Academy's Pervert in the D Class - Chapter 258
Chapter 258: deflated
“…Ah.” The syllable deflated out of him, a mix of chastened and amused.
“I’m fine walking in silence.”
Lor shut his mouth.
He got the message: shut up.
Loud and clear.
The only sounds then were the soft crunch of their boots on the path, the steady roll of cart wheels grinding over roots and pebbles, and the distant hum of town life filtering through the trees as they neared the edges of the market road—vendors calling out, wagons rumbling, the faint clamor of daily bustle.
Lor’s thoughts churned louder than the birds overhead, a whirlwind of frustration and fascination.
His pulse wouldn’t slow, no matter how calm she looked, her expression as serene as a frozen lake.
Because what he wanted more than anything—more than coins, more than secrets, more than victories—was sex with her.
The way she moved with that effortless grace, the way she never flinched from anything, the way her expressionless face could still slice through him like ice on bare skin.
It wasn’t love, not yet anyway.
It was hunger, raw and insistent, pooling low in his belly every time he caught the subtle curve of her hips or the way her tunic hugged her chest.
She’s blunt.
She’s cold.
Maybe… that’s the only way to ask her.
The thought burned in his mind until he couldn’t resist anymore, the words tumbling out before doubt could reel them back.
“…Ameth. Let’s have sex?” Lor asked, plain as daylight, his voice steady despite the thrum of nerves.
“No.”
The rejection came so quick, so absolute, that Lor almost tripped over his own feet, the cart lurching with him. “…No hesitation?”
“No.”
“Not even a maybe?”
“No.”
He let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as embarrassment mingled with reluctant admiration.
“Damn. You’re brutal.”
They kept walking.
She didn’t add anything.
Didn’t even give him a glance, her focus locked on the path as if the conversation had never happened.
Lor’s grin sharpened, a spark of mischief igniting in his chest.
If she wanted bluntness—fine.
He could be blunt, push the boundaries just to see that unflappable facade crack, even a little.
“Then at least give me your bra. Payment for helping you out so much.”
For the first time, Ameth actually slowed, her steps faltering just enough to make the cart wheels groan in complaint.
She blinked at him once, those hazel eyes assessing him in a single, unreadable sweep.
Then, without a single word, she reached under her tunic, her fingers slipping beneath the hem with efficient grace.
A faint snap of clasps echoed softly, and she tugged the strap free, pulling the bra out in one smooth motion before tossing it straight into his face like it was yesterday’s trash.
“Now you only get thirty percent.”
The fabric draped against his nose, soft and slightly damp from the day’s exertions.
The faint warmth of her skin clung to it, subtle and electric, carrying a whisper of her scent—clean sweat mixed with something uniquely her, like frost-kissed lavender.
Lor pulled it off slowly, staring at her retreating back like she’d just pulled gold from her pocket instead of intimate apparel.
“You’re—seriously?”
Ameth had already started walking again, her posture unchanged, as if the act meant nothing more than discarding a used napkin.
Lor held the bra up, pinched between his fingers, the cloth delicate against his skin, and a laugh bubbled out of him—genuine, incredulous, laced with triumph.
“Fine. Thirty percent. Worth it.”
He pressed it to his nose and inhaled deeply, shameless, loud enough for her to hear over the creak of the carts.
His grin split wide as the faint, intimate scent hit him, sending a jolt straight through his veins.
.
Lor’s fingers kept flexing around the fabric of Ameth’s bra, like he still couldn’t believe she’d actually given it to him.
The cloth was plain, practical—no frills or lace, just sturdy cotton that had molded to her body through hours of sweat and motion—but it was warm, faintly carrying her body’s scent.
Cool skin like a mountain stream, the salty tang of faint sweat from their labor, and a soft, underlying trace of her natural musk that made his head spin.
And the fact that she’d done it without hesitation, without a single blush or stammer, as if handing over a spare tool instead of something so intimate?
That made it ten times hotter, turning a simple garment into forbidden treasure.
And of course, being Lor, it only made him greedier, that insatiable itch building in his chest like a fire he couldn’t douse.
“So… if I ask nicely,” he said, leaning a little closer as they walked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush laced with hope, “would you give me your panties too? I’d even settle for twenty-five percent.”
He flashed her a crooked grin, trying to play it cool even as his pulse quickened at the audacity.
Ameth didn’t stop walking.
Her eyes stayed forward, locked on the path ahead, her pace even and unyielding like the steady roll of their carts.
She simply said: “Twenty.”
Lor nearly tripped over his own boots, the cart handle yanking in his grip as he stumbled forward a step, dirt kicking up around his heels.
“Wait—you’re serious?” His voice cracked just a fraction, disbelief warring with a rush of exhilaration that made his skin tingle.
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth, closed it with a snap, opened it again like a fish gasping on dry land.
His brain scrambled, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic heap. She had actually considered it—bargained, even.
“I… I would’ve taken ten percent. Hell, free. Why are you—” The words spilled out before he could rein them in, his mind racing to catch up.
He stopped himself abruptly, pressing a palm over his mouth to stifle the rest.
No.
No need to ruin this miracle by questioning it.
He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the quiet forest air, and grinned to himself, cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and triumph.
I’m one hell of a pervert, he thought, the admission echoing in his head with a self-deprecating chuckle.
He’d spent the morning tangled in the sheets with two curvy milfs, their bodies soft and yielding under his hands, leaving them sweaty, dripping with satisfaction and breathless pleas for more.
He should’ve been spent, his body heavy with the afterglow, muscles aching from the exertion.
He should’ve been tired, content to let the day wind down.
But here he was, throbbing hard in his trousers, the fabric straining uncomfortably against his arousal, bartering profit margins for underwear like a depraved merchant in some twisted marketplace.
And he couldn’t stop himself.
Didn’t want to.
The thrill of it—the risk, the absurdity—was too intoxicating.
“Deal,” he said quickly, his voice tight with barely contained excitement, the word rushing out before she could change her mind. “Twenty percent.”
Ameth turned her head just slightly, assessing him with those calm, detached eyes that seemed to see right through his bravado without judgment or interest.
“Look away.”
Lor hesitated for a beat, his grin turning crooked and mischievous.
“Alright.” He turned his head obediently toward the trees lining the path—then tilted it just enough to keep her in his peripheral vision, his breath catching in anticipation.
Ameth didn’t argue.
Didn’t scold him or call out his half-hearted compliance.
She simply stopped beside her cart, the wheels creaking to a halt, and hooked her thumbs into her waistband with the same practical efficiency she’d shown all day.
And began to strip.
Lor’s throat went dry, tightening like a vice as he stole glances from the corner of his eye.
The fabric slid down slowly, the snug fit clinging stubbornly to her hips before easing past the smooth curve of her ass, revealing inches of pale, toned skin that gleamed faintly in the dappled sunlight.
No tremor of embarrassment colored her movements.
No hesitation, no coy glances over her shoulder.
Just efficient, mechanical removal, like she was discarding another log of wood from their haul—methodical, unemotional.
But the sight of her firm thighs flexing as she shifted her weight, of her ass shifting with a subtle jiggle as she bent slightly forward, of the small triangle of damp cloth peeling away from the warmth between her legs…
Lor’s cock twitched painfully against his pants, a hot surge of blood making him ache with need.
She straightened up, panties bunched in her hand like crumpled paper, and stepped free of them with a soft rustle.
The hem of her tunic dropped back down, brushing mid-thigh, but not enough to hide the outline below—the faint mound pressing against the thin fabric, the subtle crease that marked her most private place, shadowed just enough to tease.
And higher up, her nipples were hard under the tunic’s material, pointed and stubborn, tenting the cloth in defiant peaks that drew his eyes like magnets.
Lor swallowed hard, every nerve buzzing with electric heat, a flush creeping up his neck as desire flooded him in waves.