Chapter 84: flushed

Eva’s face flushed even deeper, a crimson bloom spreading down her neck, her dark blue hair clinging to damp temples.

She sat there for a beat, chest heaving under her rumpled blouse, nipples still flushed and stiff, glistening faintly from Lor’s earlier worship.

She stared down at them, transfixed, her green eyes glazed with lingering heat.

Then she raised her hand.

One finger brushed her left nipple—soft, teasing, hesitant at first.

The contact sent a visible shiver through her, her thighs parting wider as she moaned under her breath.

"Still so... sensitive..."

Her eyes darted to the bathroom mirror, lips parting in a mix of shame and need.

She leaned forward, her full breasts hanging heavy and inviting, and brought her hand up again—this time not to tease, but to guide.

She pulled one breast up, tilting her head, hesitating only a second, her breath quickening.

Then she sucked.

Her lips closed around her own nipple, tongue flicking across the peak as she moaned around it, the vibration sending fresh sparks of pleasure straight to her core.

She shuddered, her hips already grinding slightly against the tub’s edge again, seeking friction.

She switched, her mouth latching onto the other nipple now, sucking harder, wet and eager.

Her free hand massaged the one she’d just left, kneading the soft flesh, both breasts now slick with her saliva, nipples swollen and hypersensitive.

Her thighs clenched, a fresh wave of slick arousal dripping down her inner thighs as her fingers dropped between her legs once more—this time rougher, desperate, plunging in deep and curling with frantic need.

Lor’s mouth hung open, his breath fogging the door faintly.

His cock throbbed harder, pre-cum dampening his pants as he watched Eva—sucking her own nipples, fingering herself furiously, moaning with reckless abandon, her body a vision of raw, unfiltered lust.

Her hips bucked against her hand, pussy clenching visibly around her fingers, the wet sounds echoing louder in the tiled space.

Inside, her body rocked, trembled, her fingers soaked and moving in messy rhythm as she pinched one breast, licked the other, moaned and—

"Ah—hah—f-fuck!"

She came hard.

Her whole body jerked forward, legs shaking violently, hand trapped between her thighs, grinding until the tremor overtook her completely.

Her moan echoed off the tiled walls—loud, raw, too loud—her pussy squirting faintly against her palm, juices dripping down the tub’s edge as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

And that’s when Lor heard the first creak.

The stairs.

Shit.

His mother was coming back up.

He scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over the stool by the door in his panic.

His magic snapped off instantly—the droplet vanishing with a faint pop—as he stumbled back into his room, breath caught in his throat, dick still half-hard and aching, adrenaline spiking like wildfire through his veins.

He dove for the nearest distraction—an old enchanted puzzle toy on his shelf—and started clicking it rapidly, legs crossed on the floor just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Eva stepped in.

Her hair brushed back neatly, face calm and composed, shirt buttoned perfectly, pants refitted without a wrinkle.

The picture of normal, no sign of her trembling thighs, no flush lingering in her cheeks, no trace of the shattering orgasm that had left her soaking and spent just moments ago.

She moved with casual grace, as if she’d simply freshened up.

She smiled faintly as she glanced at him, her green eyes betraying nothing. "Homework done?"

Lor nodded casually, pretending to concentrate on the puzzle, his heart still racing. "Yup. Yours is on top."

Eva walked over, sat by his desk, and leafed through her notebook like nothing had happened, her fingers steady as she traced the flawless equations and glyphs—Lor’s work, disguised as the Light’s possession.

And then—

Another knock, soft but insistent.

Mira stepped in holding a tray, her black hair tied back loosely, apron dusted with flour, her plump figure radiating warmth.

"Hope you two didn’t forget," she said with a grin, oblivious to the charged air. "Snacks and tea. Fresh biscuits—still warm."

"Thanks, Mom," Lor said without looking up, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still buzzing in his chest.

Eva turned in her chair and smiled sweetly, her composure flawless. "Thank you, Mrs.Vayne."

Mira set the tray down on the small table by the window, wiping her hands on her apron with a satisfied nod.

"I’ll be downstairs. Call me if you need anything—more tea, or if that puzzle’s stumping you again, Lor."

And with that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her, her footsteps fading down the stairs.

Eva reached for a biscuit, her hand not shaking at all, dipping it into her tea with casual ease.

Lor looked over at her, their eyes meeting briefly—a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

And nothing was said.

Not a word.

...

...

Eva reached for a biscuit but paused, her green eyes drifting over the two notebooks sitting side by side on the desk, their pages filled with neat, precise script.

"Where’s Kiara’s?" she asked, her voice casual, but her gaze sharp, lingering a beat too long.

Lor blinked, looking up from the cup of tea he was cradling, steam curling lazily into the golden afternoon light.

"What?"

"Kiara’s homework," she said again, tilting her head slightly, her dark blue hair shifting with the motion, the pink streak catching a glint from the window.

"You had to do hers too, right?"

"Oh—right," he replied, lifting his own notebook and flipping it open with a casual flick. "This one’s hers."

Eva’s brow furrowed, her curvy frame leaning forward just enough to make her blouse strain subtly against her chest. "Then what about yours?"

Lor gave a lazy shrug, his hazel eyes meeting hers with that familiar, unbothered grin. "I’ll just copy-paste it in my notebook."

She stared at him for a moment longer, something unspoken flickering in her expression—curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of suspicion—before she gave a quiet nod. "Hm."

The room settled into soft silence again.

The tray between them held only one biscuit left, its crumbly edge tempting in the quiet.