Chapter 42
A taste of Luke a taste of zoid
it was a normal day, well at least it started as one. Zoid was sitting on the couch with a book on their lap, Luke joined them with the remote picking a movie for them- but before he even got to turn it on they stopped him, they didn’t say anything but they leaned him back on the couch and started unbuttoning his jeans and started stroking his cock then squeezing then rubbing, then they put it in their mouth and started sucking every inch of him causing him to do nothing but groan and cry out and keep his fingers intertwined with their hair and pushing it deeper in their mouth pushing it all the way to their throat. Then when they were done he guided them to the bedroom and sat her down and took off her clothes and licking their nipples, while his lips were busy his hands were free, so he licked 3-4 of his fingers then rubbed them against their clit and then putting his fingers in they’re pussy causing them to moan and roll they’re eyes all the way back 😔✌️😩. (With dialogue)
The afternoon sun, usually a warm caress, felt a little too bright, a little too ordinary. Zoid sat curled on the plush sofa, a well-loved book open but unread on their lap. The words blurred, a muted hum against the quiet thrum of domesticity that had become their shared rhythm. Luke entered the room, the remote control a casual extension of his hand, his eyes scanning the television guide with an easy grace. He settled beside Zoid, a familiar warmth radiating from him.
"Anything good on?" he murmured, his fingers hovering over the power button.
But Zoid wasn't ready for passive entertainment. A different kind of hunger had stirred within them, a sudden, potent urge that bypassed conversation. Without a word, they reached out, their hands finding the buttons of Luke's jeans. The click of each one being undone was a tiny percussion against the quiet. Luke stilled, his breath catching, a question unspoken in his widening emerald eyes. Zoid didn't offer an explanation, didn't need to. They leaned him back against the cushions, their touch becoming bolder, more deliberate. Their fingers found him through the denim, stroking, then squeezing, then a slow, deliberate rub that sent a tremor through his frame. He groaned, a soft, involuntary sound that Zoid met with a predatory gleam in their own eyes.
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