CHAPTER 168: WICKED

Lor grinned, wicked and warm, and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her skirt.

"Let’s see you without this," he said, his tone coaxing but firm.

He tugged the skirt down slowly, savoring the slide of fabric over her hips, down her thick thighs, until it pooled at her ankles.

She stepped free, leaving only her plain white panties, the simplicity of them somehow more enticing than lace.

Lor’s palms roamed her calves, her knees, the lush curve of her thighs, each touch slow and deliberate, drawing soft shivers from her.

He bent to kiss her toned but soft stomach, his lips lingering on the soft, warm skin, then moved lower, pressing a kiss to the top of her thigh.

She twitched, a small, breathless sound escaping her as his lips brushed the sensitive skin there.

"You’re so soft here," he murmured, kissing higher, "and here."

His mouth grazed the edge of her panties, the heat radiating through the fabric making his cock throb against his trousers.

Her fingers clutched the rug, her breathing quick and uneven, her thighs parting further as he kissed her hip, teasing but not crossing the line.

The air was thick now, heavy with her scent, the faint musk of her arousal mingling with the lavender lingering in the room.

His hands slid to her waist, thumbs slipping under the waistband of her panties.

"Can I?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.

She nodded, her gaze darting away shyly, her cheeks a vivid pink.

Lor peeled the panties down slowly, inch by inch, revealing her to him.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but he eased them apart with gentle pressure, settling himself between them, his hands stroking her skin with a reverence that made her breath hitch.

"You’re perfect," he said, his voice raw with sincerity, his gaze roaming over her bare form—freckles scattered across her hips, her thighs soft and inviting, her core glistening faintly in the room’s soft light.

His hands roamed her thighs again, squeezing, stroking, thumbs brushing tantalizingly close to her heat but never quite touching.

He leaned over her, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft, tentative, then deepened, his tongue sliding against hers with a slow, hungry rhythm.

She kissed back, shy at first, then with a growing heat, her hands finding his shoulders, clutching lightly as she melted into him.

By the ten-minute mark, her soft moans filled the air, her body arching toward his touches, her nipples hard against his chest as he pressed closer.

He alternated between kissing her and teasing her breasts, his thumbs circling the sensitive peaks, his fingers squeezing gently until her gasps turned to whimpers.

His hips brushed hers, letting her feel the hard length of him through his trousers, and she made a small, surprised sound, her thighs trembling but not pulling away.

His lips trailed down her neck, lingering on the soft skin of her collarbone, then back to her breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand worked the other, teasing and squeezing until her back arched off the rug.

Her braids were slightly askew now, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes hazy behind her glasses, a mix of trust and desire that made his chest ache.

"How long’s it been?" she whispered, her voice breathless, barely audible.

"Fifteen minutes," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek, catching the warmth of her flush.

His gaze slid downward, then back to her eyes, a question in his expression.

"Can I... rub myself on your ass?"

Her eyes widened, a flush creeping across her cheeks, turning them a deep, glowing crimson.

The freckles scattered across her skin shimmered like distant embers, marking her face with an almost ethereal glow.

For a moment, she seemed to hold the world in suspension, her lips trembling as her breath quickened.

It was too direct—too raw.

She wouldn’t have minded if he had acted without asking, but now, in this charged moment, he was seeking her permission.

What would he think of her if she said yes?

What kind of image would she be trapped in?

But then, after a breath that seemed to echo through time, she nodded, the movement barely perceptible, almost shy. Her voice was soft, a mere breath of sound.

"Okay," she whispered, the words coming out like a secret. "If that is what the light wants."

"That is also... what I want." Lor told her honestly.

Nellie looked at him, paused for a brief second. "That’s okay too."

Lor’s smile was warm, encouraging, as he helped her roll onto her stomach, her braids spilling across the rug like ribbons.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hands smoothing over the curve of her back, down to the lush swell of her ass, soft and perfect under his palms.

Nellie lay still on the pale blue rug, her cheek pressed against it.

Her breath came quick but soft, a quiet rhythm that matched the faint tremor in her thick thighs.

The sight of her—naked, her freckled skin flushed under the golden afternoon light—sent a deep, pulsing heat through Lor’s core.

His thumbs pressed gently into the plush give of her hips, easing her legs a fraction wider.

The motion parted her just enough to reveal the soft, hidden cleft of her ass, and the sight made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his trousers.

"Gods, Nellie," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "you’ve got no idea how sexy you are."

She gave a faint shake of her head, the blush creeping down her neck like spilled wine, but no protest came.

Her silence was permission, shy but certain, and it stoked the fire in his veins.

Lor spread her ass with both hands, slow and reverent, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh.

The way it yielded under his grip, soft yet firm, made his breath catch.

He kneaded gently, testing the weight, watching how the pale curves parted to reveal the tight, hidden seam between.