9.
February 15th, 2020
“What assholes,” I said with a shake of my head. “Why does it matter what your cast, color, or sexuality is?”
Zaira shrugged. “Beats me. Throughout my school years, I was looked at like I was a freaking alien or something. I was laughed at over my skin tone, my accent, and even my dressing style.
The guy who was my first, was so sweet and supportive. Until hewasn’t. Turns out, he only wanted in my pants, and once he’d gotten what he wanted, he didn’t hesitate to show his true colors.”
The last bit burned a fire in my gut. “Don’t Indians have a sex-after-marriage-only kinda policy?” I asked.
She clicked her tongue. “Today’s generation doesn’t believe in that. I never really liked the idea of ‘sex after marriage only’ anyway. Life’s too short to not live it the way we want to.”
I nodded, because she was absolutely right.
Thealoosabjhihad cooked faster than we’d thought, but we’d decided to let it sit for a while so that we could talk without food getting in the middle.
As promised, Zaira had told me everything about herself. She loved selective country music, along with Pop, Soul, and R&B. Her favorite dish was her mom’s biryani, and she was a huge fan ofGame of ThronesandPoldark.
She preferred TV shows over movies, nights over days, and cherry soda over coke.
She was a Virgo, and liked the color coral just as much as Yin liked Yang.
Zaira was perfect – to me, that is.
I shifted on the couch to get more comfortable. “What did little Zaira wear to school anyway?”
She snorted. “I was neverlittle,” she said, and then pointed at her body. “See? Nothing little aboutthis.”
I ran my eyes over her full figure, and felt every aspect of me buzzing in appreciation. “Delicious.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, no.”
I looked at her. “Want me toshowyou, Zaira?”
Her mouth formed an ‘O’ – in shock, most definitely.
I smirked. “I swear I’d be happy to.”
She blinked, and then pushed at my chest. “Asshole.”
I chuckled and grabbed her hands before pulling her close. “Tell me what you wore as a kid.”
“Why, so you can have dirty dreams about 13-year-old me?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. I’m not a perv, Zaira. I just wanna know because I’m a curious bastard when it comes to you.”
She laughed airily. “Full-sleeved t-shirts, flannel jackets, and skintight jeans.”
“Mmm.” I ran the pad of my thumb over her knuckles. “Hot.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
“Just honest, babe.”
She blushed, and I took the opportunity to finally run a finger over one of her soft cheeks.
I felt her shiver a little, and when our eyes met, I swallowed at the raw, rare beauty on her face.
