Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 93: The challenge

Lor rolled his shoulders back, letting his breath even out, the room’s golden light casting shadows across his average build.

He raised one hand, palm up, and a low, hissing mist formed around him—the moisture pulled from the air itself, drawn to his skin like a living shroud, condensing into droplets that traced his form. I

n seconds, his shirt clung to him, soaked through, outlining the subtle muscles beneath, water dripping from his chin, his tousled black hair plastered across his forehead like he’d stepped through a waterfall, rivulets running down his neck and chest.

Then came the second part—heat bloomed at his core, radiating outward in a wave that made the air shimmer.

Steam billowed from him in slow, coiling tendrils, rising in spirals that kissed the ceiling, the vapor carrying a faint, clean scent of rain and warmth.

His clothes dried on his frame, wrinkles flattening as if ironed by invisible hands, the fabric warming against his skin like a lover’s touch.

When the mist cleared, Lor stood perfectly dry, refreshed, the faint smell of river stone and scorched air lingering, his hazel eyes meeting hers with a triumphant glint.

He tilted his head toward her, a smirk playing on his lips. "Your turn."

Kiara smiled first.

Impressed.

She didn’t even raise a finger, her taller frame standing poised, confident.

She simply closed her eyes—and the temperature dropped, a subtle chill prickling the air like winter’s first breath.

It was immediate, the wood of the bed groaning faintly as a shimmer of pale frost laced the air around her body, catching the light like silver threads woven from moonlight.

Her dark bangs rose slowly, as if gravity had lost its hold, floating ethereally around her sharp face.

Her uniform, once clinging slightly with the day’s sweat, smoothed out seamlessly, the fabric refreshing against her curves—her full breasts lifting slightly, nipples perking under the cool caress, her skirt fluttering just enough to tease the black lace beneath her plush thighs.

Even the subtle sheen at her temples evaporated in a silvery exhale, her skin glowing clean and cool, flushed with a rosy tint that made her look ethereal, untouchable yet inviting.

Then, without warning, her skirt lifted—only slightly, a playful gust that flashed more black lace and the smooth expanse of her thighs—before falling again like it had never moved, as if the magic itself had flirted, leaving a trail of goosebumps on Lor’s arms.

When her eyes opened, they glinted with witchlight, a faint violet spark that sent a thrill down his spine.

"Well?" she asked, her voice a sultry challenge, her body radiating that cool, inviting allure, her curves accentuated in the golden light.

Lor blinked, his breath catching—he’d drowned himself and steamed like an alchemist’s kettle, a brute force display... but she had turned into moonlight with a heartbeat, elegant and effortless, her presence making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

He gave a slow nod, lips twitching into a genuine smile of admiration.

"Style points to you."

She smiled, wicked and pleased, her legs crossing as she leaned back against the edge of his desk, her skirt riding up just enough to tease, her full breasts shifting with the motion.

"Obviously."

The word hung in the air like a challenge, her icy blue eyes gleaming with that wicked spark, her body radiating cool confidence—but beneath it, her thighs pressed together subtly, a hum of nervous curiosity betraying her pride.

The room felt smaller now, the golden light slanting lower, casting warm shadows that danced across her curves, highlighting the way her skirt clung to her hips, the faint outline of black lace teasing at the hem.

Lor stepped in closer, slow and measured, never breaking her gaze, the space between them shrinking until his body heat mingled with her cool aura.

His fingers brushed her waist, anchoring her there for just a moment, like setting the boundary before inviting her to cross it, his touch light but firm, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Ever done this before?" he asked, voice low and warm, his hazel eyes searching hers with a mix of curiosity and assurance.

Kiara snorted, then shrugged, her eyes rolling slightly as she tried to play it off, but her cheeks warmed under his stare. "With my experience? You’d be surprised."

He chuckled, low and knowing. "That a no?"

Her eyes didn’t flinch.

She held his gaze like a live wire, the smirk blooming only after a pause thick with unsaid things.

"It’s new," she murmured, her voice thinner than usual, like she wasn’t sure whether to flirt or flee.

Lor reached up, slow, reverent, brushing a loose strand behind her ear—but his fingers didn’t leave.

They trailed down her cheek, along her jawline, calloused pads grazing delicate skin.

He stopped at her chin, tilting it just enough to hold her still.

"Then we go slow," he said, and it sounded like a promise, or maybe a threat disguised as one.

Their clothes didn’t just come off—they were peeled away, reverently, like sins they no longer needed to hide.

Each unbuttoned shirt, each dropped skirt felt like an unveiling of intent, of hunger coiled tight.

The air grew thick, humid with breath and heat and the silent friction of looks held too long.

Lor went first.

He didn’t rush.

He moved like he had all night—like he wanted her to watch.

His fingers moved with maddening calm, undoing the buttons one by one, his shirt parting to reveal a chest that looked sculpted in candlelight—lines of muscle that twitched under her gaze, his skin flush from rising blood and the proximity of her.

The belt followed, the metallic clink of the buckle snapping the tension like a whip crack.

He let his pants fall with a whisper of fabric, his cock already swelling, pressing hard against his briefs like it knew where it was going.

His thumb slid along the waistband, his eyes never leaving hers.

When he stepped out of the last of it, he stood fully exposed, unabashed—his cock thick, flushed, pulsing with slow, steady confidence, glistening pre-cum beading at the tip like an invitation.

Kiara’s breath caught, chest rising in shallow, rapid waves.

She let her blouse fall from her shoulders, baring smooth skin, the soft swell of her breasts pushing against the fabric, nipples hard and straining against black lace that barely contained them.