CHAPTER 211: PARANOIA

Lor’s first instinct was paranoia.

Is this a trick?

Maybe she was testing him somehow, probing to prove the Guiding Light was just a elaborate scam cooked up by a mediocre student.

Or worse—maybe she was baiting him, luring him into a trap so she could run straight to the headmaster with a scandal that would bury him for good, his reputation shattered beyond repair.

No.

That is not possible.

I am overthinking this.

But then he really looked at her face, studied it in the soft lamplight.

Her auburn hair clung faintly to her temple, damp with a light sheen of sweat, a few strands escaping her bun to frame her flushed features.

Her glasses had slipped halfway down her nose, forgotten in her vulnerability, and her hazel eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, darting away like they were afraid of what they might reveal.

There was no cunning glint, no trace of the teacher’s sharp, unyielding composure—just pure, unfiltered want, mingled with a shame that made her look smaller, more human than he’d ever seen her.

Lor’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the sudden rush of blood southward.

His cock was already hard, straining painfully against the confines of his trousers, the fabric pulling taut with every twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet room, and forced himself to stay clever, to not let the moment sweep him away.

"Then... talk to this child directly. He wants it as much as you want it," he said, his voice still laced with that resonant depth, playing the part to perfection.

He shut his eyes, letting the glow vanish from them like a curtain dropping over a stage.

His body sagged backward against the rug, shoulders slumping as if the ritual had drained every ounce of energy from him.

The coin clinked harmlessly onto the floor, lifeless and ordinary once more.

He lifted a hand to his temple, rubbing it with a feigned wince, acting dazed and disoriented, like he’d just woken from a deep, confusing dream.

When he opened his eyes again, they were only his own—hazel and wide with mock confusion.

"Wha—what happened?" He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if clearing fog from his mind. "Miss Silvia, what was that? Why did you ask the light something like that?"

She had lowered her head, her auburn hair spilling over her cheeks like a veil, half-hiding her face from view.

Her voice came out soft, trembling, barely above a whisper.

"Whatever I asked the Light... it was the truth." She drew a ragged breath, her fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt so tightly that the material bunched up, revealing a glimpse of her stockings.

"I... I want you, Lor."

His cock throbbed hard enough to hurt, a insistent pulse that made it hard to think straight.

"Miss Silvia..." He leaned forward slowly, letting disbelief color his tone, infusing it with just enough surprise to make it believable. "You... really?"

She nodded once, the motion jerky and ashamed, her glasses slipping further down her nose.

"But I don’t want to force you. I know this is wrong. But..." Her voice cracked slightly, and when she finally looked up, her hazel eyes were wide and vulnerable, glistening with a mix of fear and longing.

"If you don’t like me—if this is wrong—I’ll go. I’ll leave right now and we can pretend this never happened."

Lor’s hesitation shattered like glass underfoot, the pieces scattering into oblivion.

He reached across the rug, his hand closing around hers firmly, his skin warm against her clammy palm.

"No. Don’t go." His eyes locked onto hers, steady and burning with an intensity he didn’t have to fake.

"I’ve always thought you were hot. Ever since the first day you walked into class, with that clumsy stride and that jacket hugging you just right."

Her lips parted in surprise, her hazel eyes darting away again, the flush on her cheeks deepening to a rich scarlet. "Y-You’re lying. Just trying to flatter me... to make me feel better about this mess."

He shook his head, leaning closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, stirring those loose strands of hair.

"Lying? No. You don’t even see yourself, do you? The way that jacket strains every button when you walk into class, like it’s fighting a losing battle against your curves. The way that skirt clings to your hips so tight it makes everyone stare—me included. You’re... gorgeous. Stunning. The kind of woman who turns heads without even trying."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her free hand fluttering to her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

"Lor..." The word came out breathy, laced with a mix of disbelief and budding desire, her cheeks going crimson under his gaze.

His free hand moved without pause, sliding up the curve of her thigh over the taut fabric of her pencil skirt, tracing the seam slowly, toward her hip.

Her body jolted at the contact, a surge of heat radiating from her skin through the material, her breath hitching audibly.

"You think I didn’t notice," Lor whispered, his lips brushing near her ear, close enough to make her shiver.

"But every time you bend over the desk to pick up a dropped chalk, every time you fix your glasses with that little push, every time your... breasts bounce when you hurry to write something on the board... I notice. Gods, do I notice." His hand slid higher, squeezing the soft swell of her hip, his fingers digging in just enough to elicit a soft gasp from her.

She shivered violently, her body caught in the crossfire of embarrassment and arousal, her thighs clenching together instinctively.

"Gods, Lor... stop saying things like that..." Her voice was a plea, but it lacked conviction, her words trembling as much as her frame.

But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, her hand tightened around his, holding on like a lifeline.