Queen of Love

I want to expose every part of her. The literal exposition of Aya’s smooth, fair skin as it slowly emerged from her clothes, and the metaphorical process of dragging every secret, every cornered truth out of her heart. Genevieve was the infatuated one. From the moment she saw Aya in the bar, she knew it was meant to be. At least while she was in Tokyo.

“Ah, damn…” Was that English? Mandarin? It could have been Hokkien for all Genevieve knew. When she was so in the moment, a perfectly timed bite to her ear was likely to elicit any menagerie of languages from her mouth. She could talk filthy in Mandarin and chaste in English; frank in Hokkien and sarcastic in French. When she lost track of that mouth traveling from her ear, to her throat, to her nipple, she also lost track of whatever language she had been born speaking.

When Aya delicately pulled away Genevieve’s underwear and became acquainted with her polished pearl, language no longer existed. Nothing beyond the primal pleasure sounds women had made since the dawn of mankind and its lovemaking ilk.

It wasn’t fair. It was otherworldly. It quenched a thirst and awakened another one. Genevieve had never felt more equal to other women than here in bed, when she was on her back and naked to the world. That’s the real reason I had to switch. It wasn’t because she had grown bored with being the dominant one. It was because it had only dragged her farther away from understanding her fellow women. What Genevieve needed wasn’t more division and to feel superior to her lovers. She didn’t need to be worshipped any longer. She was tired of being a princess. She had never asked to be a queen.

Before, her girlfriends would put their heads between her legs to show her their fervent adoration. They worshipped me like a revered goddess. Bringing Genevieve to orgasm was a job well done and a cause for relief – it meant she had deigned her lover as worthy of her vulnerability. They had cracked the code and would be rewarded for their amazing efforts.

Now, when Aya’s arm wrapped around Genevieve’s stomach and pinned her core to the bed, it was to make her squirm. It was a game of how quickly Genevieve could writhe and scream in pleasure. To come within two minutes meant Aya was the undisputed queen of sex and carnal revolution. She was the revered royalty of Genevieve’s bedroom.

So why make her wait? Genevieve had wanted to shower this woman with attention ever since they met.

This is crazy even for me. That was the last coherent thought Genevieve had before the lights simultaneously exploded and went dark behind her eyes. As her back launched off the bed and her throat emptied its hopes and fears, she knew she had finally met her match.

The orgasmic endorphins in her brain declared she was in love. Anyone who made her feel like this was worth pursuing beyond one night.

Right now, though, we have this night. She might as well make the most of it.

She wanted to peel away the clothes separating her from Aya’s naked body. Genevieve’s raison d’etre was to curl up against this woman and both shower her with attention and express herself in ways she had never allowed herself before. Rarely did she meet someone who checked all her boxes and didn’t know her from Eve, that biblical character who shared a part of Genevieve’s name. We both tasted sin and couldn’t get enough. Genevieve was willing to turn her back on Eden if it meant sharing a part of herself with someone like Aya.

That was the thing about Genevieve Liu. At her core, she had always been looking for everlasting love.

“You don’t have to do that…” Aya was unexpectedly demure when she ended up on her back, her plain bra rumpling against her skin as Genevieve unzipped those jeans and snaked her fingers deep beneath denim and cotton. “I mean… I’m not complaining…”

Genevieve’s tangled hair attempted to shield her heavy eyes. Not that I can see anything in this darkness. They hadn’t turned on the light when they entered the bedroom, and it felt like a different kind of sin to turn it on now. “Let me in, Ms. Sugiya.” Genevieve had to turn down the sweet vibration in her voice. This wasn’t the club where she had met a hardened Domme who wanted only one thing from her. This was a middle-class Tokyoite who was used to picking women up in bars or on apps. It was a different world. Don’t make her think you’re one of those rich people. Genevieve thought of a few names when she considered that. All women she’d rather keep out of the bedroom for now. The name, Ms. Sugiya, was sexy. Deferential.

That’s all.

“If you insist.”

She said it so cheekily that Genevieve couldn’t help but curl against Aya and offer her butterfly-light kisses as her fingertips danced with danger. Aya slowly rolled on top of her again. The lines had been drawn. Whether she was giving or receiving pleasure, Aya did her best on top.

I want to hear her moan…

It was music to Genevieve’s critical ears. She knew operas like some women knew pop songs. An aria haunting the heart wasn’t that different from the heady, wispy moans that filtered through Aya’s clamping lips as she attempted to play it cool in bed. I love it. Now I know what it feels like to crack the queenly code. As Genevieve kissed her throat and touched the earthly delight beneath Aya’s clothes, she became more addicted than ever.

Fingers, breaths, and moving hips. What more could she ask for.

Everything.

She wanted to be crushed beneath the unrelenting weight. She had to know what it was like to spread her legs across that waist and ride herself to carnal bliss. If Genevieve could have anything, though, it would be the constant back and forth that two women with equal enthusiasm enjoyed as they navigated first-time sex together.

She wanted to be deep inside of Aya – and she wanted Aya deep inside of her.

Slowly, but surely, Genevieve experienced as much as they could conquer in one breathless night. She scaled the heightened peaks of allowing her body to move wherever it pleased and to be tamed in return. Her skin was far from unblemished by the time Aya buried her face into the pillow and claimed exhaustion: hickeys, sweat, and the sweet essence flowing between them marked Genevieve as the experienced woman she knew she was destined to be. The only thing missing was an urgency to make it happen again. Because Genevieve would go all night. She had done it before with lesser women. For Aya, she would exchange her soul for a font of lifelong energy.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Genevieve whispered from the depths of her pillow. Beside her, Aya nodded off, her naked body kicking her jeans off the bed.

“No,” Aya said with a tight-lipped yawn. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Yet she fell asleep a few minutes later, her arm looped around Genevieve and her hand clutching the softest part of that yearning, needy body.

Genevieve wouldn’t sleep for a while. She was content to stare at that peaceful face for as long as time allowed.