Chapter 369: Eating Her Up!

Liam set the bowl down and leaned back against the couch and put both hands on his stomach and looked at the ceiling.

"Haaaa," he said.

The sound of a man who had been fed properly and was now conducting an honest assessment of his ability to continue participating in the world as an upright person.

"That was something," he said. "I missed that. I genuinely missed that."

Sofia was sitting cross-legged on the other end of the couch with her own bowl, looking at him with the expression of someone receiving a compliment they had earned.

"Thank you," she said.

"No seriously," he said, still looking at the ceiling. "I don’t think I can move. I’m not sure I’m going to move for a while."

"That’s fine," she said.

She finished the last of her food and leaned forward and set the bowl on the table, and then she turned back to him and looked at him lying there against the couch cushions with his hands on his full stomach and his eyes on the ceiling.

"But you’re not done," she said.

He looked at her.

She looked back at him with the expression of someone making a reasonable statement about the continued schedule of the afternoon.

He swallowed.

’She is going to kill me,’ he thought. ’She is going to genuinely end me in this apartment and the only witness is going to be a plant that can’t say anything.’

She stood up from the couch.

She came toward him.

He looked at her walking toward him in the warm light of the apartment and decided that whatever was about to happen to him he had no available objections to any of it.

She climbed onto the couch and straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips, and looked down at him.

He looked up at her.

"I just ate," he said.

"I know," she said.

She leaned down and kissed him and he kissed her back and his hands found her waist and the full stomach concern became considerably less pressing within about four seconds.

She pulled back and looked at him.

"Lie down properly," she said.

He shifted and stretched out along the length of the couch and she moved with him, and then she started moving down the couch, her hands on his chest, her mouth following her hands, pressing against his chest and then his stomach and working steadily lower.

He watched her go with the expression of someone who had been told something was going to happen and was watching it happen and found the reality entirely consistent with the description.

She reached him and took him in her hand first, her fingers wrapping around him slowly, and she looked at him from below with her dark eyes and her hair falling forward and then she took him in her mouth.

She started slow.

Her lips sealed around him and her tongue pressed flat, her head moving in the rhythm she had chosen, unhurried and with the specific focus of someone who had decided to pay full attention to what they were doing.

He put his hand on the back of her head.

Not pressing. Just feeling the movement of her.

She changed what her tongue was doing on the upstroke, finding something specific, and he exhaled hard and his hand registered the finding and held still.

She found it again.

And again.

His jaw tightened.

She kept the pace going, her sounds arriving muffled and warm around him, continuous and present, her hand working the base while her mouth covered everything above it, the two in coordination without any gap between them.

He felt it building and reached down and found her shoulder.

"Come up here," he said.

She looked at him from below.

He moved, shifting on the couch, and she understood and moved with him until she was lying beside him and he was moving down the couch past her, his turn now.

He pressed her back gently and she went back and he moved between her legs and looked at her and then lowered his head.

His mouth found her and she made a sound immediately, her hand going to the back of his head, her body responding before she had processed the contact.

He worked slowly.

His tongue pressing flat and then specific, moving in the long deliberate strokes that gave her body time to build properly rather than chasing it, finding the specific geography of her reaction and committing to it.

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

Her hips shifted forward, pressing toward his mouth, and he spread his hands across her thighs and kept the pace exactly where it was, not giving her more simply because she wanted more, holding it steady and letting everything build at the rate it had chosen.

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

He stayed right there.

Her hand in his hair pressed down slightly and he felt the pressure of it and stayed exactly where he was and kept going and felt everything beneath his mouth build toward its end in the specific steady way of something that had been given enough time and enough attention.

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

He held the exact pressure and the exact position and let it arrive.

She came, her hips pressing forward and holding, a long sound leaving her into the apartment, her hand pressing his head down through every wave of it until the last one moved through her and she went still and her hand released and lay flat on the cushion beside her.

He lifted his head and looked at her.

She was looking at the ceiling with the expression of someone who had arrived somewhere and was taking a moment to acknowledge the arrival.

He moved back up the couch and she turned toward him and they met in the middle and she kissed him with the specific warmth of someone who had just received something and was returning the energy of it.

He moved over her and she pulled him toward her and he pushed in slowly and she made a sound against his mouth.

He started moving.

This time everything was different from the rug. The couch beneath them and her legs coming up around him and the specific angle of the position reaching somewhere new, her sounds arriving differently from before, lower and less sharp, the kind that came from somewhere deeper than surprise.

"Hnn," she said. "Oh. Oh that’s different."

He drove forward.

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

*Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta*

She pressed her hands flat against his back, her fingers spreading across his shoulder blades, feeling every movement he made through her palms, and he drove forward and she absorbed each stroke and pressed back for the next one.

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

He moved one hand between them and her whole body responded immediately to the additional contact, her sounds changing quality again, her hips working with him rather than waiting for him.

"Oh god," she said. "Oh. Oh that’s. Hnn."

*Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta*

Her legs pulled him deeper, her hands pressing harder against his back, her sounds coming with every stroke now, fully honest and fully present and filling the apartment around them.

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

He drove forward and pressed and she came, her arms pulling him against her, a sound leaving her that went up into the apartment ceiling and stayed there, her hips working through every wave of it until the last one passed and she went still beneath him.

He followed her, a rough sound leaving him through his jaw as everything released at once, her legs still around him and her hands still on his back.

They stayed still.

The apartment held them in its warm afternoon quiet.

After a while she turned her head sideways and looked at him.

He looked at her.

"Better?" she said.

"Different question than I was expecting," he said.

She smiled.

They lay there for another few minutes, neither of them in any hurry about anything.

Then she shifted. "I need water," she said.

"Same," he said.

She got up and went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses and they sat on the couch, both of them in the specific state of people who had used their bodies significantly and were taking a moment to be stationary about it.

She tucked her legs under herself and leaned against the armrest and looked at him.

He looked at the ceiling.

She looked at him looking at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about," she said.

"Nothing," he said. Then, "Everything."

She looked at his face and read whatever was there and left it where it was.

They sat with the comfortable quiet for a few more minutes.

Then he shifted and turned toward her and she turned toward him and something passed between them that did not need to be said out loud, the specific communication of two people who had been through something together and were deciding they were not finished with it.

She moved toward him.

He reached for her.

What followed was slower than the first time and the second time, less urgency in it and more of something else, more attention, both of them paying the kind of attention that came when the initial energy had passed and what was left was just the specific warmth of two people who genuinely liked being where they were.

Her sounds were quieter this time, more internal, arriving from somewhere deeper than before, and his were too, the whole thing carrying the quality of something shared rather than something driven.

They stayed in it for a long time.

When it ended they were both on the couch in a configuration that the couch had probably not anticipated being asked to accommodate and neither of them said anything for a while.

Then from somewhere in Liam’s midsection a sound arrived that had nothing to do with anything that had just happened.

A grumble. Long and specific and impossible to miss.

Sofia turned her head and looked at him.

He looked at the ceiling.

"She drained the food out of me again," he said.

She burst out laughing.

The real kind, sudden and uncontrolled, and he looked at her laughing and the corner of his mouth went up despite everything.

"Your stomach has very bad timing," she said.

"My stomach has been through a lot today," he said.

She kept laughing.

He looked at the ceiling and let the sound of it sit in the warm apartment around both of them.