Sasha had small hands; she could cup Zolf’s chest in both her palms. Her thumbs stroked over his nipples, moving in careful circles, rubbing slowly, watching with a burning intensity as he went stiff beneath her fingers. Zolf leaned back against her, breathing hard into the crook of her neck. He stuttered, hips jolting, as she pinched lightly, pulling, massaging his nipples between her thumb and forefinger.
“S’that good?” she asked. He nodded, face still hidden in her neck. She squeezed, rolled his nipples between her calloused fingertips, agonizingly gentle.
“I - ” Zolf started, then stammered to a stop as she flexed her hands, groping at his pectoral muscles, squeezing at him in a way that sent his coherent thoughts slurring to a halt. Worried she’d stop, Zolf kissed her neck. “Good,” he managed weakly, and fell back into quiet, eyes closing contentedly as she toyed with him.
“You, um,” Sasha said. She flattened her palms and stroked down his torso in a long, exploratory touch. Zolf could feel himself growing warm, from embarrassment or contentment or some pleasant mix of both. Her hands came to rest at the low curve of his belly, above his thighs; her touch wasn’t so light as to be ticklish, but Zolf could sense the hesitation in it. “You’re real strong, Zolf,” Sasha said eventually, and Zolf blushed deeper to hear the admiration in her voice.
“Thank you,” he managed. Her hands, when they stroked up his sides again, felt surer, more solid in their touch. She dug in, when she cupped his chest again, feeling greedy handfuls of the fat and muscle there before thumbing over his nipples again. “Thank you,” Zolf said again, more breathless now; Sasha tugged at him, one hard bud then the other, and Zolf sagged against her, boneless, giving himself over to her clever hands and quiet, stilted encouragement.