Raven turned.
She had pushed herself into exactly the wrong position.
Her thick body was pressed against his front — her tits smooshed into his chest through the fabric of her dress, the warm, heavy mounds flattening against him, her wide hips against his thighs, her face level with his collarbone.
She realized this.
She did not step back.
She could not step back because her legs were not making independent decisions anymore.
His arms came down.
His hands found her ass.
Both palms, closing around both heavy cheeks through the fabric of her commoner dress — the thick, full weight of them filling his grip completely, the softness of her pressed between his fingers and the fabric.
He lifted.
Not fully off the ground — but the upward pressure under her ass made her go up on her toes, her heels leaving the flagstone, her whole thick body forced upward, her tits dragging up his chest with the motion, her chin arriving at his shoulder level.
