CHAPTER 167: HUGGING

Nellie sat on the pale blue rug, her skirt hugging the generous curve of her hips, her ash-brown braids draped over her shoulders like soft ropes framing her delicate frame.

Her gray eyes, wide behind her glasses, held Lor’s gaze with a heady mix of nervous anticipation and quiet trust.

The folded blouse beside her was a quiet symbol to her surrender, the plain bra barely containing the soft swell of her breasts, its simplicity making her modesty all the more alluring.

Her freckles danced across her cheeks, flushed with a warmth that betrayed her shy exterior.

Lor didn’t rush.

He slid closer, his knees brushing hers, the faint contact sending a spark through the thick, warm air.

The silence stretched, heavy with promise, as her eyes flicked to his hands, then back to his face, the blush deepening across her freckled skin.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in a way that made his pulse quicken.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing hum, like a melody meant only for her.

"I am relaxed," she said, but the tremor in her voice—soft, fleeting—gave her away, and the way her fingers twitched against her skirt only stoked the heat coiling in Lor’s gut.

He smiled, slow and knowing, and reached out, his fingers grazing her knees, warm and smooth beneath his touch.

Her thighs tensed briefly, then softened as he squeezed gently, his hands sliding upward, tracing the line where her skirt met bare skin.

The fabric bunched slightly under his palms, revealing more of her pale, plush thighs, their thickness a delicious contrast to her shy demeanor.

"Your skin’s so warm," he said, his voice dropping lower, thumbs brushing the seam of her skirt, teasing the edge of her flesh. "Soft, too."

Nellie bit her lip, a shy, instinctive motion that sent a rush of heat straight to Lor’s core.

Her glasses slipped a fraction down her nose, and she pushed them up with a nervous flick, the gesture endearingly clumsy.

He gathered the hem of her skirt, pulling it up slowly, savoring the whisper of fabric against her skin.

It slid higher, exposing the creamy expanse of her thighs, the soft curves he’d been imagining since he entered her house.

His palms roamed upward, squeezing gently, thumbs brushing the sensitive insides where her skin was velvet-soft, warm with her quickening pulse.

She inhaled sharply as his fingers pressed higher, stopping just shy of the heat between her legs, the tease hanging heavy in the air.

"Lor..." she whispered, her voice a mix of uncertainty and quiet surrender, no protest in her tone, only a question.

"Just touching," he assured her, his voice a low growl, rich with promise. "You feel so good, Nellie."

Her lashes fluttered, and she shifted closer, her body moving toward his touch without conscious thought, her thighs parting slightly under his hands.

The trust in her movement, the way her shyness melted into quiet willingness, made his cock stir against his trousers.

His hands left her thighs, trailing up her sides, over the gentle curve of her waist, until they reached the soft swell of her breasts.

He cupped them through her bra, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breathing, his thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles.

The fabric shifted under his touch, her nipples hardening into faint peaks beneath the thin material, pressing against his palms.

The sight of her—freckled, flushed, her gray eyes wide and trusting—made his breath catch.

"Arms up," he murmured, his voice a soft command.

She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then raised her arms, her braids swaying as she moved.

Lor slid behind her, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra with a practiced flick.

He returned to face her, peeling the straps down her arms with unhurried care, the cups slipping free to reveal her bare breasts.

They were small, perfect, pale as cream, dusted with freckles like stars scattered across a twilight sky.

Her pink nipples stood taut, inviting, catching the room’s soft light.

He paused, drinking her in, his gaze lingering on the delicate curves, the way her freckles seemed to multiply in the exposed skin.

"You’re beautiful, Nellie," he said, his voice low and sincere, carrying a warmth that made her breath hitch.

She ducked her head, her lips curving in a shy, fleeting smile.

"You’re just saying that," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m saying exactly what I see," he countered, his tone firm but gentle, his eyes locked on hers.

His hands returned, warm against her bare skin, cupping her breasts with a tenderness that belied the heat building in his veins.

He squeezed gently, feeling her heartbeat quicken, then leaned in, his lips brushing one nipple.

Her skin was warm, faintly sweet, and he teased it with his tongue, slow and savoring, before sucking softly.

A small gasp escaped her, her fingers instinctively finding his hair, clutching lightly as her back arched toward him.

He moved to her other nipple, giving it the same languid attention, his tongue circling, his lips pulling gently, while his free hand trailed back to her thighs.

His fingers slid higher, brushing the edge of her panties, the fabric warm with her heat.

Her breath came faster, her thighs trembling under his touch.

"Lie back," he said, his voice a low rumble, thick with intent.

Nellie obeyed, reclining onto the rug, her braids spilling around her like a soft halo, her gray eyes half-lidded behind her glasses.

Lor settled between her knees, his hands gliding over her thighs, tracing their inner curves with a patience that bordered on torment.

The green-leaf skirt still bunched at her hips, a teasing barrier he was in no rush to remove.

He had 30 minutes after all.

"You’ve been thinking about this?" he asked, his voice a low purr, his fingers stroking the soft skin just below her panties.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson, her glasses slipping again as she bit her lip.

"...Maybe," she admitted, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the room’s quiet.