Vassili
My cock is bruised and I’m loving it. She’s the sweetest, tightest fit I’ve ever had. Did I hurt her? Zariah didn't respond when I asked. Her moans tuning me out. I was an animal. Slamming my cock into her tight pussy, shaping it just for me.
I hold her tightly, reminding myself not to squeeze too tight. Don't fucking hurt her, Vassili, you dick. Seven years ago I made a promise to God not to screw Zariah if He gave me a sign. Her leaving for Georgia was that sign. I’m too smart to make any more promises to God I can’t keep, but even in my selfishness I can't hurt her, and I will kill anyone else who does. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her go, so I hug her tighter still. Her thick, curly hair tickles my chin. Heart drumming against mine as she catches her breath.
“Vassili,” she murmurs against my chest. “Is it okay if I fall in love with you?”
“What, baby?” I glance down, those large brown eyes of hers were closed.
She opens them and glances at me before laying her head back down on my chest in ultimate comfort. “I’m twenty-five years old. Never knew the feeling. Had no anticipation of it, either. Maybe this feeling in my heart, stomach, the haziness in my mind, is all lust. You’re my first.”
“Baby, you’re analyzing love like it’s a potential case to accept or deny.” I nudge her chin up, until I can look into those innocent orbs again.
“Yeah, I am. So far, the cons outweigh the pros. Maybe it’s lust—”
“I love you, too, baby. So get that shit out of here. It’s not just lust.” She whimpers as I kiss her mouth.
“You love me too?” Zariah asks, seeming to look at me for the first time. “I do love you, Vassili.”
“Fuck yeah, I even love the air you breathe, Zariah, when you get on my last goddamn nerve.”
“All right, but can you smile at me more?”
“What do you mean?” I grasp my hair, half the damn time she doesn’t make a lick of sense. “You said something about me smiling earlier, baby, I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You’re always frowning, and ‘talking like this’,” she says, her forced tensed lips turning into an easy smile.
“Sweetheart, you’re mimicking some other accent, not mine.”
She chuckles at me.
“I didn't think my smiling mattered. Truth be told, I’d murder just to see you smile.” I won't tell her that I'm still confused on which I like more, attitude Zariah or happy Zariah.
She laughs harder. “You’d kill for a grin. Whateva, Vassili.”
“You came into the gym ready to blow the bitch down. You were drop dead beautiful. Why wouldn't I want to make you happy? You're even more beautiful years later. You look fucking gorgeous,” I tell her, hand entwined with hers while planting a kiss along her jawline. Can’t be a pussy and tell her it was love at first sight, not just for her looks. Shit, she has those curves from her plush mouth all the way to that sweet cunt and below. But it was all in the way she claimed Vadim’s Gym as her own for justice’s sake.
As if her smile wasn't already bright as the stars, Zariah’s grin amplifies. “Thank you, Vassili.”
She offers one last grin before climbing toward the passenger side. With her pussy puckering up at me from beneath her skirt, I reach out for a touch.
“Tight,” I say, enthralled while skimming a thumb against the swollen lips of her cunt, they’re thickening ever so beautifully. Her breathing shallows as I stop, and she sinks down slowly into her spot, almost as if her pussy is in the same pain my cock is in.
I rub my glossed finger along my mouth in thought. The brown sugar scent of her has me licking my lips, now. “Beautiful, your pussy looks so good right now. Good enough to eat, but I have to feed you, first.”
“Hmmm…” Her eyes beg for another good, hard fuck. Almost trance like. She can take more of a pounding. But I won’t break her just yet.
“Before I feed you, love, clean me up.” I point at my cock, slick with our cum.
She leans back over, tasting the thick coating of her own pleasure, and lapping it up. At the head of my cock, remnants of my cum has her tongue swirling leisurely, as if she dare not miss a drop.
“Good girl.”
A few minutes later, the weak glow from the visor mirror, encompasses all her attention. She fluffs her thick natural hair and applies more lipstick.
“You ready?” I ask once she’s settled back against the seat again.
“Yeah.” She nods.
I get out, and come around the Mercedes truck. There's no such thing as keeping my hands to myself. The second I open the passenger’s door for her to exit, she gives a little tug of her skirt, beaming bright as ever.
We head to the doors of Urban Kashtan. The place is new era Russia, but the food tastes like somebody’s fucking babushka—grandma— was slaving away in the kitchen.
A while later, we’ve settled down at a tiny table, surrounded by so much memorabilia that each table has a level of intimacy. I ask, “All right, Zariah, the shchi or pho?”
“You could’ve taken me to Wienerschnitzel, that's about as Russian as I'm going to get.” She twirls her spoon around the cabbage soup while chewing on her bottom lip. I take it as my chance to reach in and bite her lip, too. My mouth skimming over the exact spot she chewed on, until I sink my teeth into her plush mouth.
“I love you,” I growl the words. “Never saw myself as mushy, then I met you.”
Fireworks spark, bursting in Zariah’s pupils. “Who you telling?” she jokes. “Kidding, kidding. You are unexpected, but that makes it all the better, Vassili. Here's to the man who…” she holds up the vodka, “thugged his way into my life, and held my heart under siege.”
“And I'll never let it, or you, go.” Again, I take to her lips with fierceness.
“Exactly,” she nods before we both toss the drinks back.
“Can I ask you something?” She lingers. Sweet mouth still slightly peppered with the pussy juices she licked off me, and her gaze is still so innocent, too. Her index finger drawing along my bristled jaw.
“We've already agreed to not having any …” shit, can't say ‘secrets’ Anatoly is my only one, “lies.”
“Why help?” Zariah sucks her lips into her mouth, as if this soul question has been analyzed a thousand times. “I told you my story. Hoping that the bad cards Ronisha was dealt would allow me to leave a Resnov’s sight after I cussed you all out. I was sick and tired of her being abused. But why did you really help, Vassili. It couldn't have been to see me smile. As scared as I was after finding out your last name, you could've made me do anything. Smile… anything.”
Sasha instantly enters my mind.
“Because you were sexy as fuck. You are sexy,” I explain. “I told you, the gym that motherfucker was a member of wouldn't take so kindly to your pretty ass mouth. Didn't want to hear about you being popped over that mouth.”
“Humph, aside from me, Vassili, why help?”
“Your story compelled me.” I crunch on a few shards of ice while Zariah patiently waits. She's already got the mentality of a lawyer. I toss my drink back, then mumble, “Your friend reminded me of a girl I once knew.”
“Were you in love with her?” she questions.
I laugh boisterously.
“Were you?” she demands.
“You fucking kidding? We just declared how new this shit was for the both of us. The girl was my sister.”
Zariah gasps sharply. “What happened to her? Did she have a disability or delay similar to—”
“Nyet, nothing like that. Unless you account being female. Where I'm from, the Resnov name means nothing for a girl.”
She places her spoon into the bowl. I sink back in the seat. I've got my girl’s full attention and no amount of steering clear of the topic will work. Besides, something in me feels like telling Zariah. “Sasha, my sister wasn't treated so kindly by the men in her life, like your friend Ronisha.”
“Damn, I’m not even that close to Ronisha anymore, which just…” Zariah bites her lip and a grimace pierces her heavenly face. “Oh no. Your father… Was he her father?”
“Da, why?”
“Statistically speaking men aren't often as cordial when caring for stepchildren…” her voice drowns out, she shrugs as if further explanation is no longer important.
“Yeah, that mudak treated his only daughter, his blood, like shit. Some of my father’s guys were roughing her up one day.”
She gasps. “What happened?”
“Got in my first fight, that's what.” I shrug. “When I told my dad about it, he didn't give a fuck. He grabbed my face and asked about the black eye I had. That mudak had those dudes and their families dealt with, for me, not because they abused his daughter.”
“What? What happened next?”
“Nothing much,” I start. “Sasha, man, was she beautiful. She had dark skin and gold hair…24 karat gold. She got touched, again. I fought harder, started working out more. We moved around.”
“You didn't live with your parents?”
“Nyet, every couple of years my dad had a new bitch who brought more minions into this world.”
“What about your mom? Did she try to help?”
“Skipped town soon as she got the chance.” I glance away. “Sasha always wanted to keep the peace. And I was just a kid, getting my ass beat because grown-ass men couldn't keep their hands off her. Sasha was pure goodness through it all. As we were moved around from my father's girls—those piz’das never really watched us—she made friends with our half brahs and sisters.” I almost laugh. “I wasn't so nice to them. Spent most time at the boxing gym after class. Didn't bully them, but people knew when not to test me or talk to me.”
Her teary gaze sparkles somewhat. “You have your moments of being very guarded.”
“Yeah, I guess I still do. Sasha could go from fighting one of my father’s goons off of her to baking medovik, this cake that takes forever to make and tastes like honey. She taught me how to make that goddamn pancake I forced you to try, that you loved, since you didn't want eggs.”
Zariah sniffles with a smile.
“One day, Sasha just didn't feel like baking or cooking or lighting up the room with her smile anymore. Shit,” I whisper, breathing deeply. “I didn't even know she wanted to die until I found her with a needle in her arm. Overdosed with her father's very own product. She was eleven, twelve maybe.”
My woman caresses my cheek, again. “I'm so sorry, Vassili.”
“Let's not fuck up our mood, baby.” I grab the drink, pour us more. “You and Ronisha aren’t too close? How is she working doubles at Shakey’s?”
“I'll pass,” she waves away the drink. “I'm tipsy.” Her lips twist in thought. “Wait, you're aware Ronisha works at Shakey’s Pizza.”
“Da, she has the Resnov name behind her and doesn't even know it. Keeping her safe offered me peace of mind. You go postal. I turn killer again.”
Zariah offers a sentimental squeeze to my forearm. “You'd do anything for me. Vassili…”
“Baby, you know me well. But, if you start crying, I get angry, believing I've done something wrong.” I caress her neck. Blinking back an image of Sasha crying. She'd cry in my arms, but never wanted me to defend her. She always put me first, failing her is my biggest regret. “Don't cry, Zar.”
“Not even happy tears?” She gently tugs her bottom lip with her pearly white teeth.
I shake my head. No tears period. I grab the bottle, pouring the vodka into her mouth. She gulps some down. I pour more, place the bottle onto the table, and then quickly drink from her lush mouth. Our tongues entwine. My hand slips into the hot juicy apex of her curvy thighs.
Zariah places her palm over mine. A ceasing attempt.
“What you doing, girl?” I nip at her lip.
“Not here,” she murmurs, mahogany skin burning by the second.
“I could fuck you anytime.” My tongue glides over her bottom lip, tasting traces of alcohol and sweetness. But I still remove my hand, I don't want to obscure my respect for her. Though I'm a bull, ready to screw her at the drop of a dime, she ain’t like the others. She is my woman; the one I love.
“Mmmm, okay, get me home, Vassili.” She picks up the bottle. “Is this ours?”
“Da.”
With a quick zip of her hungry, dilated orbs, Zariah smiles at me mischievously. She rubs the bottle against the inside of her breast. “You can pour this anywhere you'd like, once we get home.”
My cock goes from slightly hard, to fully standing to attention. Shit, I can see my balls clinching, as I cum for days all over her.
“Anywhere?” I lean into her. Hand engulfing her much smaller one, until I have the bottle. I grab it and point it between her thighs. “So I can lap you up like a fucking dog?”
“I said anything, Vassili.”
“What about your ass, I can see the liquid rushing over your dark brown skin, into that puckered little hole.” I kiss her fervently on the neck. “Can I lick it all up,” I ask, as my tongue drags up her cheek. Shit, I can already imagine gliding it over her tiny asshole.
“Now you're just being a nasty ass, Vassili.” She chuckles, although eating up all of my words.
I unscrew the top of the drink and guzzle it all down.
“Boy, what was the meaning of that?” She smirks.
“We need a new bottle, baby.” Right at that moment, a waitress is walking by. I quickly ask for the check and another bottle, in Russian, while Zariah giggles about how crazy I am.
“Yeah, I probably am crazy. I've had a few concussions, sweetheart. We need a full bottle for all the curves you have.”
I stand, grabbing my wallet from my back jean pocket.
“Um-hmm, long as I drive us home.”
“Nyet, baby. You just relax and I'll give you instructions on how you can prepare yourself for me.”
“By masturbating, right? I'm way ahead of you,” she scoffs. “Vassili, I am driving.”
“Da, you can get yourself off.” My voice lowers as the waitress returns. She places the bottle and the closing tab onto the table.
“Sorry for you. I won't be capable of any such thing while driving.”
I glare at her scoldingly and pluck up enough of the change to still leave a good tip. Once outside, Zariah demands, “Cough up the keys, Vassili, or you've paid for another uncorking fee and bottle in vain.”
“You serious?”
“These legs lock.”
“Should've ridden the Harley. You couldn’t drive us back then.”
“I was never one for sitting in the house as a kid. I know all the bus routes, from here to the valley,” she scoffs, as I fish for the keys in my jacket.
“I never get drunk, baby, and wouldn't drive if I really was. You think I’d put your life in danger?”
“But, you downed the entire bottle, without much help. Should I strap you into the passenger seat as well?”
My teeth grit in response. We get into my Mercedes, then Zariah pulls out from the curb.
“I don't mind driving. Oftentimes, you zip through so many cars, as if this is a sports car instead of a big ass SUV, that my stomach knots.”
“Need directions?” I ask.
“Ha, I'm not a defenseless woman. You're squirming in your seat like I'm the one driving for Grand Prix.”
Before I have a moment to retort about her being the first to drive my shit, there's a loud blurp sound behind us. The flash of lights on the police cruiser make me roll my eyes. These bitches…
“Zariah, I'll do the talking.”
“What? We haven't broken any laws.” She signals, just a few yards away from the freeway onramp, and parallel parks next to an ARCO gas station. Shifting gear into park, she argues all the way. “I am driving perfectly. This asshole is wasting our time.”
Her argument goes through one ear and out the other. Thank God I'm not the target of her wrath. I lean my head against the side window aware of exactly what the cop wants.
Nothing.
No need shitting bricks or losing my cool. “Zariah, will you let me handle it?” I cock an eyebrow.
“No, if he can't justify pulling us over, which he cannot, I'll get his badge number. Tomorrow morning, I will—”
I chuckle softly. “Damn, you have a fucking mouth.”
“Don't, Vassili,” she says as she points a finger at me. “Don't place yourself on my shit list, too.”
I turn my head away, kneading the top of my spine. The officer knocks on the driver’s window. Stiff lipped, Zariah presses the button and it zips down. The man is black, much lighter than Zariah, with flared nostrils and dark eyes that cut their way from her to me.
“How can I help you, officer… Jackson, 237….” She reads out his badge number.
I smirk.
“Ma'am can you step out of the car, please?” Jackson asks.
“Nope. I just asked how can I assist you in completing your civic duties? What compelled you to stop us?” Zariah argues.
Aware that she won't make this easy, I start to unbuckle my seatbelt. The cop places up a hand, gesturing for me to stop.