Fearless: a Sports Romance Page 6

  “Ah, don't call me Karo, Zariah. We can work you out, though.” His hand skims across my thigh and the walls of my pussy contract and spasm off key.

  It’s hard enough to ponder, let alone find my voice to speak. “Karo… I like that. Where'd you get the name?”

  “Ana— my father. It's really my middle name. But if you like the name and think it sounds hot…”

  His voice trails off. He has this way of pushing me toward the edge of insanity. He seems to know how hesitant I am, and I swear, he has intentions. Bad intentions of breaking me.

  “You’ve got something,” he says. Before I can speak, the back of his hand is rubbing along my jaw. His knuckles are the roughest padding to ever touch my lips, sending a burning fire over my skin on such a cold night. Then his hand clutches ever so softly at my throat. He tastes my lips. I can’t believe the fighter can be so attentive as his tongue twirls around mine, my tongue readily submitting to him. Fireworks go off in my nether regions, lips swelling and contracting in a way they’ve never had before.

  His other hand slips into my collar. Tremors course through my body as he squeezes my nipples while tonguing my mouth.

  Delectable and slowly, Vassili groans against me like a lion ready to devour its prey. I almost gasp when the arousal to my taut nipples ends. He reaches between my thighs and paws at my intimate place.

  “Between those curvy hips is the sweetest, ripest pussy I’ve waited seven years to taste.” His words tickle across my cheek. Now, it feels like the sun is scorching my body. Kissing me in ways that make me beg to see what else he can do with that tongue.

  I yelp as Vassili picks me up and plants me smack dab on top of his lap. Damn, his cock had seemed so huge when I first felt it before. Now, it seems to embed against much of the inside of my thigh. Though his jean material blocks us, I can feel the heat.

  It takes a moment to find my voice. I lick my lips and ask, “Vassili, what are you doing?”

  “I thought you were still cold. Did I warm you up?” There’s no need to answer his cocky-ass question. The look in his eyes tells me how pleased he is. “Oh, and you’ve been begging to see my cock, right?”

  “I’ve been begging?” I scoff.

  He leans back on the couch, one buff bicep reaching back as he places a hand behind his head. Even with a leisure demeanor, he dominates the entire roof.

  I start to move my leg from around his waist. “Boy, I haven’t beg—”

  Vassili’s other hand clamps along my hip. Our eyes lock. He holds me in place. My head is buzzing, and I haven’t had nearly as many drinks as Vassili. And true, I was still cold prior to him tasting my mouth. He gives my ass a little squeeze. Buff bicep clutching my hip, the other reaching for my hand. He places my hand on his crotch, and nudges his chin. Damn, I hold all the cards now. Fire twinkles in those devilish eyes. My tongue glides across my lips as I silently pull down his zipper. I reach in and meet warm, hard silk. This bastard isn’t wearing any boxers!

  Still leaning back, stacks of abs before me, he growls the instant I touch him. The ridges of his dick are perfectly veined in my hand. Curiosity tells me that I have a lot of exploring to do. My fingers and thumb don’t meet. That sends a rush of desire to my mouth.

  And though I’m smart enough to know that he can hurt me, I really want him to hurt me so good. He finally leans forward to taste me again. “You like that,” he tells me, helping me stroke his cock.

  “Yes.” I fork my teeth over my bottom lip. He continues to work my tiny hand along his cock while biting my lip exactly where I just did.

  “You still tight?” Vassili asks, his thick frowning mouth almost seems to be relaxing in contentment.

  “Touch yourself, Zar, I have to know if you still taste as good as water.” He pulls my hand from his pants. I don’t know whether to whimper, beg, or cry. But Vassili clasps a hand along the inside of my hip. My nether regions swell with desire as he pushes my panties to the side. I gyrate along his lap, waiting for his next move.

  “Work your pussy for me,” Vassili tells me. He clasps my wrist again. “You have tiny little fingers. Mine would fucking break you, baby.”

  Damn, he’s playing me. I want to tell him to stop gaming me up since I can still feel his fingers pleasuring me until I lose it. But the spark in his dark gaze tells me he is aware that I’m still uncomfortable with masturbation. I reach down between my thighs and give my clit a nice little squeeze to alleviate the ache within my tightness.

  “Get yourself off.” His command is more pronounced as if to tell that my attempt didn’t satiate him. I press my fingers inside of my body. It’s still a foreign feeling after all his teaching me at eighteen. So soft, a sweet little gushy feeling.

  Vassili frowns deepens. “You’ve neglected this beautiful pussy. Shame on you.”

  “Whateva, Vassili.”

  He places his hand over mine, his thumb kneading the back of my hand. I gulp down the desire to beg him to get me off. Damn, how many times have I awaken heading straight for the shower after dreaming of his touch. His dark gaze latches to mine. I plunge my fingers into my wetness while he coaxes me to love myself in ways that I never have before.

  Catching a rhythm feels good. I stroke my kitty while working my hips and gyrating around his waist. Groans come from Vassili as he leans back and fists his cock.

  “Khorosho, Zariah Khorosho.” Though I'm not sure what he has uttered, he smiles with his eyes. I moan, working my pussy, imagining that it's the fighter, so versed on pain, offering me this pleasure.

  He finally leans forward, his head tilts somewhat as he catches my dazed pupils. “You did well. Tell me how sweet you are right now, Zariah.”

  Having concentrated on filling the lonely Vassili has created within my body, my eyebrow lifts. “Huh?”

  He places a hand around my wrist, thumb gliding over the quickened pulse and holds it up. I glance at my glossed finger. The fire reflects off it. His tongue licks out as does mine, tasting the sugar from my fingers before our mouths connect.

  Our tongues twirl around each other’s in a feverish hunger. My hands clasp against his strong jaw. My mouth is coated with my own taste, and the shock hasn’t set in because I’m in the presence of my longest craving.

  “Condom, condom,” I breath the words, hardly moving my mouth from his, ready for him to break me.

  “I got you.” He slips his hand in his pocket, kissing me furiously.

  I grab his bicep; it’s steel strength against my palm, as his tongue sends me into a tailspin of delirium. Vassili places a condom on his cock, never taking his eyes off mine and his lips from my mouth. Damn, the taste of my pussy along my lips has him glued to me. Then before I can scream, my body is tossed into the air. His hands clamp down onto my ass, my thick thighs slide around his neck in one quick, effortless move. How easy had he hefted me up, and with all this ass and hips!

  My back arches as his tongue impales my pussy in one fluid motion. His lips crush against my labia as he dives deep into me. Vassili stands with me on his shoulders. I grip some of his hair and my eyes buck out. The skyline of Los Angeles is all around us. “Vassili…” I screech, damn, it feels so good. But, the fencing around the roof no longer shields us from peeping Toms.

  “Shhhh,” he looks up at me, chiseled chin and lips glossed. “You tell me if any mudaks lays eyes on you, I’ll fucking murder them.”

  With a quick grunt, Vassili is back to chopping down my pussy one lick and a thick tongue thrust at a time. He comes to his knees, pulling me forward into his seat. Now, my legs clench around him. Do I want his dick or him to keep fucking me with his mouth? My indecipherable moan falls on deaf ears because he continues to feast on my pussy. My back slams against the soft pillows, second set of lips quivering.

  “Vassili… fu-fuck me,” I groan, pulling my own hair. This sex is enough to send me to the madhouse. While kneeling before me, he’s holding onto my ass cheeks like he has no intention of letting me go, and the fighter has no use for
air. He hasn’t come up for a single breath while my lungs are on fire, gulping down air.

  Shit, if someone is looking, I have to appear the crazed fool. I laugh at that. Then I feel a new tingle between my thighs. Mmmm, it’s a nice delight as Vassili alternates from licking deep inside of me, to coating my labia, and then once more his nose tickles my clit. I stop tugging at my own hair, and grin, while tooting my ass down to offer him more of my pussy.

  Once more, his nose nudges my clit, sending spirals of desire through my body. His tongue—

  “Hey!” I shout, as his tongue nudges against my anus. My argument is met by a cocky chuckle.

  “Rock that ass on my tongue,” Vassili finally speaks, well more so commands. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Sweetheart, we gotta get that pussy ready for my cock.”

  When he grabs his heavy shaft, I nod in agreement as reality hits me. I could hardly place my fingers around him. I work my ass against his tongue. Is this shameful? Yeah, I bet it is.

  “Fuck with your clit, Zar, you’re almost perfect.”

  “Hmmm,” I moan, concentrating on his breath against my skin.

  “Fuck your clit, I need you wetter. Zar, my cock has never been so hard. So I need you wet, unless you want me to break you,” he paws my cheeks, bringing my gaze to his. “You want me to break you?”

  I nod like a bobblehead, ready to submit to any wish he has at this time.

  Vassili laughs on key. He pushes my legs up, and my heels are on the edge of the chair; it’s almost as if I’m squatting before him. He licks out at my labia. “Zar, work that clit. Fuck it good, so I can get ready to enter you.”

  As he alternates from tonguing my pussy and ass, I obey his command. I moan while caressing my hard, tiny nub. Damn, my ass is an inch away from falling off the chair. My climax comes quick, I rub my clit and pump my hips against his face until I’m screaming from deep down in my soul. Shit, if I could sing. I hit Mariah Carey octave or maybe it’s that of a scalding cat octave, but at least a half mile radius is aware of just how good Vassili gives head.

  He finally leans back on his legs, muscular chest taking a deep breath. Vassili’s eyes lock onto mine as he fists his cock into his hand. I take a deep gulp, ready for all of the fighter now.

  And then a large drop of water plops onto my forehead. With it an onslaught of rain as if I were back down south. It doesn't rain in Southern California and damn it, that song is a lie! But tonight the rain is drenching me to the core. The hearth is doused out in a second.

  In less time, I'm lifted up into Vassili’s arms.

  “What are you…” I haven't finished arguing before he's already got me beneath the roofing of the elevator. Faster than lightning.

  He sets me down and presses the button. Torrents of water splash against my legs, which aren't shielded from the angled rain. My teeth jar, and seconds seem like minutes. The doors swoosh open. We hurry into the elevator

  The lights are bright in the elevator. Mascara is probably streaming down my cheeks, but my gaze is glued to how every well-defined muscle in Vassili’s arm is perfectly contoured. The plane of his chest extending almost forever before meeting more than broad shoulders. His thick, curly locks are slathered against his head. I smile, realizing how much I've missed grazing my hand through his Mohawk. Damn, I only did that once. I smile more and I notice I'm hugging his jacket to myself, inhaling more of his power. His bronze skin is wet and begging for me to touch.

  “Damn, I'm bad company.” I start to pull his jacket from over my leather jacket and hand it over.

  “I'll live.” He doesn’t take it.

  The elevator opens up and we step out into the lounge. The lights are soft and certain areas that were intimately lit before are now dark.

  “What time is it?” My eyebrow arches. How long have we been on the roof?

  “A little after three in the morning. I've gotta key-in the alarm,” he says in apology since we aren't headed toward the front door.

  “Okay.” I tremble in my own skin. The water from my dress is dripping down my legs and onto the floor.

  Like a lion ever on the prowl, Vassili moves down a hallway. He pulls his drenched thermal off in one quick swoop. The Kremlin from Moscow is meticulously drawn, almost rivaling the architecture, but arched somewhat in the shape of a crown. It’s perched atop of a wolf’s head. The design is so lifelike it almost seems to leap from his skin. With the words: oderint dum metuant below. The words are Latin, and I recall them from a slanderous political article about government coercion and rule; let them hate, so long as they fear.

  The rest of those meticulous muscles in his back are also bathed in ink. Though the tattoos aren’t as bold in meaning, each one has a level of detail and attention to it. From X-rated tattoos of a matryoshka doll, also known as a Russian nesting doll, which is open, with a breasted woman sticking out of it. Another depiction is of a skull; cigarette sticking from his mouth. The biggest tattoo of all? A cross of Jesus which seems to have been perfectly airbrushed on his skin. The cross is etched into some tattoos and out of others, extended over his broad shoulders along his spine.

  He opens the door to what has a sign as an office, tossing his thermal into the darkness. Then Vassili reaches into a dark room and pulls something from the wall. It's a hoodie.

  “Don't worry. It’s mine.” He hands it over. “Still not cold,” is his retort before I can even argue about him being without shirt or jacket on such a chilly evening.

  “The ladies’ room is across the way. Change. If you catch so much as the sniffles, I'll feel like a dick, okay?”

  “Okay.” I smile my thanks.

  The bad thing about leather jackets are their ability to match the temperature. Though my upper half isn't wet, I'm still frozen to the core. I step into the women's restroom. The entire place is very luxurious. I place his hoodie and jacket onto the settee in the powder room, and unzip my jacket. I set the bomber jacket next to his since it's wet but careful not to get it near his dry hoodie. Then the dress next.

  The hoodie I shrug into. Air infuses into my nostrils, and my eyes close instantly. The scent is of him with a slight musk. Damn, I love it. The hoodie stops mid-thigh. I shake out my leather jacket and then wrap it around my legs, almost post-apocalyptic attire, but I feel warmer.

  My hair has kinked and frizzed up. No amount of training it with the flatiron saved it from this evening. I smirk at myself in the mirror, grab Vassili’s jacket and step out of the ladies’ room.

  The lounge is deathly quiet. I call out his name.

  “I'm almost done, beautiful.”

  I follow his voice down the hall and to a room across from the first office. Vassili is standing on the opposite side of a very expensive desk. I know because my father bragged about a similar desk he bought at home. Vassili’s eyebrows are pinched together.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  The serious way he was just observing the papers disappears. There’s an evil darkness in his gaze before his eyes lift to glance my way. “Good. Everything's good.”

  No, it's not. You were about ready to commit murder.

  “Okay,” I reply as he pushes a few papers around on the desk. Not my business. He has his secrets. I have mine. And we have one shared secret that will always be just for us, so I back away and remind myself the same crap I dished to myself when I stopped responding to Vassili. He is a Resnov and there could never be much between us.

  Vassili steps out of the room. He locks it. My mind begins to wonder why the other office, which I assume is his since he offered me his hoodie, wasn't locked. Someone has more secrets than he does. Is this really his business? “So my place or your father’s?”

  I sigh. “Mine is best, Vassili.”

  He glances at me. There's so much more to that statement than just the words. There is no need to prolong the inevitable.

  Instead of challenging me, he punches in a key code near the front door. “Soon as I open the door, we run, okay?”

  The
truck is less than twenty yards out. My feet pound the pavement, just as fast as the torrents of ice-cold water slam against the top of the hoodie and my shoulders. As I get inside, I press the jacket further down my thighs. My brown skin is all glossed and wet. Pushing the damp hoodie from my head, I then rub a hand through my hair as Vassili gets into the driver’s seat. The ride home is a short distance due to the prime location of The Red Door Lounge.

  Not a luxury car is in sight when Vassili’s truck zips up to the curb.

  “I've gotta go out of town for a few days, Zariah. But we will go to dinner on Thursday.” Vassili’s tone is definite. “In the meantime, don't lose my number or I might not be able to handle my business.”

  “About that…” I falter. I don't mean about his business. I gulp down a rock. His ‘business’ is as taboo as the thought of us. “Dinner and Thursday. Vassili this was just one more night.”

  “And Thursday is another night all in itself. Okay, beautiful?” His Russian accent is stronger than usual. It leaves no room for miscommunication. I can just about hear his thick accent say, ‘We will go to dinner.’

  I scoff. “So am I in the clear if I fuck you?”

  He laughs, abdominals all sexy and flexed. “No. You're never free of me, Zariah. Seven years ago, I said you were mine. That was a fucking promise, and I don't break my promises.” The dark storm in his eyes tells me that I am all his. He said he was patient in the past. Damn, I am stuck in a situation.

  “Honestly, Vassili, I really, really like you. When we’re together, time stops. Something supernatural happens, and my mind forgets to comprehend that you are a RESNOV. Malich's son! Not just his goon. Or his damn nephew or second cousin or married in to the family or something,” I argue. Why can’t Vassili be related by marriage? “Vassili, I am the daughter of the chief of police. My father is in the process of campaigning for mayor.” And I don’t trust you.

  He runs knuckles along the bristles of his impeccable jaw line, unfazed by my remark. “I've got a question for you, Zariah.”