Vanya
I watched him move around the living room littered with boxes dancing to the song playing through the speakers set throughout the main areas of the house. It had been two days since the shootout and most of our items had been delivered yesterday or this morning. Xerxes and I had discussed where the furniture I had would be placed. There was a room he said could be the lady’s lounge and my living room furniture was now there. We were lucky enough that I’d put him in contact with a local furniture builder who’d been working diligently on the custom bed Xerxes wanted. He agreed to deliver a temporary frame that would fit the oversized mattress Xerxes customized while the rest of the carving was done on his bed. Xerxes was probably the most agreeable client I’d ever worked with because instead of demanding the carpenter to hurry and fit his modified timeframe, he thanked them and told him he wanted it right no matter how long it would take.
I never got to see this end of the home buying process. Where I got to watch a customer live in their new home and exhibit this type of joy. I’d never expected to be here with him, but I loved this house. Xerxes’ movements were joy personified. He flowed through the space as though it had been built specifically for him. The contractors had done an amazing job with putting in the finishing touches that were necessary for him to move in, and the fountain was going to be hand carved polished limestone that was over eight feet tall.
Xerxes had ridiculous rhythm. His playlist was diversified and flowed from rap to R&B to music I could only assume was Arabic or Persian. The same way he embodied his cultures in his dress, his manner, his very aura, he smoothly danced through every genre fluidly. When Xerxes did this hip dip move that reminded me of something Shakira or Beyonce would do but was masculine as hell I knew I had to interrupt him.
“There’s a problem.”
He stopped abruptly turning with a smile before strolling toward me. That was another thing. He always smiled. Xerxes had always had a brooding masculine beauty to him, but his smile? He seemed to transform into a Blarasian model that deserved to be on someone’s magazine cover. And his damn dimple was the kill shot.
“What problem? Tell me and I will ensure we fix it wizin zhe hour.”
His bare feet padded across the Persian rug, the only request that he had for this room. It was a Kashmar rug made is that region of Iran. The colors were golds, greens and deep blues that looked just as regal as the wood floors and organize fireplace. It was one of the few pieces in the entire room.
The confidence he had to tell me things would be fine and we would fix it together was something I had to get used to. It was a warm feeling, hearing someone say they would work with you instead of against you. And then prove they would do exactly that without question.
“You were just in here enjoying yourself and I see that dancing and music make you really happy. But the problem is, I don’t know how to dance.” I shifted uncomfortably before steeling myself for his judgement.
He stood up and looked at me curiously like he was waiting one to elaborate. I didn’t so he did. “What do you mean? Like a formal dance, or at all?”
“At all. I don’t think I have that natural rhythm that Black people are supposed to be born with. I’m defective. My ancestors didn’t fight hard enough for my melanin or my rhythm.” I pointed at my face to prove my point.
He smiled as I laughed, and he brushed his finger across the freckles on my arm.
“Your melanin is just scattered across your skin. Zhey wanted to be even more striking wiz you. Do not zhink zhey gave up.” He gingerly danced his fingers across my nose and cheek before pulling his hand back.
“That was sweet but I still have the issue that is unresolved. I don’t know how to dance.” I put my hands on my hips because I refused to let him avoid the issue at hand.
“Classical, country—”
“Black.” My answer was probably ridiculous but it was exactly what I meant.
He crossed his arms and looked at me like he needed more. “Okay, well Black people invented just about every genre of music zhat is popular wizin the United States so I need you to be specific.”
I waved my fingers because I was getting flustered. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“ Wallah , zibā , Black is not a type of dance. It is a race like American is your nationality.”
“Funny enough, they classify Iranian people as white. Even Egyptians and Moroccans.” It was a random, useless piece of information that I’d picked up when I started to review information about Iranian culture.
“Zhat is because zhey are of the belief zhat we have been conquered enough to assimilate. I would gladly disabuse zhem of zhat notion.” He smirked and I couldn’t help but think that he might just blow something up to prove his point.
“Proud Blarasian , right?”
“Yes. But we were discussing dancing. Do you want to slow dance? It is all about feel and rhythm and movement. Nothing more or less.”
“I feel clammy at the thought of dancing in front of people and again, no rhythm. I need more than that. Can you tell me how to do it?”
He shook his head and I was wondering where the unshaken desire to fix my problems was at now. “Zhere is no way to tell you how to move, it is a feeling.”
“That’s not helping.” It wasn’t his fault that I couldn’t do it but I couldn’t help but to get frustrated. I didn’t want to be the girl embarrassing myself or him by getting out there loud and wrong. I’d seen plenty of white girls in Black spaces thinking they knew something and looked terrible. I wasn’t white, but I damn sure didn’t want to be embarrassed like them.
“So you need a demonstration then?”
I leaned back cause he was sounding unsure of his abilities. “I should’ve asked, how can you dance?”
“Maman is from Nawlins and my father from zhe Middle East. I would have two sets of ancestors ready to snatch back zheir DNA if I lacked rhythm. Zhe lil’ two step you just saw was nozing.”
I let my head fall back because it was clear I was doomed. “I guess my ancestors are waiting with the switches, then.”
He pulled on my hand forcing me to face him and when I did he was giving me a reassuring smile. “We will get zhe ozer people out of your head and all will be well. Now, what type of dancing do you want to learn first?”
“How to twerk.”
He laughed but meanwhile I was dead ass serious. The body control it took to twerk meant I could probably do any other dance, ever. “Vanya zhat is like giving a new driver zhe keys to a McLaren. You must rollover before you can crawl. You say you have no rhythm, let’s see vhat you mean.”
He pulled up his phone, which I knew was connected to the audio system within the house and switched the song.
“If you just wanted a reason to hold me close, just say that.” I was joking but the way his eyes darkened as he turned back to me made me want to lean into whatever he was thinking.
“Vould I need a reason, Vanya? Besides two people vho have a mutual desire to be in the other’s embrace?” My goodness his voice was lust personified. An audible elixir that was sure to have me enthralled.
“No.”
He smiled wickedly, but even that was seductive to me. If Lucifer was even a tenth as beautiful as Xerxes Cannon, I could understand why so many were led astray.
“Close your eyes and feel zhe music. Do not zhink too much about it. Zhat is where so many people find zhey make zheir mistakes. They don’t take the time to let the music penetrate their souls so quick are they to move.”
I started to sway to the song, feeling the melody and the bass. I wasn’t worried about how I looked, I just did what he asked me to.
With my eyes closed, I reached out my hand welcoming him into my personal space. Less than a second later, his slightly rough hand was cradling mine as his other slid around my waist. The silk fabric of my dress seemed even more sensual with the heat of his hand warming the cloth against my skin. I stumbled, my body shuddering as I felt the warmth of him cover the front of me.
“You’re zhinking too hard. You are supposed to just be feeling.” The admonishment was spoken softly in my ear but even that felt like seduction. His words caused me to shiver and he pressed me closer to him as though he knew that’s exactly what I needed.
“I am.” I really was feeling and that was what was so wrong. I hadn’t kidded myself that we were going to stay platonic or that something wasn’t going to happen between us. I just didn’t know what that something was going to look like. Or how I would handle it when it happened. The timeline had moved up much quicker, probably because we were sharing a space together. Working together. Planning a wedding and a life together.
I found it admirable that he wanted me to be comfortable with this and with him even though I knew he could tell my feelings for him had grown.
“I do not want to frighten you, but I have to say it feels good to hold you.”
His confession was made softly, as though he were afraid I would run away after hearing it. My eyes had been closed, just feeling this entire time, but I opened them and found his, so filled with desire, staring back at me unabashedly.
“Are you going to kiss me now?”
Xerxes’ brows rose slowly, a smiled teasing his lips drawing my eyes to them briefly before I looked back up. “Is zhat vhat you expect me to do?”
“That’s what happens in the movies. The man says something sweet, the girl swoons and then he kisses her.”
His chest seemed to heave slightly as his breathing kicked up. It was so strange to have a soft power over a man who wielded so much force and influence. “You only have to ask—”
“Kiss me, Xer—”
His name wasn’t out of my mouth before his tongue was in it. It wasn’t the clumsy almost begrudging way that Jonathan would kiss me. No, this was the way it should’ve felt all along. The intensity, the way he braced his hands on my waist, fingers gripping into my flesh as though he needed to steady himself as much as I needed him. The fullness of his lips not repulsed by mine, but feeling insatiable at their pillowyness. This feeling was different but I felt as though I had done this with him like this before. My hands went to his face, my fingers threading their way through the wavy strands of his multi-dimensional hair. The way the deep coffee brown had hues of chocolate, gold and onyx woven into a lush mane any woman would be envious of. The feel of it beneath my fingers was as silky as it looked. I could feel a texture to it like he was born with a fresh blowout. Despite his lack of coils, his African ancestors made sure their presence was known. I tugged it slightly to get him to come closer and his body slammed into mine as he moaned into my mouth.
His hand left my waist, inching lower before resting at the small of my back. I felt like my entire body was on fire and I lifted my leg to wrap it around his waist. That snapped him out of whatever trance we were in because he pulled away. The temperature dipped and I hated the loss of warmth, but my desire still had my entire body flushed with heat.
He was flexing his hands, like he was battling them to stay by his side and not reach out and grab me again.
“What did I do wrong?” I sounded pitiful but my vulnerability didn’t make me feel stupid in front of Xerxes.
He filled his lungs and held it as though the deprivation of oxygen was necessary to restart his system. When he released it, he studied me briefly before shaking his head.
“Nozing. Not a zhing in zhis world. I almost forgot myself and lost control. I’m sorry, azizam . You asked for a kiss.”
“It was pretty fantastic, I can’t lie.” I didn’t feel bad about being honest because there was no use in delaying the inevitable. Sure, we hadn’t technically gone on a date yet, but this was the first man in my life I’d ever wanted like this. And I didn’t want to be denied.
“So flippant.” He was trying to bring down the temperature in the room and it just wasn’t going to work until I took a cold shower.
“I mean we shouldn’t be serious with each other all the time should we?” I had to wrestle down the desire to be back in his arms because clearly that wasn’t what he wanted. I mean he wanted it if the print I saw was a sign, but he wanted space more. Which was dumb.
“No, we should not.”
“Good. I’m not opposed—”
“I am. Zhings are already going far too much my way. I want to be your husband—”
I already knew where he was headed, and I needed to stop him where he was. “You know I’m not a virgin, right? I thought for sure my ex made that clear when he told you all my business. I’m assuming you aren’t either but if I’m wrong—”
I had no idea how to navigate this situation since it was still new to me, despite having been married for so long.
Xerxes face looked almost sad. Remorseful for what he had done or what he was about to say. “Sadly no. I have fornicated. Yours cannot be counted as zhat because you were wizin zhe confines of your marital bed. I will only share zhat wiz you in zhis life and to me you have had no other husband before me. Zhat union before was coercive and it doesn’t count in any of my cultures. So we will start anew wiz each other. How does zhat sound?”
“I like it. But are you saying that I can’t kiss you if I want?”
“Intimacy between a couple extends far beyond the bounds of sex. And is crucial to a healthy marriage. I’ve witnessed it. I am of the same mind as you. I do not want to wait until the vows have been spoken for there to be an ease and comfort between us. I do worry that it might push beyond the logical part of my brain and my flesh will take over.”
I eyed him up and down like a piece of meat with my eyes resting again on his obvious desire. “That’s a real possibility if you’re kissing like that.”
He rearranged himself like that was going to do something to hide what I could see and what I’d felt. It was incredibly impressive and looked long and thick—
“Vanya—”
I snapped my eyes up to his face and refused to be embarrassed. “What?! You want me to go back to acting like I don’t like you? Don’t do the push and pull thing men do. It’s so frustrating. I want to want you. I want to be wanted by you. But don’t go hot and cold with me. Your ability to turn me on is about the only thing that isn’t making the idea of sleeping with you revolting.”
His brow quirked, and the playfulness of the moment seemed to be lost. “Zhat seems like a weighted statement.”
I wouldn’t bring their ugliness here so I refused to discuss it. “It is. But discussing it now seems pointless. If you’re already shying away from me over your own thoughts, I don’t want my past to play a role in this marriage.”
“I’m grateful you said marriage and not arrangement.”
“I’ve been married before but I never had the privilege of being someone’s wife. Someone’s reason . You’ve shown me in the few months I’ve known you that you are ready and willing to let me be that and more. Why in the world wouldn’t I call this a marriage?”
The moment was tense, the two of us looking at one another the emotion obvious.
“I need to walk away.”
“Why? Was that not—”
He held a hand up but took another step back, which hurt my feelings. “It was perfect. You’re perfect. And zhe desire I feel for you grows every second I’m around you. Most people would question my sanity, but few could question my honor or my morality. When you speak so beautifully to me, it makes me want to indulge in zhe taste of your honey as I make you cum all over my tongue. It makes me want you to be boneless, weeping, and unable to form complete sentences because you are so exhausted from pleasure. As I turn you into a beautiful mess, I will lick you clean and my dick and I will ruin you all over again.”
I was having hot flashes. Waves of heat washing over my body every nerve of my skin firing making my body sensitive. My walls gripped angrily only finding each other and not a part of Xerxes’ anatomy between them. If this was desire, the effect of being desired and pure wanton lust felt like I see why so many were quick to indulge in it. Craved it and were addicted to it.
“And you want me to not want that? I’m trying to understand.”
He stepped closer, first one foot then the other, each one increasing the lust I was feeling. I felt as though I had won when he stepped into my personal space and threaded his fingers through my hair. The lust skyrocketed and I swore I never thought I would feel anything so potent. The man showed me what was behind that veil of Black southern, Persian mafia boss gentlemanly control. This time it wasn’t the maniacal killer, it was the man who wanted to devour every inch of me like he said he would. The air between us and around us was humid and heavy with lust and I didn’t know how I would survive this tension.
“I want you to want me. Zhe same way I want you. Zhe burning need to possess every part of you. To care for you and protect you. To want to slide my dick wizin zhe slick petals of your flower and tease your clit until your pleasure is flowing down your leg soaking us boz. Heart, mind, body and soul. All four zhings I vill have in zhe future and vill protect. So yes, be feverish for me because vhen zhe time is right and I make you mine I want you to experience passion wiz me and for me like never before. Good zhings come to zhose who wait, work and earn it. Your pleasure is no different. Dream of me, azizam, because I will be dreaming of you until I can make our mutual pleasure a reality.”