruits. My eyes narrow, I swear I hear a tiny vibrating sound, but mindlessly I start the blender. I lean my elbows against the quartz countertop, reminiscing on last night. My dick is still a little sore. Zariah’s pussy is a tight molding in the shape of my cock, but creating such a beautiful shape has been work. I yawn, warning myself about discipline and not to fuck her the night before the event.
“Babe? Babe! Please stop making a ruckus,” Zariah calls from down the hall.
After I press the pause button, chunks of strawberry and blackberries float to the bottom of the slushed drink. I'm pouring two glasses when Zariah leans against the pantry.
“My mom would like to talk to you.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“The phone is on mute. Please, she said I sound like a woman in love. I had to tell her about you.”
“Okay.” I hand her a glass and she offers over her iPhone. Instead of placing the phone to my ear, I see Mrs. Washington’s face on the screen, in real time. I press the mute button to release it and position the FaceTime screen.
“Hello, Mrs. Washington.”
“Ms. Haskins will do just fine. That's my maiden name. So you're Vassili. I've heard lots about you.”
“All good things?”
“You are very handsome, but what's with all those tattoos.” Her neck is craning, wanting to see were the cross tat on the side of my neck ends. Or perhaps it's the top portion of the KILLER KARO on my chest that she'd like to inspect further.
“I can tell you what most of them mean.”
Ms. Haskins arches an eyebrow. “Did you get a few of them while inebriated?”
“Nah, nothing like that. The others might not be appropriate to discuss.”
“Oh…” Ms. Haskins says and Zariah groans
“Mom, you said you only had one question. Please play nice.”
“Or what? I like him. The truth tastes much easier than a lie. She's so much like her father at times.”
“All I’d like to know for now is what your intentions with my daughter are?”
“I love Zariah, and my only aim is to place a smile on her face.”
Ms. Haskins lingers. “I believe you. I will of course have a lot more questions whenever I meet you in person. When do you two plan to visit me? Zariah’s brother, Martin, is expecting his third baby any day now. It would be nice to have my daughter home sometime soon,” she dawdles. “I’d love to meet you as well. Then, like I said, the real questions can start.”
“Momma, dang!”
“Next week is good,” I tell her. “We can head over after my match.”
“That's perfect,” she says.
“No, sorry, it’s not perfect for me,” Zariah cuts in. “There’s too much on my plate now, Mom. I planned to visit this August after the bar exam, and save Martin’s baby from all your holding and kisses.”
Her mom continues to chat
“Goodbye, we have a busy day.” She grabs the phone and hangs up.
“It’s okay.” I shrug, downing my drink. “Baby, I don’t mind meeting your mother if you’d like.” I corner her by the cabinets, and skim my lips over her forehead.
“My mom knows you’re a Resnov.”
“Okay…”
Zariah glances up at me. “I think she likes you despite yo
ur blood ties. However, due to her relationship with my dad, she has always been a tad overbearing. Even with Martin, before he married, Momma was a ball of nerves. She worried about him being hit by a woman, about his happiness. My brother chose not to become a cop but he's far from sissy.” Zariah shakes her head in thought. “She will hound you. All those tattoos will be discussed.”
“You just said she's concerned about Martin’s happiness. Your happiness. Then I answered correctly, right? She asked if I loved you.” I play with her breast.
“And you answered perfectly, Vassili,” Zariah moans. “Can we take this party into the shower?”
“Yeah, I haven’t fucked you in the shower in a whole week.”
“Humph, whose fault is that?”
“When we return from Vegas, you’ll be locked to the headboard for a month. I’ll make it up to you.” I hug her tightly. “Now, drink your smoothie. Join me once you’ve downed it.”
“Aw, Vassili,” she groans as I place the glass in her hand.
“C’mon, girl, get your strength up, while I get the water ready. We get to screw like bulls for…” I glance at the wall oven clock, while reaching down to grab her pussy. “Another two hours. That’s good. I don’t want to break you, baby.”
In the bathroom, a few minutes later, steam clouds the mirror. “Zariah,” I shout over the sound of rain, while stepping over a pile of clothes I just took off. “Baby, get your ass in here.”
“Coming,” her reply is muffled.
Damn, this girl is probably gagging the drink down, or better, tossing it into the sink. I step toward the vanity, grab my toothbrush out of the holder. I apply toothpaste. Zariah’s reflection appears in the mirror behind me.
My eyebrows crinkle together. She leans against the wall, fully dressed in jeans, a coral long sleeve silk blouse and boots, gripping something in her hand.
“So I just took an interesting call,” Zariah says, holding up my iPhone. I turn around and place the items on the counter.
“Babe, what’s with the look?” I’m speaking of the deep scold on her face.
“I just spoke with Malich, your uncle.”
Shit, my ears ring as I recall the reason for my impromptu visit with Anatoly two months ago. I had assumed Malich was doctoring numbers for liquor and food, which made no sense, the majority of money flooding in came from his bitches and my uncle often fronted the bill for some of the provisions. Come to find out he was tracking money moving around. My uncle had let a voicemail right before the Power Water business dinner, mentioning he would come over this morning to tell me about the cunt that had screwed us both. I had texted Vadim to cancel, and because The Red Door isn't something I'm intrinsically motivated about, I forgot.