Zoe loves to put John on his knees.
He kneels so beautifully – head bowed, pulling the tendons in his neck taut; wrists clasped behind his back, opening the flat planes of his chest and tensing his abs. Cock rising rigidly up from his pubic hair, resolutely ignored.
Zoe would never hurt John. Though he’d refused to confirm any of her theories about his past, she got the sense that there was pain in it to spare. Still, she has plenty of other ways of driving him to the edge.
Tonight she’s decided on the blindfold. The first time she pulled it out John had smirked, obviously skeptical; but Zoe was excellent at reading people, and she knew John. Sure enough, when she tightened the band just the right amount and took away his sight completely, he slipped down beautifully.
Now she can see the shift in his muscles as soon as she pulls the mask out. He doesn’t go deep; what he does is focus, his world narrowing to her voice and her hands, and within that focus he just… drifts.
Her hands are greedy, and she indulges them – running them through his hair, across his shoulders and down his chest to that narrow waist. It’s barely sexual at all; she’s just luxuriating in warm flesh under her palms. It sets John near to purring, his body swaying into every touch.
They rarely kiss; they’re friends, not lovers, and kissing is more intimacy than either of them wants. But tonight Zoe feels… tender towards John. She kneels in front of him, cupping his head and just watching for a while.
“Zoe?” John asks after a bit, and she pulls him in to brush her lips across his.
Then she pushes him onto his back and rides him until she screams.