Zariah
My heart lodges into my throat. Damn, I prayed that Karsoff would be a punk. Okay, maybe not “prayed in Jesus name” per se, but my fingers were crossed, and I wished with all my might. Vassili and Karsoff are going toe-to-toe, trading bomb for bomb like the first round was just a warmup. The announcers are shouting, and the people around me are screaming so loudly my eardrums rock.
Granted, I do my best to keep the confidence for Vassili’s sake. There may never come a day when I watch a match without squirming in my seat. Scratch that, his fight with Juggernaut last year, was over so swiftly that I didn’t even get the chance to become a ‘nervous nelly.’
Natasha is sitting in my lap, or more like standing there, jumping all over my legs. In her shimmery purple dress, with a matching ribbon in her curly hair, she makes for the perfect cheerleader for her father as Vassili does a cartwheel kick that lands on Karsoff’s ear. My husband is showing his ass now! All these signature moves that I eagerly learned put my mind in this invincible superhero mode. I snatch up some of our daughter’s energy.
“Kill ‘em, Karo!” I scream so loudly that Natasha glances back at me, her pupils dragging up and down my frame. This child of mine glares at me like: no she didn’t!
“Sorry, baby.” I chuckle, rubbing her ears. Is this child mine? This girl with her dramatic sense of humor?
“Give ‘er here,” Yuri says, seated to my left. The instant I hand Natasha over to him, I’m out of my chair screaming and performing gymnastics moves. I can’t do a third round—damn, I’m not doing much. But I can’t stomach one.
“Kill, Kill!” The vocal cords in my throat strain. Jesus, give my baby some David versus Goliath strength! A shot and drop ‘em!
There are seconds left. My eyes dart from the two of them, going brick for brick. Finally, a missile of a right-hand lands against Karsoff’s nose and a mean uppercut drops him.
He bounces up.
“Stay down, motherfucker!” I growl.
From my peripheral Yuri glances at me much like he did when I went into labor in Kentucky. Vassili stands there as Karsoff seems to forget where they are. He just popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Now, his legs are buckling like a newborn calf. Karsoff stumbles into the cage, his fingers grip onto the wiring. Vassili slams a looping right hook into the side of Karsoff’s head.
I swear, for a split second, the fighter recollected exactly where he was and what he was doing because his hands finally clenched into fists as he hit the canvass.
Vassili goes in for the kill. He slaughters Karsoff with follow-up strikes and lets his fists rain down on him. Luckily, his enemy turtles up, and the referee tosses himself into the mix.
Vassili backs up and allows Karsoff to be rescued. My husband pounds a fist against his chest. It’s barbaric, and I love every moment of it.
After a long cheer, the referee stands next to Vassili as the fight stats are announced. While Karsoff is receiving a whiff of one of those nasty sensor things that wake him with a disgusted jolt, the referee grips Vassili’s fist and holds it up.
My husband is declared the winner.
Then the commentator steps up, with microphone in hand. “This is two fights in a row now, you’ve come in and been very dominant. Karo, what’s been the difference?”
My husband’s muscular frame is drenched in sweat. “I’m just thankful to be here. God keeps my hands up. With faith, there’s only one way I’m going.”
“You made a fadeaway overhand that caught Karsoff’s temple early on. Then you gave the fans more entertainment and Karsoff a chance to redeem himself. This is one of the most entertaining matches of the season…”
***
“Aw, baby.” My lips caress a kiss on Vassili’s eyebrow which has seven stitches. He just returned to the hotel room with Yuri. I expected them to go out and celebrate. That was the plan if Natasha dozed off. The alternative is painting the town as a family.
I glance him over. He’s wearing Nike flip-flops. I can’t recall a day when his left big toe ever survived a fight. The damn thing is always broken. When I start to hug him, he grimaces.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I cringe. And then I reprimand him with, “Why don’t you ever say you’re hurt?”
I shake my head at him. I realize Yuri is watching us with longing in his eyes, and I try to be less lovey dovey, but Vassili pulls me into a bear hug with gritted teeth.
“Just one rib.”
“Boy, why don’t you ever say anything? I don’t have x-ray vision.” I softly press against his chest. “And I hate when you hurt.”
He caresses my cheek. “If my wife wants a hug, fuck it, that’s what she gets.”
“Humph! Broken ribs and all?”
“One rib, girl.”
He lets me go and heads to the bedroom, where a Disney movie is playing loudly on the Pay Per View channel. Natasha loves to sing to the music.
“I’ll be back after a quick shower.”
“Okay,” I smile and then address Yuri. “I’m sure Natasha will fall asleep in the stroller soon. You guys can just go hit the club.”
“You look beautiful, Zariah. Nyet, I’m not feeling the club scene. What were your plans?” He asks.
“We were going to head to the dolphin exhibit at The Mirage,” I begin. Due to how forlorn he’s looked this weekend, I add, “would you like to tag along?”
“Of course, more time with my Chak Chak.”
“Chalk what?” My eyebrow crinkles.
“Chak Chak. Vassili calls her that sometimes. But dah, I’ll definitely come. Malich doesn’t gamble, it’s no fun alone. There’s nothing else for me to do,” he pouts. “Taryn is sick so…”
“Taryn is sick?” I repeat, having spoken with her earlier yesterday. She was bragging about a date with a New York Banker. The guy had sent her a first-class ticket to come see him. Feeling sorry for the big guy, I wave a hand and keep the manipulation on rotation with, “Oh, yeah, she is cramping.”
“She told me she had a stomach ache,” Yuri’s eyes shade in thought.
“Which is it, girl?” Vassili’s tone is curved as if he’s testing me.
Where the heck did he come from? I turn around. He is definitely in a defensive stance, with his shirt off, jagged muscles, a bandage around his hard abdomen, and a bath towel in his hand. “Cramping or a stomach ache?” His gaze narrows.
“It’s the same thing, Vassili,” I cut my husband a look. Then offer Yuri a reassuring smile. Taryn is fucked up. “Um, I’m going to help the big bully shower. If you hear Natasha getting restless, check in.”
With a small nod, Yuri settles down on the couch. He sits, wide legged and fingers steepled in thought.
Vassili stands at the door to the bedroom as I enter.
“Congratulations, Zariah, you could’ve saved his life,” Vassili tells me.
“How?” I scoff.
“He wants to marry the bitch.”
“Oh God, that’s a bad idea.” Shit, I have no poker face unless I’m in a courtroom. We move out of the way since the television is across from the bed where Natasha is laying like the princess that she is. There’s a scattering of pillows on the floor around the bed, although, our daughter is a pro at the pull-up and can shimmy down a rope if necessary.
“Ya think? Fuck yeah, it’s an awful idea. This is the first time Yuri has dated a female for longer than a few months. He cares about that bitch, and evidently, she doesn’t share his feelings. You should’ve said something.”
I head to the luxurious bathroom. “Yuri’s your cousin, why me?”
“It’s easier when it comes from a girl, shit, I don’t know. I’ve never been fucking cheated on.” Vassili closes the bathroom door behind him. Crap, I’m locked in with him. My husband never argues or debates with me. First of all, he says a man should not argue period. It’s for women. Sexist much. Secondly, he’s afraid of confrontation—or he was before he had a broken patella. I won all fights by default. Meaning he’d be quiet until he was calm enough to chat. After his patella broke he used that forearm conditioning thingamajig to get under my skin while I tried to carry on a debate with him.
Right now, I’m not in the mood to defend Taryn, argue or chat. Because battle wounds are sexy.
I try to conclude my opposing argument with another tender kiss on his lips. Then I murmur, “And you will never be cheated on because I love you with all of me. I think the consensus is that either one of us would murder the other due to infidelity so let’s get out of their business.”
His frown deepens. “So, my cousin loses out tens of thousands of dollars on a wedding ring for that bitch, fuck that! You go tell him that his bitch is a bitch.”
My hand goes to my hip. “Vassili, if you don’t stop calling my friend—”
He corners me against the counter, his hands slamming down on either side of the edge. “What are you going to do?”
My fingers brush ever so softly against the “K” in KILLER across his left pectoral. My voice is silky as sex. “Vassili, may I suck your cock?”
“Nyet! ... Da!” He growls and then nudges his head to the floor. I sink to my knees. Vassili leans back against the counter. The sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper moving titillating slow sends a rush of saliva into my mouth.
I gulp it down, imagining his seed. Vassili fists his cock, running his large hand over his extremely long, thick erection. Damn, but I want that cock all over me. In my mouth, between my breasts, pounding my pussy, and he might not even have to get me drunk enough for some anal action.
My fighter looks ruggedly sexy. His bruises enhance how strong he is. I’m imagining him slaughtering my pussy as hard as he slaughtered Karsoff. Kill the cat. He hits his cockhead playfully against my cheek. “You wanna suck daddy’s cock?”
“I want to suck daddy’s cock and I want daddy’s cum in my mouth. All over me…” Shit, did I just say that? I’m hypnotized by the way his hand works his cock. Wish it were me.
My husband’s eyes glint a gorgeous obsidian and his mouth pitches into a cocky grin. “Okay.”
Vassili stops fisting his dick and I throw my lips onto it with eagerness. My mouth is warm and wet against his hot, slick, titanium rod. I toss it back down my throat and attempt to gulp the head of him with my tonsils.
I glance up at him.
“Fuck, keep your eyes on me, Zar.” He commands. “You my good girl?”
I hum the perfect response against his crown.
“Nyet, Zariah, you’re my bad bitch tonight.”
My eyes stay trained on him as his cock pounds my brains with each swish of my neck.
“I can cum over your face?”
I nod.
He grips my ponytail and I choke his cock deep into my mouth.
“Fuck yourself, Zar. If you want me to nut all over you, fuck yourself.”
My neck action keeps my head bobbing up and down. Like I’m going for an apple in a water filled barrel each time I meet my goal, the tip of his dick slamming my tonsils. I reach down over my skin-tight dress and grab my tit. My body is hot, my pussy is aching.
“Fuck that pussy, girl. I can’t cum over you unless you cum all over your fingers.”
“Mmmm.” I moan. I’m in love with the taste of his dick. It takes me a while. From tweaking my nipples to roaming my hand along my abdomen.
Vassili reaches down, growls at the pain from his rib and helps me pull my tight dress up over my hips. I press my thong to my side, shove his cock back into my mouth and three of my fingers into my treasure. The release of feeling something inside of me has me momentarily satiated.
“Suck harder, or I won’t cum, Zar.”
My tongue swirls around his head, and then to the back of my throat, he goes.
“You wet?”
I do my best to nod while sucking his cock like it’s solid gold.
“Work that pussy.”
My fingers move rapidly. Vassili’s hand twines in my hair, pumping me up and down. My lips glide over his cock at a rapid pace. A flash of ecstasy masks my face when I start drenching down rain on my fingers. His seed sprints into my mouth. He pulls out. I’m masturbating the long orgasm out of me as his warm cum shoots across my lips. I lock my mouth open, to catch as much as I can, and continue screwing myself.
When it’s all done, I rub my index finger along my chin, drag the rest of his cream to my lips and lick my mouth clean. Vassili is staring at me like he wants to screw me now. Again…
And then he holds out a hand, helping me up. I start to kiss him. He turns away.
“Okay…” My eyes water instantly.
“Nyet, nyet.” He kisses my mouth hard, then rough, then tender. He feasts on my lips and tongues me down. “I’m sorry, Zariah.”
“What? Vassili, did the doctor give you any pain meds?” I place a hand on my hip. The momentary lurch of my heart has ended, now I’m concerned. He’s usually knocked out after norcos. But what’s up with his ever-changing attitude?
“I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”
“We’re married, Vassili. We were having raunchy porno fun.” I scoff. He seems consumed by anger at himself. Disappointment? I grin. “If you call me that while we are arguing I’ll chop your balls off.” Really, I’ll try.
“I won’t call you it ever again.”
Natasha starts crying. The credits for the Disney movie are running.
I sigh heavily. “Vassili…”
He steps inside of the elongated shower and turns it on. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this discussion is over, no matter how much I want to resolve things.