Zariah
On Monday morning, I called my father’s friend at the Levine and Son law firm, and explained the confusion. Simply put, Maxwell was doing his best to place me where he wanted me the most, knowing good and well I had already warmed my way into his old colleague’s law firm.
Instead, I drove to Billingsley Legal, a much newer, less revered, family focused legal firm bright and early. My plan to work part-time and then spend the rest of my day studying for the impending bar exam this July, was set in full swing. Though Monday, my father and I went in search of an apartment, the next few days are filled with bar exam material and work. What's even sadder about my current pathetic existence? Ronisha and I have grown apart. We met at Panera Bread on Wednesday evening, but neither of us had much to talk about. I hate that we’re drifting like this.
***
My hair has crinkled and shrunk, into a curly Afro, after a deep conditioning in the shower. I'm dressed in silk pajamas shorts and a matching camisole. The sheer drapes bellow into the bedroom, adding delectable coolness to my dewy brown skin. I scan my bookshelf for something old school, skimming across ”Flyy Girl”, which is sandwiched between two high school favorites, “The Great Gatsby” and “Leaves of Grass.” Nothing in this world can persuade me that love exists more than books and certain songs. The songster who introduced me to love was D’Angelo, back in his Angie Stone days. Though I'm not convinced love is attainable to all—my mom, Ronisha and so many girls I cross paths with on a daily basis being prime examples—he had a dreamy way of making me crave love.
My fingertips skim over my old romance collection, searching for the book which always coupled well with D’Angelo, and placing my heart in that fall-in-love state of mind.
“It’s 8:20, Zariah,” Vassili’s hard voice is so very near and tangible.
I spin around on the balls of my feet. “Vassili, have you lost your damn mind!”
“We had a date at eight. And you still didn’t touch your pussy the way it was meant to be touched in the shower.”
“Boy—”
“Do you know what stopped me from stepping into that bathroom and taking what’s mine?” he said, his voice smooth, low, and lush. Jeans encase his bulging thighs, in a wide-legged stance. A wife beater shirt strained over his stacks of chest muscles, with a trendy blazer amplifying his sexy, bad-ass persona by infinity. Devilish good looks, and he has the nerve to have a cross around his neck.
He’s seated on the ottoman on the veranda outside of my bedroom. The expensive bottle of scotch, my father keeps under lock and key, dangling in his hand. “Respect, Zariah. Respect stopped me from stepping into the bathroom as you showered fully naked. Your heavenly pussy drenching wet, while you massaged it with brown sugar. Is it brown sugar soap or do you fucking smell as good as brown sugar?”
With a lump lodged in my throat, I mumble, “Actually it’s pink Himalayan salt scrub.” I shake the cobwebs from my brain. Why the hell did I just answer this deranged man’s question? “Why are you here?” I question with a slight attitude.
“It’s Thursday, sweetheart. I’ve never been a prompt person, until I met you.” His eyes roam across my body. This is what happens when I call Vassili’s bluff. Looking like a hot mess, shame on me. I was going to comb my hair and put in a few braids after choosing an old book. Yet, I underestimated this man once again.
“Oh, good for you.” I grin. “When I move from here, it will be into a cheap ass apartment on the highest floor. No balcony. No damn trees for you to climb, either. Good luck, asshole.”
His frown deepens. “You aren't moving anywhere, unless it's with me.”
“You are so used to having the last word, I know good and damn well you aren't trying to give me the key to your home.” I shove a hand through my hair, coifing my coiled afro, and assure him, “You’re always good at running game. Telling me how pretty my pussy is but that you’re a bad guy. Whatever!”
“That's far from true. You refuse to give me a chance because your squeaky-clean father will be running for mayor?” He arches a thick, sexy eyebrow.
“Wow, am I that sadidy?” My mouth tenses. “In a nutshell, yes. Among an entire list of issues. You know what, Vassili, having you around has helped me brush up on my opening and closing remarks. Although, grounded in reality, I’m constantly defending my reasoning.”
“You enjoy having me around.” At that, Vassili brings the bottle to his lips. His face is still set in a deep frown, yet a twinkle in his eye, tells me he loves screwing with my mind. With each gulp, he drains down even more of my father’s most prized alcohol.
He stands up, towering over me. His breath is intoxicating, damn near capable of getting me drunk. I want to taste his lips.
“You’re my good girl, Zariah.” His mouth brushes against the corner of mine. The subtle touch sparks like wildfire, alighting my soul on fire. Then Vassili stands to his full height, my heart clenches.
This time I'm in pursuit. His mouth was close, teasingly so, and even though he’s promoted me to be good, I crave the notion of being bad for him. My tongue dips out and licks the spiced goodness of his mouth. His lips are tender, with notes of whiskey, mint, and all man, entwined within.
His hand grips my hair tightly, fingers wringing around the ultra-coiled strands. His dark gaze is deadly as he searches mine. “I’m a bad man, Zariah. Let me be honest about my intentions. I’ll never deliberately hurt you, beautiful, but the second I touch you, I’ll tarnish you. I’ll ruin you for the good guy you’ve always dreamt of.”
With the way his hand clamps into my hair, I can’t reach up to kiss away his doubt.
“You’re wrong, Vassili, I never dreamt of a knight in shining armor as a child. I've always been grounded in reality. Then I met you, and all I ever wanted was you.” His mouth crashes down onto mine. Wait, had I even finished the statement? Who cares. I rise to my tippy toes, coveting this feeling, needing it to last forever.
No, needing it to expand, to blossom. Waves of pleasure electrify throughout my body. This is how I imagined it would be to kiss him. Yes, he tasted my mouth until I was speechless on the first night. But me clamping my hands along his face, thumb caressing that jagged scar on his jaw, me kissing him long, hard; I was ready for it to lead to things that grown folks do. But I was too afraid to be bad for him before.
I was in awe, damned teenage type awe, while he caressed my pussy before, now my pussy is crying for the fighter. I'm not a kid anymore. And the way his tongue caresses mine tells me that he is aware that I'm all woman.
His hand clutches the back of my neck. Ownership is freeing. Vassili presses his forehead against mine. His minty breath tingles my nose. “Mhmmm, Zariah,” he groans, “I'm going to feed you then I'm gonna eat you.”
I lose all sight of rationale. My entire body is hot, on fire, and wet all at the same time. Yet, Vassili reels me back down to reality, ordering me to get dressed and pack an overnight bag.
###
I had opted for my canvas duffle bag when Vassili told me to pack light. I ended up stuffing my old high school backpack to the brim because ‘packing light’ was anti-conducive to being prepared for any outing. I wound up on the back of a matte black Harley Davidson with modified chrome finishes and wide back wheel.
Now, we’re in the kitchen of his beachfront home in Venice. My head cocks to the side, and I lick my lips. “No water?” I refer to his beloved vodka. Recalling the taste of whiskey on his lips not an hour ago. The twining of whiskey around his tongue took me into a tailspin and I have the inkling that Russian vodka might send me to the point of no return. It's like I'm tipsy off of his mouth.
“Nyet. You are my water.”
Heat erupts all over my body as I reminisce on the moment that Vassili licked the glossed juices from my pussy off of his finger. He’d said then I tasted of water. I place my apple juice on the counter and remove the small glass of cranberry and vodka from his large, rough hand. I take it to the head, like a shot.
It's smooth and makes me tingle down below, the way Vassili laughs, a low growl of a laugh. “Sweetheart, I wanted you sober, best believe I'll be fully aware tonight, too.”
“Mmmm,” I moan as his hand goes to the back of my neck, claiming my mouth with his own. Dizzy butterflies take flight. A delightful fog descends over my brain until I yelp. “Dang, Vassili must you give me a heart attack?” I ask, cradled in his arms. It's as if every move he makes I am unable to gage. He's forever keeping me on my toes or rather in this instant, picking me up.
He carries me down along a hallway. It's dim and I note a few crystal sconces as we go. My heart is damn near beating out of my chest cavity. We. Are. Headed. To. His. Bedroom.
I'm as quiet as can be, conscious of every inhale and exhale of breath. I'm gingerly placed onto my own feet as Vassili presses open the double doors.
I'm faintly aware that I can barely breathe at all as I take in the sight before me. Half of the room is glass walls the dark ocean raging below. Stars twinkling to the same tune of a sea of scented candles. Not just any candles. Tapered ones. Chunky short ones. Tea candles and more. An array of thoughtfulness that Vassili considered when planning my first time.
Tongue feeling like sandpaper, I inquire, “Aren't you supposed to feed me first?” Shit, I am a master debater. Not here. Not now. Now, I'm just so lost in him.
“We will get to that,” is Vassili’s only response as he takes my hand and leads me to the bed. His wrist flicks and I am turned until my back is to the edge of the bed. I glance up at him with a million thoughts roaming through my mind. I want to please him, but I know that so many women already have. How damn high has the bar been set?
“This is all about you tonight.” His words seem to tell me that my newness to sex is a jewel that he intends to cherish.
His hand takes hold of my large breast. Electricity shoots to my core as he squeezes through my silk camisole.
I start to reach for the hem of my shirt.
“Don't fucking think about it, Zariah,” he orders. There'll be no undressing for him from me. “I've got everything covered. Tonight, you speak only if I'm doing something wrong. If you don't like the way I lick your pussy lips, by all means, cuss me the fuck out. If I don't dig deep,” he says, his other hand slamming down onto my ass. “You'll let me know, won't you?”
Vassili cocks an eyebrow waiting for my reply. I hurry to nod my head.
“Good girl.” His lips brush across my forehead. “You are my good girl.”
My shirt is pulled over my head by him. And then he unzips my jeans, tantalizingly slow. He lowers his large frame, considerate while assisting me with removing one pant leg after the other.
Onto the bed he places me. “With your legs closed, we won't ever get anywhere. Besides, we have to work our way up to me fucking you with your legs crossed, Zariah.”
“Duly noted.” That sharp wit reminds me why I enjoy him so much. My own laughter douses me with a dose of confidence. “Maybe I want you naked, too.”
“Oh, you want me naked? As you wish.” His shirt swoops over his head. That wavy Mohawk of hair, flopping onto his forehead, but damn, when I glance at his chest, my mouth is drooling with saliva. He isn't overly muscular but I swear before God that He himself had a good time offering Vassili perfect genes. An eight pack, reinforcements on each side. With his other hand, he flicked open the button on his jeans. Shit, Vassili doesn't pull his pants off. I'm just left with the tease.
Vassili reaches down to kiss me. His hands work beneath my back to unclasp my bra and I'm sprung free. When his fingers touch my thong, a burning sensation sets fire to my skin. He doesn't lift or pull down my panties.
There's a twinkle in his eyes as he catches my gaze.
“You know I've waited seven years for my very first taste.”
“I'm sorry.” The words lurch from my mouth as I return to my simpleton state of drool and desire.
“Fuck right, you're going to be sorry. I’m going to eat your beautiful, little pussy until you pass out,” he growls, and then i hear a shredding sound so erotically pleasing to my ears that my head kisses the pillow. My thong is no more. Vassili scoots down on the bed. I'm on bated breath as his paws slam down on the inside of my thighs spreading my legs wide.
“I’m going to make cum until you go crazy,” Vassili purrs like a lion against my pussy. Shit, I nearly cum just from the sound of his voice. His tongue trails out and glides across my second set of lips, slithering around my clit. There's a symphony of loud moaning, and I realize that it's mine the instant my legs shake. It's a feat to keep my thighs wide open for him, as I tremble like a leaf, while cumming all over his face.
His mouth rocks along my core. Tongue edging its way inside of me. Automatically, my hips swivel, twisting upward. Beckoning his tongue to break me apart more and more. His nose nudges against my swollen clit, offering more stimulation and bringing my desire into a tailspin.
“Mmmmm, Vassili…” I squeeze my eyes shut, stopping the flow of tears, at the notion of how I've saved myself all for this man. My thighs can hardly stay open as I cum over and over.
“Fuck me,” I shout, begging for him to screw me with his fingers, his cock! My words might even be Swahili. Vassili doesn’t come up for air as stars dance before my eyes.
I grit down on my bottom lip, riding out another orgasm. He eats my pussy like it’s a full-stack of hotcakes.
“Oh my, Lawd, Jesus, Damn, Vassili, Fuck,” I scream, clawing at the headboard.
He grumbles against my labia, alternating from titillating slow tongue movements to spearing his tongue deep inside of me. My pussy is drowning wet. My cheeks are flooded with tears. If I could just reach up and look at him. I imagine his chiseled face is rain soaked from my goods, yet energy fails me, I’m unable to move.
Moans flow from my mouth nonstop as he stiff tongues deep enough to hit my g-spot. Deliberate and slow, Vassili brings me over the edge, again, and I scream out, face sliding side to side as I pull on the sheets. Shit, I groan from frustration and needing him inside of me. “Vassili! I-I can’t cum again.”
“Yes, girl, you can cum again. You absolutely will,” he orders.
He leans up. His body is art, magnificently constructed. My gaze roams all over him as he finally tugs out of his pants and briefs. His shaft is like an ivory elephant’s trunk, thick and long, with these beautiful ridges and veins.
I whimper, “Please…” My throat is too heavy to speak more. To beg for something more because I am in heaven, just as much as I am in hell, right now. My head kisses the pillow once again as his handsome face disappears between my thighs. I can hear the cocky bastard saying, “You made me wait, Zar, now I get to break the pussy.”
His wet, stiff tongue glides around my clit in a perfect circle. Slower and slower he goes, focusing on my tiny nub until my legs go rigid. My limbs feel heavy like lead as he catches a rhythm. God, that rhythm has me bypassing Mariah Carey’s vocals. Damn, it I could shatter these windows as another orgasm slams through my curvy frame.
This motherfucker wants me committed.
He wants me in a damn straitjacket, rocking back and forth. No wait, my hips are rocking back and forth, coasting over his tongue. He hasn’t killed me yet. A psychotic laugh from deep within my body tugs at all the energy I have.
“Pahlezzzz, pahlezzzzzz,” I beg, feigning for the fighter. Heat and pressure tightens at my second set of lips until my pussy is twitching like crazy. I twerk on his tongue because that’s all the motherfucker is offering, and it’s enough to get me off a thousand times over.
Out of nowhere, I feel one finger caressing my perineum; that silky soft patch between my ass and pussy. More tears flow like rivers from my cheeks. Vassili is meticulous in the movement of his finger along my swollen lips. He goes gliding across my inner walls, and the crackhead in me, that just got her fix, sniffles back tears.
“Ohhhh, Vassili,” I scream as more fingers begin to sooth my trembling pussy. This time my hips rock along his fingers until a peaceful moan tumbles from my mouth.
He climbs on top of me now. My mouth caresses across his stubble, reassuring him. His hand clamps against my thigh, he pulls it up across his hips. Internally, I tell myself not to hyperventilate. He's gonna kill me. I’ve always feared sex. Not just any sex, His sex.
My core is wet, my labia heavy from his taste. Yet it twitches as his crown glides against it.
“Mmmm…” My eyes instantly close in delight. His dick is smooth and slides along my moistness so perfectly. His cockhead rubs along my arousal and then stops against my shell and I relax as his mouth descends over mine, stealing away my anxiousness. Vassili’s tongue circles around mine as he begins to ease inside.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Zar.” His eyes are on mine as he slowly stretches me.
The pain is enough to bring tears to my eyes, yet I savor each second.
“You are perfect. Too fucking perfect for me,” he leans back down and kisses me, “but that shit doesn’t matter. Now all of you belongs to all of me.”