Academy's Pervert in the D Class
Chapter 78: chances

Chapter 78: chances

"Let’s go home together."

Lor’s voice slid through the classroom’s fading hum like a blade,, carrying a weight that made Kiara’s breath hitch.

Her icy blue eyes snapped to his, searching for a trap in his hazel gaze, but found only a steady, unyielding spark—confidence, not arrogance, a challenge wrapped in calm.

Kiara’s lips parted, to say something, but Lor didn’t give it room to land.

He stepped closer, his stride smooth, predatory, closing the distance until he was inches from her, his presence a quiet storm.

Her pulse jumped, her body tensing under his gaze.

She’d meant to cage him, to lock him in her orbit, but now, with his eyes on her, she felt the leash tightening around her own throat.

"You—" she started, voice sharp but faltering, her dark bangs framing a face caught between defiance and unease.

Lor’s hand found her wrist, his touch light but firm, fingers curling with a warmth that sent a spark up her arm.

Her skin prickled, her breath catching as he tugged her gently, pulling her to his side.

Her body moved before her mind could resist, her hip brushing his, the heat of his proximity unraveling her carefully crafted control.

Then he kissed her.

Not her chaotic, possessive claim from earlier, nor a fumbling gesture of inexperience.

This was a real kiss, searing, a slow burn that consumed the air between them.

His lips pressed against hers, firm and unhurried, molding to her with a precision that felt like he’d already mapped every curve of her mouth.

His tongue flicked past her lips, teasing, then deepening, tasting her with a hunger that was both calculated and raw.

Kiara’s knees wavered, her body softening against her will, her senses drowning in him—his scent, clean and faintly metallic, like a blade warmed by skin; his taste, a slow fire that spread from her lips to her core.

His hand slid to her cheek, thumb tracing an arc beneath her ear, tilting her face to deepen the kiss.

His other fingers curled at the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he explored her, lips now soft, now firm, catching her bottom lip with a fleeting bite that drew a sharp, involuntary gasp.

Her heart pounded, a wild drumbeat, heat flooding her chest, her thighs, her blouse clinging to her skin, nipples tightening against the fabric.

She’d kissed him before—but this was different.

This was invasion, a crack in her armor she hadn’t known existed.

Lor was peeling her apart, exposing a raw, trembling need she couldn’t mask.

She was losing.

Her mind scrambled for a foothold, a quip, a push to reclaim her throne—but his tongue swept against hers, slow and deliberate, and her thoughts shattered.

A soft whimper escaped, unbidden, her hands twitching at her sides, useless against the tide of him.

With a ragged gasp, she pulled back, her chest heaving, palms pressing against his chest—not to shove, but to ground herself in a world spinning out of her control.

Her lips burned, swollen and tingling, her cheeks flushed crimson, the heat spilling down her neck.

"What... the hell?" she breathed, voice cracked, raw, a confession of how thoroughly he’d undone her.

Lor’s head tilted, a faint smile curling his lips, his hazel eyes flicking sideways—subtle, almost imperceptible—toward the surrounding classmates.

Students lingered, frozen, their whispers stilled, eyes wide with shock.

She saw it.

Understood it.

They were watching—Eva, Olivia, Nellie, their gazes heavy with disbelief, the weight of her own public claim now turned against her.

She’d declared him hers to isolate him, to choke his Guiding Light scheme, but Lor had flipped the board, making her the one exposed.

Her pride surged, warring with the heat still pulsing through her.

She stepped forward, her lips finding his again, softer this time, tentative, a clumsy bid to reclaim control.

It was real, not a performance, and that scared her more than anything.

Lor kissed her back again, fierce but restrained, his lips guiding hers into a rhythm that felt like a dance, not a duel.

When they parted, both were breathless, the air thick with unspoken stakes.

Lor’s smile was faint, almost gentle.

"Let’s go home now. Can’t kiss all day." His voice was light, but his eyes held a glint of triumph, a predator who’d landed a blow.

Kiara nodded, stunned into silence, her smirk gone, her icy blue eyes darting to him, then away, as if afraid to linger on the man who’d just rewritten her rules.

They stepped into the hallway, hand in hand, but it wasn’t simple handholding.

Lor’s grip was firm, his fingers laced with hers, purposeful, like he’d claimed a piece of her she hadn’t meant to give.

His stride was steady, unhurried, radiating a quiet confidence that made her chest tighten.

Her steps matched his, but her mind raced.

His touch—his thumb brushing her wrist’s pulse point—sent a subtle, electric hum through her, pooling low in her belly.

It was intimate, charged, a silent conversation that made her skin prickle, her breath catch.

She glanced at him, searching for a crack in his composure, but his eyes were fixed ahead, calm, unshaken, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

The hallway buzzed with students, their whispers trailing like smoke—Kiara and Lor, the queen and the nobody, hand in hand.

To them, it was a scandal, a romance, a puzzle.

To Kiara, it was a cage, his calm a chain tightening around her.

She’d meant to trap him, to bury his Guiding Light by claiming him, but now she felt the walls closing in.

Her lips parted, a protest forming—but the weight of his presence, the memory of his kiss, the pulse of his hand in hers stopped her.

It was too much.

Too real.

Panic surged, sharp and sudden.

As soon as they walked a safe distance away from the academy.

She yanked her hand free and shoved him, her fist connecting with his shoulder—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting.

"Ow," Lor muttered, rubbing his arm, his tone dry but his eyes glinting with amusement, a predator watching his prey bolt.

Kiara didn’t look back.

She stormed ahead, heels clicking against the stone, her cheeks burning, her heart a wild, erratic drumbeat.

Her skirt swished, dark bangs falling into her eyes, hiding the confusion she couldn’t mask.

Lor watched her go, his smile sharpening, a quiet resolve settling in his chest.

She’d declared war with her kiss, her claim, her threat to bury anyone who approached him.

But wars were won by strategy, not bravado, and Kiara had shown her hand too soon.

She was a storm—wild, dazzling, unstoppable—but storms could be weathered.

And Lor was learning her currents, her flaws—her pride, her need to dominate, the hunger that drove her to cage him.

He started walking, his steps unhurried, his mind a battlefield of cold calculation.

This wasn’t over. It was just beginning.