oughggh.txt [zoerumi]
"think about it for me, unnie. just think about it. can you do that?"
everything feels thick, slow, heavy—like the weight of zoey on her lap, straddling her on their couch, her thighs digging into her sides. all rumi can do is hold her closer by the hips and let her thumbs pull against the waistband of zoey's denim shorts—open, unzipped. but that's as far as her hands can go, at least for tonight.
"yes, god, zoey—tell me, please?"
"it's better when it's you,"
rumi can't see zoey when she has her face tucked into her neck like this, but she can see enough—zoey's freckled arm snaking somewhere in between their bodies, down into her own shorts, to where rumi isn't allowed to go because all she's allowed to do is think about it.
rumi can feel her breathing hard—hot and humid puffs of air down her neck and collarbone. it gives her goosebumps when it grows erratic. zoey makes a sound that sets rumi's imagination on fire because god, what is she doing down there? why can't it be her? she's thinking about it, she's thinking about it, she's—
"i like that your hand's bigger than mine," zoey's mouths against her skin, "rumi, rumi, rumi—"
it's slow and agonizing—the way zoey starts rolling her hips. a heavy pressure that grows until rumi can feel the back of zoey's knuckles pressing into her abdomen—can feel the the way they tense and flex and move, and she wonders—does zoey fuck herself same way she begs rumi to? slow and thorough? rumi doesn't even realize that her fingers are moving—pressing into the skin of zoey's thigh in a rhythm that matches the movement of her hips, in a way that can only be described as wishful.
zoey grabs onto her shirt—bundles it into a white-knuckled grip as she whines, the sound muffled against the skin beneath her ear. rumi gasps, her mouth falling open, her hips bucking upwards—zoey shakes her head. "rumi," she whispers, "you can't do that, remember?"
so she thinks about it.
thinks about it, thinks about it, thinks about how zoey's starting to tense on her lap, how she can feel the muscles of her thighs flex and shudder beneath her palms. she knows it intimately, these sights, these sounds, these feelings. knows the heat of zoey's chest when she's close—how she flushes red from her sternum to her neck to her beautiful, freckled cheeks.
"i'm close," zoey whispers.
"i know," rumi growls. but it doesn't take much for her to shrivel into begging. "please, zoey."
everything escalates. a quick unraveling. zoey is grinding down against herself on rumi's front, babbling mindlessly, gripping onto her shirt so hard she thinks, for a minute, that it might just tear off at the seams—and then zoey shudders to a stop.
oh, fuck.
her head falls forward onto rumi's shoulder, just as her fingernails dig into her skin where she's holding rumi's shirt—and the small, quiet whine that comes out of zoey's mouth turns her on so much she feels herself go dizzy.
"rumi. rumi, i'm—"
rumi feels delirious. her hands are pressing into zoey's hips—and she can feel every shudder, every erratic thrust against her as zoey rides out her high. "it's so good," zoey sobs into her neck. whines. "it's good, it's so good."
it takes a minute. a stretch of pleasure she's more than happy to offer up to the beautiful woman that she loves. rumi holds her through it, steady until zoey's breathing finally events out. patient. waiting.
"but it could be better."
zoey finally leans back to look at her, her hand slipping out of her shorts, trailing something warm and wet up along rumi's abs where zoey holds herself steady.
"it could be you."
