Vassili
“My father?” I spit the question while rubbing at the stubble along my jaw. I had less than three hours of sleep last night. When Zamora bailed us out, I once again reiterated my promise that I wouldn’t tell Zariah about her relationship with Overstreet. Now, I’m in a fucking predicament.
And now, my wife just compared me to that piz’da? “You believe so little of me?”
“I apologize.” Her shoulders rise and fall slowly. “Toss me a few facts, Vassili. Make me believe otherwise. So, we can get you out of this mess you’ve made.”
“Uh, Zariah,” Yuri speaks up from the backseat. “We didn’t do shit. That douchebag provoked us.”
“Did he now?” She scooches around in her seat, voice dangerously content. I almost tell my cousin not to speak. Anything he says is incriminating. My wife has this built-in lie detector test, and I’m still stuck on her fucking statement about my father.
Instead of letting Yuri taste his own foot, I throw the ball in her court. “You’d compare me to that motherfucker? You think I’m like my father?”
“Don’t yell at me.” Her chin juts. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Tell me, Zariah,” my hands tighten around the steering wheel in disgust, “How the fuck am I like my dad?”
She’s silent for a moment.
“Huh!” My bark sends her shoulders jolting. “First of all, you’re good at keeping secrets.”
I grunt and turn toward the road. Fuck, she has me there. “What else?”
“You’re acting like a heathen, fighting people. Can we just go back to an hour ago, chat this out, Vassili, please?”
I shake my head. My father has people to kill people. And my wife is throwing elbows at me for a measly fight? “Girl, I’m a professional fighter, so come with it. Come harder. How the fuck am I like Anatoly?”
She snaps, “You—”
“You guys,” Yuri says. “The daughter that the two of you had together looks like she’s about to cry now. Can you knock it off for a while?”
We’re back to silence.
***
Later on, I spent hours getting Natasha to fall asleep. Every time I sang the Russian ABCs, which is usually her favorite, she’d fall into a fitful sleep, only to awaken.
“You worried Daddy’s gonna leave?” I ask, rubbing her back. My daughter smiles up at me with her few teeth. Only one of her eyes closes, just a further reminder that getting out of the nursery, without her being in a deep slumber, might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
“Should we start on our story? The one about the princess and her ogre of a father?” I ask. She gives a sleepy little coo. Since Natasha was eight months old, and fighting swollen, teething gums, I started on a super exaggerated story I made up just to hear her laughter. While I’m adding dragons to the story, I hear a doorbell ring. My stomach rumbles. Good. I heard Zariah making a call to Taiwan Chang's, one of our favorite takeout spots, when I’d given Natasha a bath.
Thirty minutes later, I tiptoe to the door of the nursery. I consider washing the day off, but head downstairs instead. Zariah is in the den, seated in my leather chair. She’s got her legs folded under her, and those freshly showered dark brown thighs look creamy in just a pajama shirt. There’s a carton of chow mein in her hand. She’s eating it with chopsticks and offering me an angry stare. I head to the kitchen, pick up the brown paper bag from the island. It’s empty.
Really?
From the open kitchen/den floor plan, Zariah grumbles. “Don’t be so dramatic, Vassili. Yours is sitting in the oven. Although, I considered getting your least favorite.”
I grab my food, and instead of going near my wife, I sit at the table. We eat in an ocean of silence.
I’m finishing up when Zariah heads into the kitchen with her empty container. Though I made a promise to Zamora, I’ll try to explain my rationale for bashing Matthew's face in to her daughter. He’s an asshole should suffice…
“You ready to chat, Zar?”
“Are you and Yuri done with the deception?”
I scoff. “Are you fucking kidding me? Deception? Okay counselor, that’s left field.”
“Then you’ll tell me everything? Vassili, you have my heart. I’m scared, okay? I can’t be without you.”
“You’re mine, Zariah. I love you.” My tone is hard, raw, confident.
“What possessed you to beat some man, on the street, within an inch of his life?”
There’s longing in her eyes as her hands plant on her wide hips. She must notice the slight hesitation on my face because Zariah returns to her spot. She clicks on the DVR list, choosing a Lifetime Movie.
I can’t fucking tell her that the mudak whose skull I bashed in was beating on her mother, so I head upstairs to take a shower.
A few minutes have passed, moisture plumes around me as hot water slams down from the rain spout.
“Will you turn down the heat?” Zariah asks, standing wide legged, arms folded.
She’s watching the water glide over my chest. My cock rises at just the sight of her in that long t-shirt that swallows her curves. I fist my cock in my hand.
She licks her lips. “I’m still angry with you.”
“Okay.” My wrist glides slowly. I imagine her lips sliding over my shaft. No, her pussy or that virgin ass, skimming up and down my cock.
She gulps. I turn down the water temperature, and the shirt goes over Zariah’s head. She starts for her short-panties, the ones that cling to her ass, and leaves the bottom of those thick cheeks out. I love those fucking undies more than when she wears a thong. I grasp her hand and pull her inside before she can remove those.
“Vassili,” she scoffs.
“Don’t act like you weren’t already wet,” I shoot back in my thick accent.
Water waves up her thick weave. She caresses my cheek, and I glance down at her.
“Vassili, should I be mad, truly angry with you? I’m sorry for earlier, but should I be angry?”
I kneel, planting a trail of love against her gratifying lips, down her flat stomach, and to the top of her panties. The panties are soaking wet. I bet it has nothing on her soaking pussy though. I bite the back of her ass where it falls out of the bottom of her panty shorts.
The rain shower masks much of her moan. Zariah places her hands against the glass wall for support. With effort, I peel the material off one hip at a time. With a shaded, lustful gaze, I admire all that ass in my face. I slap one cheek and then palm the dark meat in my tan hand.
“Fuck, you are thick in all the right places.”
Then I rise. I can feel her heart slam into her throat. I turn Zariah around. “You still mad, girl?” My hand smacks and cups her pulsating lips. My fingers delve into silk curls, seeking out her clit. Her pussy lips tighten and contract.
I press fully against her, dominating her soft body. Her nipples are hard against my chest. “You wet or are you mad, girl?”
“Both.”
I nip and then murmur in her ear, “I like that.”
Once again, I press her up against the wall. My chest now to her back. Her hips rise, her ass thrusts back, spearing my cock against her left ass cheek. The attitude she has causes me to chuckle. I clamp a hand along her neck, and command, “Tilt that ass more, Zar.”
Her hips curve, her ass rises. I bend down again, getting a good look at the angle of her butt.
“Tilt more or I’m gonna have to fuck that ass, sweetheart. Angry as you are, you’re still scared of it.” I grunt in laughter.
Her eyes flash at me. I cock a grin up at her. From the side profile, I run my hand over her buttocks and then my thumb stretches out in search of her pussy. Yeah, she’s afraid of me screwing that tiny little hole. My thumb finds her wet, sopping pussy with ease. I stand back up. My hand once again claims the back of her neck.
The side of her face is pressed to the glass. I kiss her lips and ask, “You ready for me to fuck you?”
“Fuck me, baby!”
My cock is harder than titanium as my legs take on a wide stance. I clutch the back of her neck, and glide in.
She’s angry. I can feel that shit way down in my bones. I grip her neck and drive my cock into her pussy, letting her ass cheeks slam against my dick.
My other hand swats against her ass so hard that Zariah almost straightens. “Keep the motherfucking position,” I growl. She has a bone to pick with me. Fuck that, me too. She compared me to my father. My dick slams into her, balls deep.