Academy's Pervert in the D Class
Chapter 82: Subtly

Chapter 82: Subtly

Subtly, her hand slipped between her legs, fingers pressing against the damp fabric of her panty, rubbing in slow, careful circles to ease the maddening pulse.

Lor buried his face between her breasts, nuzzling the soft valley, his cheeks rubbing against the plush warmth as he kissed her sternum, breathing her in—rose oil and heated skin.

He dragged his tongue up the center, then took both breasts in his hands again, sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other, rolling it between his fingers with rhythmic pressure.

Her voice cracked—a soft, needy whimper slipping free.

"Lor..."

But he didn’t look up.

He was lost in her, worshipping every inch—sucking, licking, playing.

His mouth tugged harder now, wet sounds filling the room as he pulled back and dove in again, his hands kneading relentlessly.

Her nipples were swollen, glistening with his saliva, hypersensitive to every flick of his tongue, every gentle bite.

What he didn’t notice—at first—was the way Eva’s hips rocked faintly against the floor, her hand moving more insistently now, fingers circling her clit through the fabric, chasing the building pressure.

She was soaked, throbbing, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching for release as his mouth drove her wild.

Lor’s lips closed around her nipple again—slow, firm, his tongue swirling as he sucked gently, savoring the taste.

Eva’s breath hitched sharply through her teeth, one hand bracing the floor, the other trembling on her thigh before slipping back between her legs.

He pulled back just to kiss the soft underside of her breast, then sucked her again, tugging just enough to make her moan under her breath, her body arching into him.

His hands continued their rhythm—palming, squeezing, worshipping every curve.

Her nipples were flushed and wet, glistening from his attention, tight under the constant teasing.

He dragged his tongue across them one more time, drawing a gasp from her throat.

And that’s when he noticed.

Her thighs—squeezed tight, trembling.

And her hand?

It wasn’t just resting anymore.

Her fingers moved in slow, careful circles over the crotch of her skirt, subtle but unmistakable.

A slight shift, a rub, her breath quickening just out of sync with his touches.

She was touching herself—wet, desperate, her pussy dripping from the intensity of his worship.

Lor’s heart jumped, his cock throbbing hard in his pants, but he forced restraint.

He wasn’t going to risk it with greed, not when Eva was this hooked.

Not yet.

Ten minutes were done. But Eva didn’t shove him away yet.

Lor slowed, his hands softening, brushing gently along the curve of her breasts.

His lips pressed one last kiss to each nipple, lingering for a second longer, savoring the taste.

He raised his head, cheeks flushed, breath ragged, his hazel eyes meeting her green ones—glazed with arousal.

Eva’s face was flushed deep crimson, her dark blue hair tousled, lips parted as if she could barely breathe.

Her hand stilled, but the evidence of her need lingered in the way her thighs quivered, her skirt slightly rumpled.

Neither spoke at first, the room filled only with their heavy breathing.

She reached for her bra, pulling it back up over her swollen breasts, fingers fumbling as she adjusted the straps.

Her blouse followed, buttoned quickly with trembling hands, her eyes still avoiding his, cheeks burning.

Then she broke the silence, her voice quiet, husky.

"Do you think..." she paused, swallowing hard, "the Light is satisfied now?"

Lor looked at her, his hazel eyes softening under the lantern’s warm glow, the taste of her skin still fresh on his tongue.

He nodded once, slow and reassuring, his voice a low murmur. "Yeah. It is."

Eva let out a breath—not quite relief, not disappointment, just breathless release.

Her body hummed from the intensity of his worship, every nerve still alight, her swollen nipples tingling beneath her readjusted bra, her pussy throbbing with unmet need.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, charged with the aftershocks of their ritual.

Lor reached for the silver coin again, placing it on the floor between them.

He closed his eyes, his posture shifting—back straightening, face going blank in his practiced performance.

A second later, the coin rattled once, trembling as if stirred by unseen forces, before settling still.

His body stiffened, rigid as a puppet on strings.

Then—his eyes opened, glowing with a faint silver sheen, an illusion of possession crafted from his subtle mana weave.

His face remained expressionless, distant, as if the Guiding Light itself peered through him.

He reached for the desk without a word, opening his notebook with calm, mechanical precision, flipping to the unfinished pages.

His fingers gripped the pencil, steady and unhurried.

Eva blinked, her cheeks still flushed, pulling herself back to the moment. "Oh—right."

She fumbled with her bag, handing over her notebook too, her hands brushing his briefly—a spark of residual heat.

"Here. My homework’s inside. Same assignment. Math first, then spell formula breakdowns. Also. I, uh... need to use the washroom. Just a minute."

Lor didn’t react, his glowing eyes fixed ahead.

He took her notebook with a slow, mechanical nod, turning the page and beginning to write.

His movements were smooth, unnaturally fluid, the numbers forming in clean, exact rows—another layer of his scam, performed with effortless skill.

Eva stood, a little wobbly on her feet, her thighs pressing together against the slick ache between them.

She made her way to the washroom beside his room, the door clicking shut behind her.

But Lor, as she disappeared, let out a quiet gulp, his facade cracking for a split second.

He could still taste her—sweet and salty on his lips.

Still feel the plush weight of her breasts in his hands, the way they’d bounced and yielded.

Still remember the subtle motions of her fingers down below, rubbing herself to the edge.

He kept writing, though, playing the part.

One equation after another.

Then runic translations.

Then spell order breakdowns.

Steady. Silent.

18 + 17?

35.

34 + 12?

46.

.

.

.

Then came the hardest problem.

92 – 77?

15.

Lor smirked softly, his hand scribbling across the page.

These were child’s puzzles—designed for struggling initiates, not someone like him, reincarnated with Earth’s knowledge.

He finished the math problems in both notebooks in under thirty seconds.

Then came the spell order breakdowns.