Chapter 264: Backshots 2

She started slow.

Her hips rolled forward and back in small deliberate circles, her hands pressing down on his shoulders, her weight balanced above him.

Her movement were measured and intentional, the kind that built something rather than rushed toward it, each small circle of her hips carrying more weight than the last.

He put both hands on her waist and felt every motion of it, the shift of her weight forward and the pull of it back, the give of her skin under his fingers, her body finding what worked and settling there.

Her boobs moved with each roll of her hips, swaying gently in the warm light of the apartment, the skin of them flushed a soft pink from the warmth building between them.

Her brown eyes were half closed, their amber quality visible even now, her lips slightly parted, her expression carrying the specific look of someone who had stopped managing anything.

He watched her face.

The composed Grace who pressed her hand against her lower back and made excuses about circulation was entirely gone.

What was left was just her, her brow slightly furrowed, her lips parted, small sounds escaping before she decided to let them out.

"Mm," she said, quietly enough that it was almost to herself.

He ran his hands from her waist upward, slowly, his palms moving across her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin, the curve of her ribs, the soft give of everything above her waist.

She shifted slightly in response, her hips adjusting their angle without her deciding to adjust them.

He brought one hand to the front of her and pressed his thumb lightly.

Her whole body responded immediately, her hips stuttering in their rhythm for a half second before she found it again, her hands gripping his shoulders harder, her nails pressing in slightly.

She leaned forward, bringing her chest closer to his face, her boobs right there, the skin warm and flushed, and he moved his mouth to one of them, his lips finding her nipple and pressing lightly.

"Oh," she said. Sharper than before. Her back straightened slightly from the contact.

He kept his thumb where it was and his mouth where it was and let her keep her pace above him, the combination of everything working on her at the same time, her sounds coming more frequently now, each one less contained than the one before.

She sat back upright.

She needed the angle, her hips working with more purpose now, covering more distance with each stroke, her hands moving from his shoulders to his chest where she pressed down for better leverage, her fingers spreading against him.

Her boobs moved freely now with nothing against them, swaying forward on each downstroke and pulling back with each rise, the motion continuous and full, the warm light of the apartment catching them with every sway.

He kept both hands on her waist and let her drive it completely.

She knew her own pace and she trusted it, building steadily without grabbing for the end before she had earned it. The apartment was warm and quiet except for the sound of them, the rhythm she had built filling the room, Daisy somewhere behind them making the occasional small sound and then going quiet again.

He moved his hands from her waist to her ass.

Both palms spreading wide across the full curve of it, feeling the softness of it, the flesh warm and giving under his palms, shifting slightly with each downstroke as she pushed onto him. He gripped and she made a sound and her pace quickened without her deciding to quicken it, her body responding to the grip before her brain had weighed in on the matter.

He squeezed harder.

"Liam," she said. His name coming out the way it came out when she was in this specific state, like it had been sitting somewhere waiting to leave and had finally found its moment.

Her hips were moving with full commitment now, her ass working against his hands with every stroke, the flesh shifting and pressing back against his palms each time she came down.

He could feel every part of her movement from where his hands were, every nuance of the rhythm she had built, every small adjustment she made when something felt better than the thing before it.

She changed the angle.

Leaning back, her hands finding his knees behind her for support, her hips tilting forward, and the shift produced something immediate and unmistakable on her face. Her jaw went slack. Her brows pulled together hard. Her whole expression rearranged itself around whatever the new angle had just introduced.

"Oh god," she said.

He held her waist steady and drove up to meet her from below, just once, a single upward push that combined with her new angle to produce something that made her make a sound with no structure in it at all.

"Don’t," she said. "If you do that I’m going to."

He did it again.

She came off the leaned back position entirely and pressed herself against him, her chest flat against his, her arms going around his neck, her hips still working but differently now, shorter and more urgent, grinding rather than riding, her whole body narrowed down to one specific pursuit.

He wrapped both arms around her and held her there, his hands finding her ass again, gripping it as she worked against him, feeling the flesh of it moving under his palms with each push of her hips, soft and full and continuous.

Her sounds came directly into his ear now, quiet and warm and completely honest, each one arriving before she decided to let it.

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

He gripped her ass tighter and she moved faster, pressing harder against him, her chest dragging against his with each motion, her boobs warm and soft against his skin.

Her thighs tightened around him.

Her whole body went rigid for one sharp second, everything locking at once.

Then she came, pressing into him fully, her arms pulling tight around his neck, a long broken sound arriving into the side of his neck that she made absolutely no effort to contain. Her hips kept moving through it, short and trembling, her body refusing to stop until it had taken every last second of what was there, and then she went loose against him, her full weight settling into his arms.

She stayed there.

Her chest rising and falling against his. Her arms loosely around his neck. Her face pressed into the side of his neck, her breath warm and uneven against his skin. He held her with both hands still on her ass and felt her breathing slowly come back to something normal.

Neither of them said anything.

The apartment was warm and still around them.

Then Liam moved.

He shifted his hands to her waist and lifted her, turning her carefully off his lap and laying her back against the couch cushions, her hair spreading against the surface, her brown eyes finding his as he settled over her.

She looked up at him with that expression, the one that had nothing composed left in it.

He pushed back in.

"Oh," she said, her hands finding his arms immediately, her legs coming up around his waist and crossing at the ankles behind him, pulling him deeper.

He started moving from this angle now, long deliberate strokes, the pace his own rather than hers, slow and deep, each one carrying the full movement from start to end without shortchanging either. Her boobs moved differently from this position, swaying toward her face on each forward stroke and pulling back as he withdrew, the motion more pronounced, the weight of them shifting continuously.

Her hands moved from his arms to his back, pressing flat against his shoulder blades, feeling every movement of his body as he worked above her.

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

He stayed right there and kept the pace exactly where it was, not building it, not pulling back from it, just holding it steady and letting it accumulate. Her legs pulled him closer with each stroke, her ankles pressing into his lower back, her hips rising slightly off the couch cushions to meet him.

Her hands pressed harder against his back.

Her brow furrowed again.

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

He drove forward and held, and she came for the second time, her whole body pulling him down against her, her arms locking around him, a sharp sound leaving her into the warm quiet of the room.

He followed her, his pace finally breaking apart, his jaw locked, a rough low sound leaving him as everything released at once, her legs still crossed at his back and her arms still around him and the apartment warm and completely still.

He stayed there.

Then he shifted sideways and lay beside her on the couch, both of them looking up at the ceiling, their breathing the only sound in the room.

Daisy appeared at the armrest.

She put her chin on it and looked at both of them, her tail moving in slow steady arcs.

Grace looked at her. "Don’t," she said.

Daisy looked back at her with the expression of a dog who had seen things and was keeping her opinions to herself about most of them.

Her tail kept moving.