Chapter 368: Give Me A Doggy Position 2[+R18]

She went down onto her hands and knees on the rug.

Her hands found the floor in front of her, her back going flat, and she looked back at him over her shoulder with the expression of someone who had positioned themselves and was waiting with full awareness of what they were waiting for.

Liam looked at her.

He took his time about it.

From where he was sitting on the couch the full picture of her arrived in sequence.

Her legs were spread to the width of her shoulders, her knees on the rug, her feet behind her with the tops of them flat against the floor. .

Her silk shorts were still on but they had ridden up so far in the position that they were doing nothing useful, the fabric bunched at the tops of her thighs, covering nothing that mattered.

Her ass sat high and round in the position, both cheeks full and present and carrying the specific shape that the shorts had been describing since she walked back into the room earlier, but without the shorts providing any mediation now the reality was considerably more specific than the description.

The shape of her from behind was the shape of someone whose body had arrived at exactly where it was supposed to arrive and had no uncertainty about it.

Her waist pulled in above her hips and then her hips flared outward with the specific generosity of her build, and from the widest point of her hips her ass sat round and elevated in the position, the two cheeks carrying their own full weight without any assistance from the angle.

Below the shorts her pussy was visible, the fabric not reaching it, the position opening everything to the warm afternoon light of the apartment.

He looked at all of it.

’This is actually what she looks like now,’ he thought, the specific thought of someone whose mental image of a person has just been updated with considerably. ’This is something else entirely.’

She was still looking at him over her shoulder.

"Are you going to keep looking," she said, "or."

"Looking," he said.

She made a sound that was half laugh and half something else and faced forward.

He stood up from the couch.

He moved behind her and crouched down and put both hands on her ass, spreading his palms across the full shape of it, pressing in slowly and feeling the softness of it give under his hands.

He squeezed once and felt the flesh of it fill his palms and released and squeezed again in a different place, his hands moving across her, learning the specific topography of her from this angle.

She exhaled against the floor.

He ran his thumbs slowly along the crease where her ass met her upper thighs and she pressed back against his hands without deciding to.

He reached forward and worked the shorts down her legs and off and set them somewhere behind him and then he was looking at her with nothing between his eyes and the full picture.

He pressed one hand flat against the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her skin under his palm, and with the other he positioned himself.

He pushed in slowly.

"Oh," she said. Her head dropped between her arms, her hair falling forward, the sound arriving before she had finished processing that it was coming. "Oh. Oh god."

He held still for a moment.

Feeling the warmth of her around him, the specific tightness of the position, her body adjusting to the depth of him, her breathing changing in the few seconds of stillness.

Then he started moving.

Long slow strokes, his hands on her hips, each one taking its full time from start to finish, the pace unhurried and deliberate. Her ass moved with each stroke, the flesh of it rippling slightly with each forward drive and settling back, the full round shape of it present and warm in his hands.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh Liam."

He drove deeper.

"Oh god," she said. Her arms bent slightly, her chest dropping closer to the rug, her ass staying exactly where it was. "Oh. That’s. Oh."

He gripped her hips tighter and pulled her back to meet each forward drive, the two forces combining, the depth of each stroke increasing with each pull, her sounds arriving with each one, honest and continuous.

*Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta*

"Oh," she said. "Oh god. Right there. Oh."

Her hands pressed into the rug in front of her, her knuckles pale against the floor, her whole body rocking forward with each stroke and pressing back with each withdrawal.

He looked at the full picture of her from behind, at her ass moving with the rhythm, the flesh of it shaking slightly with each impact, her back flat and her hair fallen forward and her waist curving in where his hands were gripping it.

He drove harder.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh god."

*Papap. Papap. Papap*

"Oh," she said. "Oh Liam. Oh god don’t stop."

He did not stop.

His pace built steadily, the rhythm finding its full weight, her sounds climbing with it, each one less managed than the one before, the apartment warm around them and the afternoon light sitting on her skin and on the oil still present from before in the specific way light sat on warm skin.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh god I’m going to. Oh."

He drove forward and held deep and felt her come, her whole body tightening around him, her hands pressing flat against the rug, a long sound leaving her into the apartment that she made no effort to contain, her hips pressing back through every wave of it while he kept his pace going through the last of it.

When the last wave passed she stayed on her hands and knees with her head between her arms, breathing.

He kept moving.

"Oh," she said, the sensitivity of immediately after making everything more present. "Oh god. Oh that’s. Oh."

He drove forward.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Still?"

"Still," he said.

"Oh god," she said.

He reached forward.

His hand found the back of her neck, not gripping, just his palm against the warm skin there, and he pressed slightly, a light and specific pressure, and she made a sound that had nothing of the previous two in it, something lower and more immediate.

He closed his hand slowly around the back of her neck, loose enough to be comfortable and present enough to mean something, and he felt her body respond to it immediately, the tightness of her around him changing quality, everything becoming more specific.

He stood up.

He lifted her.

His hand at her neck and his other hand coming under her hip and she came up with the motion, her back coming against his chest, both of them upright now, her feet finding the rug beneath them, and he drove up into her from below in this position.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god. Oh what is that."

He drove up again.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh that’s completely different. Oh god."

His hand stayed at the back of her neck, his other arm coming around her waist, holding her against him, and he drove up into her from below with the steady pace that the position allowed, each upward stroke reaching somewhere that the previous position had not been reaching, her sounds changing quality entirely to reflect the difference.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god. Oh Liam. Oh."

*Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta*

Her head fell back against his shoulder, her hands finding his arm around her waist and gripping it, her whole body held up against him, receiving each upward drive from below.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh god right there. Oh."

He kept the hand at her neck and drove up harder.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh god. Oh I’m going to again. Oh."

Her sounds came continuously now, each one arriving before she could decide on it, the apartment holding all of it, the rug beneath their feet and the couch behind them and the kitchen where something had been cooking and had presumably resolved its own situation.

He drove up and held.

She came again, harder than the first, her hands gripping his arm, her head pressing back against his shoulder, a long broken sound leaving her that went through the apartment completely.

He held her through it, his hand still at her neck, feeling every wave move through her body against his chest until the last one passed and she went loose in his arms, her whole weight settling back against him.

He held her there.

Both of them breathing.

The apartment warm and still around them.

After a moment she turned her head and looked at him sideways from against his shoulder.

"Where did that come from," she said. Her voice completely wrecked and entirely unbothered about it.

He looked at her.

"I haven’t finished," he said.

She looked at him.

Then at the rug.

Then back at him.

"Okay," she said. The word arriving in the tone of someone who had made a decision about their afternoon.

He lowered her back down to her hands and knees on the rug and moved behind her again and pushed back in from the original position and started moving immediately, no build this time, straight into the pace that both of them had already established.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god."

Papap. Papap. Papap.

Her ass moved with each impact, the flesh of it warm and full and shaking with the rhythm, her hair swaying forward, her hands pressing into the rug.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh Liam. Oh god."

He gripped her hips hard and drove forward with everything, the pace building past where it had been before, her sounds climbing with it, the rug shifting slightly beneath both of them.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh god. Oh."

He felt his own building and drove forward and held and everything released at once, a rough sound leaving him through his jaw, his hands gripping her hips hard through every pulse of it.

He stayed there.

Both of them still.

The apartment around them entirely quiet except for their breathing.

Then from the kitchen a small sound, the specific sound of something on a stove deciding it had been patient long enough about the situation it had been left in.

Sofia lifted her head.

"My food," she said.

Liam looked at the kitchen.

"Go," he said.

She pushed herself up from the rug with the specific careful movement of someone whose body had been through a significant amount and was being thoughtful about returning to vertical, and she went toward the kitchen with the walk of someone whose legs had recently made several adjustments to their expectations of the afternoon.

Liam sat back on the couch.

He looked at the plant on the table.

The plant looked back at him with the patient indifference of something that had been in this room through everything and had formed no opinions about any of it.

"You okay?" he called toward the kitchen.

"The rice is fine," she said. "Barely."

"I meant you," he said.

A pause from the kitchen.

"Better than the rice," she said.

He smiled at the plant.