Zero Obstacles (Lesbian/WLW)

Chapter Ten: Find Out

AZIYA

A week ago, Naaliq kissed me like she was being sent off to war, never to return again. She cupped my chin, her tongue moving through my mouth like she'd mapped it out beforehand. Usually, when someone kisses me, they trip up on my tongue ring, but not Naaliq. The superstar was on her A-game. For sixty-odd seconds, the world vanished. It was just us, caught in a fiery, all-consuming comet of lust. If we'd been alone, we might've exploded in cosmic bliss.

We haven't mentioned the kiss since it happened, but it frequently plays on a loop—especially during my nightly DJ sessions.

I clutch the pillow tighter to my pelvis, muffling the whirring of the suction vibrator. Some stupid sitcom plays at a moderate volume on my TV, just in case anyone walks past my hotel room. My legs are bent, thighs spread apart. I struggle to keep the vibrator in place the more my body trembles and my breath quickens. A quiet, almost shy moan slips out. I'm so close.

All I need is a boost to send me to the stars. Only two things can help me finish the job: reflecting on past sex flashbacks with Dom or indulging in fantasies of Naaliq. Both are equally shameful. I shouldn't be turned on by someone who almost killed me, and I definitely shouldn't be fantasizing about a teammate who barely sees me as a friend. But, fuck it, I need that sweet release.

I massage my breast, my thumb teasing my pierced nipple, picturing Naaliq's pretty hands caressing me. My heart accelerates as I imagine her scent, woodsy but refreshing, like an exotic rainforest. If she could see me right now, I bet she'd lay beside me and remove the pillow. Firmly gripping my chin, she would compel me to confront her gaze and stare into her brown and hazel green eyes.

"You're fantasizing about me all because of a kiss, playgirl?" she'd ask huskily, Southernly, deeply. "Do you know what I could really do to you? I could make you create sounds no one has ever made you produce. I could make your face contort until you lose sense of who you are. Until the only thing you know is how fucking good I'm fucking you."

I squeak, and the breath I've been holding bursts from my lips. Heat surges through my body, scorching the sheets. My legs shudder, closing in on themselves. Desperately, I swipe the vibrator from between my thighs and turn it off.

Fuck...

I gotta stop doing that.

Energy, manifestation, and supernatural elements are fucking real. If I keep drawing on Naaliq's energy, I might romantically reel her in, and I'm not ready for that yet. I'm interested in her and attracted, but Naaliq's got layers—layers I don't want to get lost in while I'm still trying to get over Dom.

If I romantically get involved with Naaliq, it'll likely be later down the road, but as Najae said, I need to "clean the slate" now. Dom was the only person I had sex with for years, so when I'm horny, I reminisce about our top adventures in the bedroom. Once I have some new positive sex experiences with someone else, those sexual hankerings for her will wane. But I gotta find a sex partner first.

My clearest option is the ever-so-thirsty Trelan "Please, lemme sniff your panties, madam" Quentin. I've been texting Tre out of boredom more than anything else. Unlike Naaliq, Tre is basic. I know the deal: she's a fuckgirl who wants to fuck. Personality-wise, I could only see us as being friends, so having sex without feelings should be straightforward. What bothers me is that Tre's motivations to sleep with me are driven by her ambition to include me in her "Baddie Hall of Fame."

I overheard her and Kam chatting about it on the flight to Atlanta. Tre's got this list of women she's slept with, all labeled as "rare." The criteria? Unquestionably gorgeous, no "hoe history," and must have a super-unique quality. By Tre's standards, I'm a bombshell—she tells me every chance she gets. I had been locked down in a relationship for years, so I don't have a "hoe history." Finally, I'm the reigning WPBA MVP who knows five languages—that's pretty damn rare.