The Corona Girl Pt. 01

"You did, but it's the result that counts. We just agreed to let ourselves try to love a person we didn't know thirty hours ago. Sit down and ask questions."

Tom topped up her teacup, and she popped the first tablet from its foil.

"Maybe not with alcohol, right? Here, you drink it, I'll get water; I'm already floaty."

Yasamin gulped down the tablet and grimaced. "That's disgusting!"

"Uncoated raw lab chemicals. I remember it well."

"Okay, begin," she said, crossing her hands in her lap.

"Age?" he asked.

"Nineteen. Twenty in two months."

"I'm thirty four."

"I'd worked that out, Einstein."

"Chosen career?"

"Accepted at Imperial College to read Engineering."

"Cafe proprietor and part-time medic."

"Okay, you turn on the TV; what do you choose?" he asks.

"Attenborough, every time, but I'll watch Love Island later, when you're not here."

Tom began chuckling. Yasamin unleashed. She was everything he hoped for, and more.

"Previous relationships?"
"Boyfriend. Fifteen months. Funny, intelligent and sex mad. Girlfriend. One month—I lost my nerve.
"List the two best things about you."

"I have a pulse and a vagina."

"Any disgusting habits?"

"I pick my nose in the bathroom and fart in bed."

"Can you cook?"

"I have a partner for that now. Just a moment, how in hell are we going to marry, anyway?"

"You gave me a ring once, for a bowl of congee, remember? We'll do it ourselves or ask a random person, whatever. Okay, last one. What's your view on sex before marriage?"

"Essential and urgent. Only after a dance, though."

Tom stood with a hand on hip and offered the other. Yasamin's clung to his neck, his arms circled her waist, and they smooched around the room, bumping into furniture, as she sang a strange soft song.

"Your voice is amazing."

"Mum sent me to lessons. So I can only sing in Mandarin. The Moon Represents my Heart, it's old and corny but enchanting."

"I think I love you already," he whispered.

Tom's rough hands framed Yasamin's face and pulled her into a long, sensual kiss. Their tongues grappled until they fell apart, panting. Her time had come.
Yasamin raised her arms, Tom unzipped the back of her dress and lifted. She shook out long wavy hair which fell over her naked body, Tom caught his breath as she flicked it over her shoulder. Yasamin's olive skin pulled tight over her frame, defining her neck, shoulders, and flat stomach. Under her arms hung tufts of hair. Proud young breasts thrust forward and dark chocolate nipples teased. A shock of untamed black curls sat below her belly and now Tom ran fingertips up her happy trail. Nervous, Yasamin watched his face as he stared.

"Oh, my god. Never, ever change."

"Not even the tiniest bit too hairy?" she asked. Tom shook his head.
She lifted a breast and tilted her head the way she does. "Too small though."
"A dream. You're perfect."

He fell onto his knees and nuzzled her stomach, licking her skin to bring out her spice, running his hands up her thighs, ass and back and making puppy noises. The scent of her pubic hair drove him mad; he pushed his face into the tangled mass and breathed in her arousal.

"Do I get a turn yet?" she asked.

"I got carried away, you're too beautiful." He wrenched the grubby T-shirt over his head and dropped his jeans. Yasamin stroked him through his pants as he kissed her breasts. When she grabbed his arm for support, Tom knew it was time. He eased her back in the chair and nestled between her thighs.

Fourteen years ago, in a living room south of the river, he made love to a girl this age while her parents slept upstairs. Back then the act became frantic. While he will never forget that girl, fate sent him Yasamin at five minutes to midnight in her brief life. He adored her, and this just might be bigger than love itself.

"Um, hello dreamer," she says.
"I want to eat you, Yasamin."

"I'd love that, but not tonight, I'll scream the place down. Take me slow and come inside, I don't like that porn stuff."

"But..." Tom began.

"It doesn't matter, does it?"