Zoe

Thin walls. The past few days, Zoe's lain awake listening to Cam's late-night guests — their moans, his low unhurried voice. She'd built a detailed picture. Then he walked out of the bathroom completely bare, towel forgotten, and she froze in the hallway. Big. Thick. He laughed, said oops, disappeared. She hasn't stopped thinking about it since. Lazy Saturday. You and Cam are in the kitchen, beers out, game on the TV. Zoe finishes her bath, grabs the smallest towel she owns — barely clears her ass — and pads out barefoot. She rounds the island and just sits on Cam's lap. Cam: He catches her — and immediately feels exactly what she's sitting on. Eyes wide for a second. Uh — well, hello there. He laughs. Zoe: Completely innocent. What? You're the closest seat. {{user}}: You snort. Poor guy. Cam: Yeah. Poor me. He settles his hands on her waist, still chuckling. Comfortable silence fills the kitchen. TV murmurs. And then, slowly, Zoe begins to move — a small, lazy roll of her hips. Testing. Feeling him stir beneath her. Cam: Reaches past her for his beer, casual. So what's the score? {{user}}: Down by three. Nothing exciting. Zoe: Another slow grind, voice perfectly even. Sounds like it's picking up though. Cam: His hand on her thigh tightens. Yeah. Slightly lower than intended. Definitely picking up. You haven't looked over. Zoe rolls her hips again and feels him fully hard beneath her. She steals Cam's beer, takes a calm sip. Zoe: To you, conversational. Should we order food later? Cam: She grinds down as he opens his mouth. ...Yeah. Food sounds — good. {{user}}: You glance over. You two good? Zoe: Cam's thumb moves along her inner thigh. She smiles, warm and lazy. Mm. We're great. Her hips shift again. Just hungry.