Ripe for guidance, asking for his help with spell theory and mathematics.
But Lor's thoughts were far from pure.
He could already see her in that cramped little bedroom of hers, kneeling, her lips parted in awe, asking if this—his hand in her hair, his whispered commands—was part of the ritual too.
Fuck.
His cock stirred, hardening against the tight fabric of his trousers, making every step a delicious kind of torture.
He froze mid-stride, exhaling sharply, and veered toward a nearby food stall to collect himself.
Charcoal smoke curled into the air, thick with the scent of spiced meat, skewers sizzling over an open flame.
The woman behind the counter was a vision—tanned skin, a blouse so tight it strained against her generous curves, her neckline plunging low enough to make every movement a spectacle.
She flashed him a knowing smile, one that said she'd seen a hundred men pause for the same reason.
