by Amarie Avant
Zariah
April
Vassili and I are a month shy of married for a year, and so far we’re content making up for time lost. Once in a while, I contemplate on the phone conversations and text messages we had while I was off at college. Why hadn’t I given him the time of day sooner? Shame on me for not cultivating this love.
I'd been young, focused, and sadly, afraid of love or rather afraid of what my parents modeled as far as marriage. Now my belly has grown large, at seven months and there is nothing that can stop our love.
Aside from this juicy burger from Fat Burger that I'm currently inhaling —and it ain’t the baby fat size either, I can hardly breathe from the physical torment I endured while running upstairs a few minutes ago. At the sound of Vassili’s motorcycle entering the garage, I ran. He’s home way too soon. Now, I’m laying in the empty oval Jacuzzi tub of our master bathroom. Please God, let Vassili stay downstairs. I feel like a dirty little cheat…my prayer fades as I eye the cheeseburger, wondering how to shove the rest into my mouth. Enjoying calories is the ultimate form of disloyalty when my husband is cutting down to make weight for a fight he has tomorrow.
“Mmmm…” I giggle and moan, and have to catch my breath as our daughter sticks to my rib. A spurt of kicking goes off in my tummy. “Enjoy your food, Natasha,” I chuckle.
“Zariah,” Vassili calls from down the hall.
“Um-hmmm, be right there.” I down a big, juicy bite and grab a few Rally’s French fries, their delicious coating of crisp salt, which actually got kind of cold while waiting in the Fat Burger line.
“Zariah, baby, we’ve got a problem.” His voice nears.
“Al lright, I’m on the toilet. It’s scary—I wouldn’t advise you come in.” I frown in disgust at my choice of words, while shoving the French fries behind a large candle and the cheeseburger into a tiny wicker basket that I keep the bath salts and oils. Grabbing the marble ledge, I start to get up. “I'm com—”
“Oh, you are full of shit,” he says, thick muscular body in the doorway. “You're in trouble.”
“No, I'm not.” I freeze, eyes wide. Is there tiny speckles of salt on my face? Daring not to touch my mouth, I sink back into the tub. “I just love this bathtub. Do you know how many times I bragged that my husband bought me a house for Christmas and the bathtub is the best?”
He folds his beefy arms, it's no longer intimidating to me. I know his secret. All those muscles were meant to love and protect me. “Okay, so you got into the bathtub. With no water in it?”
I nod.
“While fully clothed?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Of course. Natasha loves it when I sit in here and read her a book.”
“What book?”
I grab the ledge. “I forgot to get the book. Pregnancy brain, Vassili.”
“Allow me,” he walks over. “Yeah right, ‘pregnancy brain.’ You chew my head off if I say you've forgotten something. But this is cute.”
“Shouldn't you be sweating pounds?”
“Yes. However, I’ve texted and texted asking how the painting is coming along in the nursery. Intuition warned me to drop by. I don't trust my wife.”
“You think I'm cheating?” Though joking, I exasperate the words while pointing at all this belly!
“Eating cheeseburgers and fries, a day before my weigh in, is as good as me catching you in the tub with another man.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” I grunt finally hefting my leg over the bathtub wall. “No help needed,” I quickly say, but Vassili offers a hand.
I bust up laughing. “Aw, now I feel bad. You help me out of the tub and I cheat. Do you still love me? I saved the cheeseburger wrapper. I'll let you lick it. Can’t be any more than twenty calories. It's all yours.”
“Oh you'll let me lick it,” his voice lowers into a delicious growl. In an instant, my sex drive is revved. His eyes devour my over-ripe brown skin, zeroing in on my breasts, which have increased two sizes over the span of this pregnancy. My nipples rub harshly against my cotton shirt, eager for attention. Excitement consumes me as he pulls the t-shirt from over my head. I’ve gained so much weight, mostly in my belly. It's astonishing Vassili hefts me up with ease and places me on the counter between the double sinks.
Vassili grapples my tits, while nipping at my earlobe. His warm breath titillating across my skin as his mouth works its way to mine. He tongues me before biting my jaw and continuing to descend. A slick warm trail reaches my swollen breasts, he hefts up one tit, licks the curve of it and twirls his tongue around the stiff flesh at the tip. My hands roam through his wavy hair, softly tugging at his Mohawk as his teeth sink into my nipple.
“Shit,” I breathe against the top of his hair. Damn, I can’t have an orgasm so easily these days.
While offering the other nipple a rough nibbling, Vassili’s hand sneaks beneath my skirt and grazes against the lace of my thong. I bite the taut muscle of his shoulder. My pussy offers a sweet stamp of approval, before his fingers arrive at my swollen lips. I moan deep and throaty as his fingers pump inside of me.
Not a minute later, an orgasm funnels out of me in a torrent of never ending spasms that squeeze at his fingers.
“You’re so horny,” he murmurs, kissing my mouth again. Then something slick glides across my cheek. It’s his fingers. “Your pussy has never tasted so good,” he groans into my mouth, “Can I lick it?”
“Yessss.”
“Good, I would love to. You have the sweetest fucking lips, Zariah.” He rubs the juicy gloss of his fingers along my mouth and then proceeds to lick it off before tonguing me.
Vassili moves to his knees, and his tongue dives straight into my kitty. As easy as I am these days, my legs spasm on contact. I lean my head back against the mirror and grip the cool marble ledge.
“Don't tense, baby.”
“Okay… okay…” I hiss, toes curled as he sucks up my juices.
“Zar,” he leans back on his calves, looking me in the eye. “Don't tense. You want me to taste this pussy don't you?”
I nod vigorously, throat clogged. Tears of ecstasy clouding my gaze.
“Then don't tense.” After the command, he softens it up with one of those rare smiles before going back in. Soon as his lips touch my swollen ones, I pant heavily. Fuck a G-spot, just throwing his lips to my pussy is the code to bring on another orgasm.
In this moment, I've forgotten about my never-ending hunger. My puffy nose and fat belly no longer mean a thing. My husband’s mouth is my all.
He arises and places my legs around his waist. “See, no tensing, sweetheart.”
While leaning back against the mirror, I wish I had the strength and the ability to push up and rub his abs. All this tummy is in the way.
Vassili fills me up slowly, the thick ridges in his cock massaging my insides. I bite my lip.
“Best pussy I ever had,” he declares in that succulent, slow Russian accent.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
He continues to slide in and out slowly, filling me to the brink, then he reaches in and tastes my lips.
“Mmmm,” I groan as my mini orgasm coats his cock with more cum.
“You like that?” He cocks an eyebrow, rubbing my stomach and pushing in and out. He looks down at it. Damn, damn, damn, I want to see his cock.
“It's pretty, Zar. Your pussy is eating my cock. It's pretty…”
I whimper with longing, another flow of tears falling down my cheeks.
“Fuck, beautiful, I hate it when you cry.”
“I know… can't help it.”
“You. Can't. Help. It?” His voice is low, pearly white teeth digging into his bottom lip, as he slams into me with each word. Cocky ass. He's gorgeous. I never knew how much until this moment. Vassili slows down the rhythm again. “Do you know how hard it is for me not to cum right now, Zar? Every time you cum, I have to stop myself.” He says.
I love it when he talks to me as we make love. It's beautiful. I sniffle more tears.
/> “I just keep thinking… please her. Please my wife.”
I eat every word as my body percolates for him. “Cum with me, Vassili.”
“You ready?” He arches a brow.
“Yes!” I scream as he thrusts into me. Harder, and harder. Each time his balls clap against my ass, my pussy is so wet it sings.
###
An hour later, we’ve showered and made it to bed. It’s late evening, and I won’t move from the spot, can’t move. My heartbeat has slowed, breasts splayed across his, as I lay on my side, leg wrapped between his. In a daze of ultimate comfort, I nudge my nose into Vassili’s neck.
“You breathing me in?” he asks.
Silence. Utter embarrassing silence.
“I've been told that I have that super athletic funk,” he laughs. “Make sure you aren't delirious breathing me in.”
I laugh so hard my side aches. Vassili has taught me the true definition of love and marriage. I bat my eyes to stop the burning tears from falling.
Vassili
I traded in my usual sweats or workout attire, for a black suit and coal gray lapel. Zariah chose my attire, saying it brought out my eyes, whatever the fuck that means. She says they’re gray; I counter they’re black, she says I’m colorblind—and gets the last word. I chose the black square diamonds in my ear, and even got a fresh line up for ESPN.
I’m seated next to the popular MMA newscaster, Alex Brown. A light indicating that we’re ‘On Air’ shines, and there are cameras all along the perimeter. Zariah is seated with her hands over her belly.
Alex mentions a few current fight statistics. Then another screen shows a segment of my last match.
Alex says, “This man needs no introduction. But if you’ve been living under a rock or just new to the UFC world, check out this craziness.”
We both turn in our chairs to watch a combination of clips from my latest TKO’s and submissions.
“Karo, you hit the ground running, offering TKO’s to every fighter brave enough to step into the octagon with you,” Alex addresses me, “Only one loss, early in your career. And I swear, your maturity level has elevated, beautifully. Almost as beautiful as your ‘Rear Naked Choke’ you kill with that! Oh, and the ‘Triangle Choke.’ What’s that saying about you killing ‘em?”
“Killing ‘em softly.” I nod slowly. “I’m a big fan of putting my opponents to sleep.”
“Yes! You’re quite versatile though, offering as many brute force TKO’s as well. I’ve got a theory,” he holds up a hand. “Care to indulge me?”
“I can try.”
“Some of these fighters you obliterate are the ones with the biggest mouths. Can I say that you used to have a big mouth? I won’t get attacked will I?” He jokes.
“Not at all. I’ll admit to being cocky.”
“Now, you have an anaconda grip on the welterweight belt.”
“Hell, yeah. It’s mine until I retire, if God allows it.”
He nods, “Look, back to my theory, you butcher so many fighters who ‘talk’ their way into a card. Except for the one instance with The Hauser;, though he had mad words for your ankle when you were in New York promoting that match last May. He ‘bad talked’ your ankle, you stepped into the cage and, man, you strategized. You took hits, he got cocky, you went for the kill. That angle of his,” Alex laughs.
The hot lights are beaming down on me as I nod. “Yeah, was I petty?” I half smile.
“Nah, man. But speaking of fighters who love to bring attention to themselves by ‘verbally’ attempting to bully the champ.” He says. Shit, I know exactly where he’s headed. “There's talk of a certain somebody wanting to fight you, Karo. You’re pretty good at allowing fighters to challenge your belt when they’ve showed real grit, but a certain someone who boasts Mother Russia doesn't believe you deserve the throne.”
“Everyone wants a piece of me.” I try to show interest, but right now I can give a fuck. Zariah does a thumbs up while seated on a stool next to a stationary camcorder.
“Twitter it's blowing up since you've been here, Karo.”
“I don't tweet. But what’s this Twitter saying?” I arch a brow.
“You've got loyal fans. A good following except for one person.” Alex leans forward in his chair to address the camera.
“Let me see what the boy is tweeting,” I respond before the red light cuts. We both turn toward the large screen along the wall, what I was told the viewers would see when we aren’t live. There are scrolls of Tweets. Mostly positive, from fans begging me to put some mudak named ‘Juggernaut’ out of his misery. Then the screen stops on a tweet from the bitch himself. My lips set into a firm line as I read what he wrote. Seriously, that piz’da can come for my head, but to include my wife?
The bright lights shine back down on us again, and Alex addresses me.
“Wow!” he feigns surprise. “Juggernaut’s talking about gift wrapping your balls and sending them home to your wife as an anniversary gift.”
My mouth perches up to one side, and I do my best to be engaging. “Really?”
“Those are fighting words,” Alex eggs.
I rub my knuckles along my clean-shaven jaw. “What's the boy’s stats?”
“Juggernaut isn't the most consistent.”
“That don't sound good so you're saying, he uses his mouth to rise into certain places and positions.” The bitch is about to get knocked down to size.
Alex winces. “It's my job to put it all on the table.”
“Okay, tell ‘em congratulations. He gets ten seconds of fame.”
The newscaster’s eyes pop out. He thinks I played into his desires, well, the bitch mentioned my wife, so he’s got another thing coming. Alex has an overly excited voice while asking, “Can we confirm that you're going to enter the octagon with none other than Nikolai Ukhtomsky, Juggernaut. Three five minute rounds of pure…”
“No, ten seconds. He gets less than a minute of fame. He will be the quickest knockout I've ever done.” I stare at the camera. “Whoever wants to see me knock that (bleep) out that quick do the tweet thing or whatever?” I pull the microphone from my collar.
“Let’s go to commercial,” I hear a producer say in the background.
Zariah comes from the sideline, waddling over. She’s unaware of my feelings, and I guess I should be happy since her hormonal ass can go from horny to hostile in a moment’s time.
“Aw, Vassili you're so cute, you really don't know much about Twitter do you?”
“No, Yuri—“
“Manages everything,” she sighs. “So you’ll knock him out in less than a minute?”
“Ten motherfucking seconds, baby, that's all this little bitch gets.”
“Good, I hate to see you hit. Lay him out on one hit.”
“When I'm done with that bitch, the coroner will have to scrape him up off the canvass.”
“Can we get some of that—nix the cussing— once we return from commercial?” Alex speaks up.
My head is tilted just so, I glare at him. Good, he backs away, reading me well.
Zariah softly pushes her belly against me. “Play nice. Fighters like Juggernaut can say stupid shit, but you are the champ. People fear you very easily.”
###
“You're scheduled to beat Cordova next. In three weeks, Vassili!” Yuri tells me while pacing around the den of my home later this evening. Even Vadim has joined, he’s seated on the coach nursing a double of vodka as Yuri argues, “Now, we are going to look scared. Why did you agree to that little bitch? Mother Russian, fuck off, with that bullshit. He's from Pasadena.”
“Calm down.” I grab his arms, stopping his tracking over Zariah’s Oriental rug. The nervous shit gets on my nerves as well. “I'll fight Cordova in June as anticipated. Make Juggernaut my first summer fight.”
“You mean the end of summer!”
“No, the beginning.”
“You fight Cordova on June 2nd. So you'll hop your ass back into the cage a few weeks later then?”<
br />
“Yes.”
“No, no you won't,” Vadim speaks up, placing the empty glass onto the table beside the couch. “Too soon, Vassili. What will your wife think?”
I almost glance down the hall. Zariah’s in our bedroom consulting on a case that she transferred to another member at Billingsley Law after going on maternity leave a few days ago. I glare at them, to stop their loud ranting.
“Oh, should I shut up? My niece—your daughter—is due at the end of June,” Yuri pokes me. “One month between a match is too soon. You’re not a rookie anymore, Vassili. You’re the motherfucking champ.”
“I'll train for Cordova. The very next week I will break Nikolai Ukhtomsky’s neck! No training required, I won't even sweat.” I issue a forearm punch, then use the other hand to slam into the hard bone. “Easy.”
“Make it August,” Vadim says.
“And hear that bitch talk?” Yuri shakes his head. He places a hand at the back of my neck and looks me in the eye. “Vassili, you are Anatoly’s son. Fuck what you're going through. We cannot have that mudak insulting you on social media. Juggernaut keeps mentioning Russia, people will forget that this is all promo talk.”
“Anatoly could give a shit about me right now,” I mumble. Grigor’s comment about Anatoly’s illness has me rubbing the back of my neck.
“But you're blood,” Vadim cuts in. “Anatoly may hear of it and shut Juggernaut up the good ol’ fashion way. No refs. No MMA rules and regulations.”
“Okay, the end of June it is,” I tell them.
Vadim sniggers. “Hopefully, he has to close his cunt long enough to practice.”
We all laugh.
Zariah
“Every day, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. I'm a grouchy, swollen mess.” I whimper while shoveling a spoonful of cookies and cream/ cookie dough frozen yogurt into my mouth. Connie is seated across from me at Yogurtland, which is situated in the center of the mall. There’s a Soma’s to my left that I keep cutting my eyes at.
“Preggo, you are as hopeless as the day is long.” She shakes her head. “How is Vassili?”