Academy's Pervert in the D Class - Chapter 259
Chapter 259: Held out
When she held the panties out—plain, slightly damp from the day’s exertions, carrying that same intoxicating scent—he took them reverently, his fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second that sent a spark up his arm.
He stuffed them quickly into his bag alongside the bra, the illicit treasures nestling together in the depths.
He could hardly think, hardly breathe through the fog of arousal.
He knew she wasn’t flustered, wasn’t even treating this as sexual—just a transaction, cold and pragmatic.
But for him?
It was insane.
It was ecstasy, a rush that left him lightheaded and craving more.
“I guess…” Lor managed, trying for a casual tone though his voice came out hoarse and strained, like he’d run a mile, “…I made an impulsive mistake with that deal.”
Ameth didn’t even blink, her expression as unchanging as carved stone. “No backsies.”
Lor laughed softly, the sound defeated but genuine, echoing lightly through the trees. “Fair enough.”
They kept walking, carts creaking in unison over the rutted path, the town’s rooftops beginning to appear through the thinning trees like distant promises.
Lor couldn’t stop glancing at her—at the proud sway of her hips under the tunic, the sharp, athletic line of her legs striding forward, the way the fabric pulled tight over her nipples with every step, bouncing subtly with her rhythm.
He bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, adjusted his bag against his hip to hide the insistent bulge straining his trousers, and told himself for the hundredth time that he was hopeless, utterly lost to his own desires.
.
They entered the town proper, the bustle of midday washing over them like a wave—merchants calling out their wares in booming voices, children darting between legs with shrieks of laughter, the rich smell of baked bread and roasted meat curling in the air, mingling with the earthier scents of livestock and fresh produce.
Ameth didn’t waver, navigating the crowd with single-minded focus.
She went straight to the furniture shop, Velnar’s, where the burly shopkeeper stood waiting outside, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a pipe clenched between his teeth sending lazy puffs of smoke skyward.
Lor hung back a few paces as she negotiated, her voice sharp and clipped as ever, cutting through the shopkeeper’s gruff responses like a knife.
The logs were weighed on a massive scale that groaned under the load, measured with a worn tape that snapped taut, appraised with squinting eyes and muttered calculations.
At the end, the man counted out ninety silver coins into Ameth’s open palm, the metal clinking with a satisfying ring that cut through the market noise.
She turned without fanfare, walked straight to Lor, and pressed thirty-eight of them into his hand—eighteen for the logs, twenty for the vegetables from earlier.
Her fingers were cool against his skin, the transfer quick and impersonal.
Not even a word of thanks.
Not even a glance to acknowledge the moment.
She simply tucked her own share into her pouch with a soft jingle, turned on her heel, and walked away into the swirling crowd, her ponytail swaying as she vanished between colorful stalls and chattering townsfolk.
Lor stood there, coins heavy in his hand, their edges biting into his palm as he watched her back disappear.
“…Bye,” he called lamely after her, lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave that no one noticed.
She didn’t look back.
He sighed, a long exhale that released some of the tension coiled in his chest, and pocketed the money with a faint clink.
Adjusted his bag with its illicit treasures, the weight a secret reminder that made his lips twitch into a smirk.
And just as he was about to step away from the shop, shaking off the daze, a familiar voice rang out behind him, bright and eager.
“Lor!”
He turned, his heart skipping a beat as recognition hit.
Eva was striding toward him, her dark blue hair gleaming with those playful streaks of pink under the midday sun, the oversized bow on the side of her head bouncing with each enthusiastic step.
Her green eyes lit up like emeralds catching the light when she saw him, sparkling with genuine delight, and her uniform—tight blouse hugging her ample chest, short skirt swishing against her thighs—clung to her curves in a way that made Lor’s heart skip again and his cock twitch all over again, stirring back to life despite everything.
Of course.
Just when he thought he could breathe, catch a moment to process the whirlwind of the day.
.
Eva tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing in suspicion as she glanced from the furniture shop’s counter—still cluttered with sawdust and receipts—to Lor’s face, taking in the faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the way his shirt clung to his chest from the day’s labor.
“Why weren’t you in class today?” she asked, her tone sharp but not cruel—more confused than anything, laced with that underlying worry that made her voice hitch just a bit.
“And what are you doing here, selling wood with Ameth? You don’t even touch light swords during practice, let alone haul logs like some lumberjack.”
Lor rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the tense muscles there, trying to look casual even as his mind raced for a believable excuse.
The market’s bustle swirled around them—vendors haggling, carts rumbling over cobblestones—but it all faded under her scrutinizing gaze.
“Ameth needed help,” he said, shrugging one shoulder with forced nonchalance. “And, uh… I was late this morning. Thought it’d be better to take a break than show up halfway. That’s all.”
He flashed her a quick smile, hoping it masked the lie.
Eva’s expression didn’t soften.
She crossed her arms under her chest, the motion making her blouse strain just a little tighter against her full breasts, the fabric whispering softly as it stretched.
Her skeptical gaze locked on him, those green eyes piercing like she could see right through his bullshit.
“Doesn’t sound like you,” she said bluntly, her lips pursing in that way that made her look both adorable and intimidating.
Lor forced a grin, though it felt crooked even to him, pulling unevenly at his mouth as awkwardness coiled in his gut.
Eva leaned closer then, her body heat brushing against him in the crowded street, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur.
“Kiara was… off today. She looked down, serious—like she’d swallowed something bitter. And whenever anyone asked about you, she glared at them like she was ready to break their legs. Then she just walked away without a word. Did something happen between you two?”
Lor froze, his body going rigid as a twinge of guilt flickered under his ribs, sharp and unwelcome.
He scratched his cheek absently, avoiding her eyes by pretending to watch a nearby merchant stacking crates.
“It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his grin fading into something more genuine, a weary half-smile.
“We’re… figuring things out.” The words tasted sour, reminders of Kiara’s raw vulnerability earlier that night flashing in his mind.
Eva studied him for a moment, her head tilting slightly, the bow in her hair shifting with the motion.
Then she sighed softly through her nose, the sound carrying both doubt and a hint of concern that made Lor’s chest tighten.
She shifted her weight, the bow bouncing as she tilted even closer, her scent—fresh and faintly floral, like spring rain on petals—wafting toward him. “I am sorry about that. Is there anyway I can help you?”
“No,” Lor said quickly, the word tumbling out on instinct.
Then, after a beat, he smirked faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you want mine?”
Eva’s lips curled at that, the skepticism in her eyes softening into something almost mischievous, a spark of playfulness that made her cheeks dimple just a touch, as if she waited for him to ask her that. “Yes.”
She leaned forward until her breath tickled his ear, hot and earnest, sending a shiver racing down his spine.
“The ritual. For the interclass academics tournament tomorrow. Everyone was looking for you today, Lor. Everyone. Mira, Viora, Olivia, even Nellie. You’re… famous now.”
Her whisper carried a mix of awe and urgency, her proximity making his skin prickle with awareness.
Lor blinked, caught off guard, his grin turning sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck again.
“Guess I am,” he muttered, a flush creeping up his cheeks despite himself.
“But what do I do, Eva? I don’t have enough time or energy to run rituals for all of you. There’s you, Mira, Viora, Nellie, Lia, Sophia, Olivia…”
He trailed off, counting on his fingers like a condemned man listing his charges, each name adding to the invisible weight of breats on his shoulders.
They stood in silence for a beat, the noise of the street around them—laughing children, clanging bells, distant shouts—fading into a distant hum.
Then Eva straightened, her expression sharpening with sudden decision, her green eyes gleaming with resolve.
“Why don’t you come to my house,” she said, her voice firm but inviting.
“For tea.”