Vassili
A few years back, out of the blue, Zariah stopped calling and stopped replying to my text messages. I ordered Yuri to visit her college. Check for her at the dorm, the part-time job she held in the registrar’s office, fucking search for her in her classes, but don’t return until he’d confirmed she was A-fucking-Okay. Yuri reported that he saw her at the Spelman library, head in a book, studying. No marks. No bruises. No problems.
Tonight, after hitting the shower, I glance at my phone to see if she'd responded. My mouth hitches to the left. She said ‘okay’.
I hurry and grab my things from the locker. I dressed in faded jeans, a thermal shirt and my boots. Yuri and Nestor sent the usual lingering and hopeful females away from me. Those mudaks were all too happy to share an extra round of pussy, since I had told them tonight was for me and Zariah.
When I step back into the arena, the cage is gone. The stage is halfway deconstructed. I glance around at the sea of chairs, one portion folded, and the other in the process of being folded, by a handful of workers. An image of Zariah, cuddled in my arms, eighteen, and fast asleep crosses my mind. I never knew such peace existed in the world. The next morning, she shattered it all, with her desire to leave for college.
Guess that’s what happens when you bargain with God after taking your first life? After murdering Sergio, I prayed. I told God I wouldn’t fuck her on the first night unless she gave the go ahead. The next morning, the Lord gave me the sign that I wouldn’t get to have this innocent beauty, anyway. She was moving far away.
Now, it’s been years since I’ve seen her, in the flesh. The feel of her body is still ingrained in my brain. My gaze sweeps across the room again. Where is she? My usual frown is deep set as I turn around. And then the air expels from my lungs as my eyes land on her big, mahogany, innocent eyes.
She's hugging a leather jacket to her chest. It's blocking her sweet, succulent pussy that I never got to stretch and mold against my cock. The memory of it, from her dressed in only panties and bra that night, is still fresh in my mind, as are those thick hips and toned thighs. There's no makeup on her face, allowing me to view her, in all her natural glory, without a single flaw to be found on her dark brown skin.
Shit. I’ve never liked a color more than when I first laid eyes on her, in Vadim’s Gym.
Thick pink lips frame a bright white smile when she asks, “You thought I left?”
“I thought I'd have to come get you.” I shrug.
“Oh, you thought you’d have to come get me?” She smirks. “Hmm, damn, you were always confused as to what belongs and doesn’t belong to you, Vassili. Are you still thinking to boss me around?”
“Depends,” I tell her, closing in the space between us. She doesn't tremble in my arms as she once did, and I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing.
“Depends on what?” Her mouth is lush, just waiting for me to dominate those lips.
“Did you wait for me?”
Zariah’s gaze darkens in confusion. “I'm here, aren't I?”
“You know what I meant.” I could take her here, now. But, I step back some, instead. When she only bites her lip in response, and it tells me that no one else has touched her. Now, I can finally breathe freely. Why didn't I just stop by in Georgia, all those years ago? Fuck that! Why didn't I mark her that first night I promised myself she was mine? Oh, the prayer. Never bargain with God.
Zariah places her hands on her hips. “Vassili, I did not wait for you. Have some chill. Anyway, why'd you want me to stay behind this evening?”
I cock my head toward the closest exit. “Because it was either those friends of yours bring you to me or I come get you after the fight. You just returned from Berkley, Zariah. Seeing you tonight was inevitable.”
She stops walking. “W-what? You know about my friends and school?”
“I know everything about you, Miss Washington. What sort of man would I be if I didn’t keep tabs on my property?”
Her gaze cuts at me. “Your property?”
I almost smile, aware that my choice of words would make her angry. Fuck me. I don’t know which I prefer; her with an attitude or her innocent and sweet. “Before you get all angry, let's get to where I plan to take you. Can we do that? Just for the night?”
Zariah softens, as I rub a thumb along her bottom lip. Though she mellows, she turns away from my touch and takes my hand instead. “Well, I feel like this just-for-the-night crap won't stop, especially since our night together ended over seven years ago. You Resnovs don’t play fair.”
I give her hand a little squeeze. “We don't.”
###
“The Red Door? Very exclusive, even by your status. Either you have a gun in your pocket, as a form of persuasion, or you booked months in advance,” Zariah says, as I hold the door open to my G-class Mercedes truck.
“Months in advance? Nyet, I don’t even anticipate what I’ll eat for breakfast.”
Zariah licks her lips. “All right, but no strong arming the employees. My father has a new and improved business card.”
I chuckle softly. “How could I forget your social ties?”
We start toward the long line of trendy dressed people, waiting to get inside of my first lounge. It’s a cover up for my family’s business, but legitimized by a good portion of the money from my MMA sponsors. When Zariah makes her way to the back of the line, I wrap my arm around her waist, bringing her soft body closer to mine.
“Don’t insult my connections, Zariah.” I nudge her on. “I never wait for shit.”
We make it inside the three-story lounge. There are bright red streamers hanging from the ceiling. Gold plated statues of dogs posted along the walls. I can tell Malich’s upscale escorts from the regular beauties. All the men tossing around money are ugly as shit. The flashiest and wealthiest ones have one of our bitches on both of their arms. Granted, I still keep my distance from the Resnov way, The Red Door has become a peace offering to Anatoly. My father believes that I run the whores around here. When in actuality, Malich is the one that pockets the cash from connecting the bitches with willing gentlemen, I just collect from our smuggled Russian alcohol. There’s virtually no money in the food.
“Just getting us a little water,” I tell her, when she looks at me questioningly.
“Oh, a sparkling water would be nice,” Zariah says.
I nod in response. I head to the nearest bar, while she lingers, people watching. I slap my hand onto the glittery counter. The Russian behind the bar does a double take as she notices me. “Wow, Karo, I never see you here. You made me a lucky girl this evening.”
I nod. “Good, those side bets always were where the money is. I need a bottle and two shot glass. Tell the chef to head upstairs.”
“The whole roof is closed off because it might rain,” she warns.
“A little water never hurt,” I reply, not concerned, in the least bit.
Zariah is posted against a glossy red pillar when I return, she eyes me and the vodka then smirks. “So that’s the water?” she says, closing the gap between us. “There was always a very big break in communication between you and I,” she says, lips damn near kissing my earlobe.
“That so?” I say, recalling the arguments she used to start when I’d texted her pictures of my cock.
“Where are we going?” Zariah asks, as I lead her back toward the elevator.
“You thought I’d share you for the night, Zariah? Fuck, there you go, still underestimating me, girl.” I give the up button a little push with the end of the vodka bottle. “What do you think of my place?” I ask, while we wait for the car to arrive.
“Your place?” she questions, in disbelief.
I watch Zariah’s lovely ass, as she saunters into the elevator then step in beside her. I override the elevator stops for the second and third floor, pressing the button to go straight to the roof.
“Yes, beautiful. Would you like to try the food first? I remember something about the freshmen ten, when I mentioned your cheeks way back when.”
Subconsciously, she rubs a hand over her cheekbones, which are now higher and more defined. “It’s the freshman fifteen, asshole. And if you ever say I look like a chipmunk again…” she slugs me in the arm. Instantly, Zariah grumbles under her breath, rubbing her sore knuckles, due to the pain she’s caused herself hitting his solid steel frame.
“Never miscalculate your opponent’s strengths, Zariah. Suck it up,” I tell her, stepping back out of the elevator. There are hearths with glittery red glass at various sections, with chairs and couches surrounding them.
She looks just past me, and then goes silent. “Wow, this place is beautiful,” Zariah mumbles, under her breath, while following me.
“Yeah, well the whole objective was to get you alone. Somehow, I had the feeling you’d run if I took you to my house. And this is my home away from home.”
“Run? I'm not a little girl. Although it's freezing out here.” Zariah snaps, stopping short of licking those plush lips. I opt not to toss out one of my typical cocky lines. She knows good and damn well I’ll keep her warm, she is, after all, mine.
Letting her irritation cool, I pull out a box of matches, and light a cigarette. I take a quick drag then blow the exhaled smoke away from her. Once finished with it, I flick the cigarette into the hearth closest to my selected seats for the two of us. A blazing fire brightens the night around us. I sink down and pat the tiny space next to me. “I only bite when provoked, Zariah.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” she sasses back with a slight smile.
With not much room left for her, because of my size, Zariah’s curves brush against mine.
I smile and say, “See, gorgeous. You're in good company. Besides, you haven't lived since I last touched you.”
“Whateva, Vassili. Matter of fact, I preferred you a thousand miles away, faux dick pics and all. And I have too lived,” she jokes. “I was in a sorority.”
“Glad you approved of my long, fat cock. It’s one hundred percent all me, by the way.” I say reaching down between us to grab it. Every inch of my beef was hard and ready, all for her. “I’m a Russian bull, baby. As far as you living, nyet, you haven't lived. You were in the sorority esteemed for their brains. Not the one with the hot, party girls.”
Zariah’s body sinks closer to mine as she laughs. No longer tense, all soft, luscious, and sweet. She's slipping into that comfort zone we once had while messaging, “We still drank and … and I guess you’re right, I haven't lived,” she says, a little sadly. “You've been keeping tabs on me? By the way, how did you know Rhonda and Taryn were my friends?”
“Yuri. He works for me.”
“Which guy? The heavy set one or the tall, slender one. I remember them ready to pounce on me at the gym.”
“The slim one in Nestor. Heavy set? That’s polite. But da, Yuri is the fat fuck.”
“Humph.” Zariah turns toward me. “So, Yuri works for you? I remember your penchant for sidestepping certain simple questions. So I take it he doesn't work for you in a coaching, sparring regard?”
“No.”
She smirks. “I won't do these one-answer convos. Tell me more about your stalking me through Yuri? I guess it pays being Malich’s son?”
Malich—my father? I decide not to correct Zariah since my father, Anatoly Resnov is dangling at the tippy-fucking-top of America's Most Wanted list. If she thinks I'm Malich’s son, and she's ‘okay’ with it, then we’ll leave it at that. It’s better for her sanity, anyway. I plan to tell her the truth, once we are more acquainted.
She shudders as a cold wind comes along, and I know this is my saving grace. Zariah Washington will one day make a great attorney, and she’s never any good at letting me shrug shit off or be too vague.
“Sweetheart, I'm a mudak! You still cold?” I start to pull out of my jacket. “Beautiful, drink, it will warm you well.”
She picks up her glass. “I'm all right, Vassili. Please, don’t take off your jacket. Here, I'll take a sip.”
Zariah tosses the drink back and then wiggles in surprise. “Shit! Did that get stronger since I was eighteen?”
“My family is always trying to improving a product.”
She opens her mouth to argue, yet I've already placed the jacket over her.
“Thank you,” she mumbles. “So, why… why didn't you ever come to see me?”
I tell her the truth, “You weren't ready for me yet, Zar.”
“And you knew I wouldn't,” she whispers the next part, “give it up to another? Cocky much?”
“I'll agree with you. Yes, I’m cocky, but I believe in you. In you being intelligent enough not to screw any mudak,” I whisper in her ear. Shit, her beautiful body is as malleable as liquid lust. From my view point, I see the chef has just exited the elevator. He’ll, no doubt, fuck up the moment.
Her shoulders jolt, as the chef speaks Russian, apologizing for the intrusion. Our connection is shot to hell. I place a protective hand on her leg, while he places three silver dooms on the coffee table across from us.
“Dumplings,” Zariah says. “And what are those? Chicken skewers?”
“It's lamb, shashlik. Say it with me, beautiful.”
She does and then smiles.
I open the last silver dome.
“Damn, Vassili! Seriously? Fried drumettes. Oh, and none of those sissy-ass flat wingette pieces. You remembered! Now, I feel like crap for not responding to you all those years ago.” Though Zariah started off joking, I can tell her punchline choice of words are regretted instantly.
“Yeah, I remember everything about you,” is my reply, and once more those thick lips of hers, curve into a grin.