Queen of Love

Chapter 7

Genevievehadseduceda fair number of women in her day. Back when I was someone else, it was even easier. She was once the most formidable woman in the room. There wasn’t a young, eager woman who could resist her charms when Genevieve cranked them to high heaven. If I got out the handcuffs… purr, baby, purr.

That felt like a different life, though. Since switching up her preferences in the bedroom, Genevieve Liu had also changed her seduction game. Aya was one of the first to completely fall for this new skillset that had rattled Genevieve’s metaphorical chains over the past few years.

I finally feel like myself.

A woman who was stronger than her, more outwardly confident than her, and more dominant than her now? That woman leading her into the bedroom and helping her out of her dress, complete with roaming hands that made Genevieve feel more human than her base desires had ever accomplished before?

She wouldn’t say she was already in love, but she was familiar with this powerful feeling.

“You’re such a… gentleman.” While Genevieve didn’t struggle with an expansive English vocabulary, she couldn’t think of anything else to call Aya. “Here I am, sitting before you in nothing but my underwear, and you don’t make me feel like the biggest piece of meat.”

She was sarcastic, of course. Genevieve loved feeling like a piece of meat.

Aya removed her jacket and placed it on the back of a chair by the window. When she returned, it was to find Genevieve slyly unsnapping her bra and lowering it down her arms. Her long hair seductively covered her breasts by the time Aya stood before her again. Cat’s out of the bag. If she doesn’t know I want to have sex with her by now, well, there’s not much help for her.

“I understand about half of those words,” Aya said.

“Funny.” Genevieve’s legs slid open, inviting Aya between them. Push me down on this bed and get on top of me. Genevieve was almost more excited by the fantasy than what had played out so far. “We don’t have to share the same language at all to make love.”

Aya stepped forward.

“Because isn’t that what this world needs more of?” Genevieve’s legs trembled in anticipation. Soon, they’d feel those soft jeans sliding against them. With any luck, her chest would welcome that cotton shirt, her nipples ready to awaken to the call of duty. “Some love?”

Aya loomed over her, not saying a word. Genevieve instinctively pulled herself back along the bed, creating more space to bend down and shove her fists into the comforter. Genevieve’s breath was heavy in her chest; her throat was famished to swallow those kisses.

“Cross-cultural understanding.” Those were the first words Aya said as she urged Genevieve to fall down to her elbows. “Ibunka kouryou.”

She growled those syllables as Genevieve suppressed a girlish giggle. “That’s sexy,” she whispered. “What does it mean?” She desperately wanted to learn another language – much like she desperately wanted to fuck Aya’s brains out.

Aya leaned over Genevieve, a heavy breath easing through her parting lips. “Um, cross-cultural exchange. I mean… I was being silly.”

Genevieve could no longer hold in her laughter. Wasn’t it rare for someone to make her laugh in the bedroom? Or was this another byproduct of changing things up?

“I’m convinced that anything can sound sexy when you don’t know the language,” she said.

“So, maybe it’s best to keep the mystery.”

”Is that true for every mystery?”

“Absolutely not.” Aya gently pulled away the hair covering one side of Genevieve’s chest. “That’s one mystery solved.” She stared down at Genevieve’s breast before glancing back at her blushing face. “How about we solve a few others?”

Genevieve collapsed against the bed. As her arms raised above her head and her legs ached to wrap around Aya’s encroaching hips, she said, “I’m all yours.”

That was what she had wanted to say for most of her life. “This life of mine. You can take it. Do with it as you please. I trust you.” Genevieve had been raised to be a trusting, darling girl who saw the best in people and only wanted to have some fun. Or so she had believed until the death of her parents. Only then did she realize the extent of their meddling, from the potential arranged marriages to the divvying up their estates, and attempting to dictate her diet until she was forty. Her mother, who had never once shown signs of traditional Chinese beliefs outside of what was socially commanded, had stipulated in her will, “You must have at least one son to make up for our lack of one. If I don’t have a grandson to venerate me, I will become a hungry ghost and haunt you, Genny.”

It had been twenty years since her parents passed away. There had been no grandsons – or granddaughters, for that matter – in that time. Genevieve had lived her life as she willed, and that included embracing her natural attraction to other women. No man has ever held a candle to what a woman does for me in the bedroom. And outside of the bedroom. When Genevieve had her fill with casual sex and vanilla relationships, she turned to the darker, kinkier side. The fastest way to make women fall into infatuation with her, besides flashing her money and properties as was the Singaporean tradition, was to top them. There were more submissive women than dominant ones out there, and Genevieve became adept at training her girlfriends and more casual lovers to be exactly what she wanted in the bedroom.

It was never enough, though. At some point, she faced her desire to be like them. Maybe she didn’t need spankings and hair-pulling every weekend, but she needed this – the raw, intense sensation of a woman on top of her for once.

Or twice.

Maybe three times. In one night, if they could swing it.

Aya kissed her like she didn’t have anywhere else to be. Every kiss was loaded with heavy intentions that promised a quiet night at home or a wild evening at one of Genevieve’s spicier clubs. Was it romance? Love? Desperation, complete with burning lust and a one-night desire?

It didn’t matter. Not when Aya was finally on top of Genevieve and thrusting against her.