CHAPTER 198: FINGERS

Olivia’s composure cracked further, small gasps breaking free with each flick of his tongue, each squeeze of his fingers.

"Ah—ah—stop—" she gasped, her voice frail, unconvincing.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, his lips glistening with her arousal, his voice low and teasing.

She hesitated, biting her lip hard, her hazel eyes hazy with need.

Then, shaking her head, she whispered, "N-no."

He smiled, wicked and warm, and leaned in again, licking deeper, slower, savoring every twitch of her hips, every gasp she couldn’t hold back.

His fingers slipped under her blouse, brushing her bare skin, cool and smooth, until they found the band of her bra.

She tensed, but he pushed under, cupping her naked breasts, warm and soft, her nipples stiff against his palms.

He rolled them gently, then pinched, teasing until her moans broke louder, sharper.

Her thighs clamped weakly around his head, but he pressed deeper, his tongue flicking her clit in a slow, torturous rhythm.

"L-Lor—ah—" Her voice cracked, her hand tugging his hair as her hips rocked against his mouth, chasing the pleasure she couldn’t deny.

His lips sucked harder, his tongue moving in broad, wet strokes, while his fingers teased her nipples relentlessly.

Her blouse twisted, her hair sticking to her flushed face, her gasps rising into frantic moans.

Her body trembled, bucking helplessly, grinding into his mouth as the tension built.

Her orgasm hit like a wave, tearing through her in a shuddering rush. She arched, thighs clamping tight around his head, her voice breaking into a ragged cry.

"Ahhh—Lor—!" Her pussy pulsed against his tongue, wetness gushing, slick and hot, coating his lips and chin.

He didn’t stop, licking her through every spasm, every twitch, until she sagged limp, wrecked against the floor, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

Her blouse was damp with sweat, her hair plastered to her cheeks, her hazel eyes glazed with pure, unguarded pleasure.

Lor pulled back, licking his lips slowly, savoring her taste, his grin lazy and satisfied.

"Sounds fair now," he murmured, his voice rough with his own lingering arousal.

Olivia shivered, her body still twitching faintly, her expressionless mask shattered into a raw, sated glow.

For a while,

She lay sprawled on the stone floor, her chest heaving beneath the strained buttons of her blouse, her hazel eyes staring blankly at the ceiling beams, unfocused, her light-brown bob messy across her flushed cheeks.

Her thighs trembled faintly, the remnants of her orgasm still rippling through her, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Lor crouched between her parted legs, his hazel eyes gleaming with a lazy, satisfied grin, watching the tremors fade from her body.

He’d undone her—slow, relentless, stripping away the mask she wore for the world, leaving her raw and vulnerable in the slanted sunlight.

Then, like a switch flipping, Olivia dragged in a long, steadying breath and sat up.

Her thighs quivered as she gathered herself, but her hands moved with sharp precision, pulling her black panties back up, the damp fabric clinging to her mound.

She dragged her charcoal-gray pants over her hips, zipping them with a quick tug, the rasp of the zipper loud in the quiet room.

Her blouse was next, her fingers deftly rebuttoning where one had slipped free, tugging the hem until it lay neat against her torso.

She set her bob back into place, her movements swift, controlled, as if erasing the last half-hour.

By the time she stood, her expression was her default— her hazel eyes sharp and guarded, her orgasm swallowed into silence.

Lor leaned back on his palms, his smirk unwavering.

"That’s all?" he teased, his voice low, his eyes tracing the curve of her hips, still remembering the taste of her on his lips.

Olivia fixed her hair with quick fingers, her gaze flicking down to him, sharp and unyielding.

"Now give me the guidance," she said, her tone clipped, as if she hadn’t just gasped his name against the floor.

Lor wanted to laugh—her body had soaked his mouth, her thighs had trembled under his tongue, and now she was demanding math like it was just another transaction.

He pushed to his feet, brushing dust from his trousers, his grin softening. "Fine."

He walked to the front of the room, the abandoned blackboard looming in the afternoon sun, its surface scarred with faded chalk marks.

A half-used stick of chalk sat in the tray, and he picked it up, twirling it between his fingers with a flick.

"Focus," he said, turning to her, his voice firm but warm, the ritual’s glow gone from his eyes.

Olivia was already seated at a desk, her notebook open, pen in hand, her posture rigid with determination.

Lor drew a simple line on the board:

12 ÷ 3 =

"Division," he said, underlining the numbers with a sharp stroke. "Think of it as splitting into equal parts. Twelve divided by three—how many threes fit into twelve?"

Olivia’s pen scratched, her handwriting neat and precise. "Four."

He nodded, his grin faint but approving.

"Exactly. You can check by reversing it. Four times three equals twelve. Multiplication and division are opposites—you use one to check the other."

He wrote again, larger, the chalk squeaking softly:

36 ÷ 6 = ?

She frowned, tapping her pen against her lip, her brows furrowing. "Six."

"Good," Lor said, stepping closer to the board.

"You’re faster than you think. Division isn’t scary—it’s subtraction over and over. Keep taking sixes out of thirty-six until nothing’s left. You’ll count how many times."

He moved through more examples—

45 ÷ 9, 56 ÷ 7, 100 ÷ 5—his voice steady, breaking down each problem with clear, patient logic.

Olivia followed, her pen flying across the page, her questions sharp and precise, her hazel eyes glinting with growing confidence.

Chalk dust gathered on Lor’s fingertips, smudging his palms, while Olivia’s handwriting smudged her hand, her focus so intense she didn’t notice.

Every now and then, she chewed the end of her pen, her brows furrowed, her cold mask cracking into something human—curiosity, determination, a spark of pride.