Lor sat in the corner of the empty classroom, cross-legged, his back pressed against the cold, worn down wall.
His hands rested lightly on his knees, head tilted slightly downward, eyes shut tight.
To any passerby who might glance through the door's narrow window, or to Olivia, he could've passed for someone deep in meditation—his shoulders rising and falling in a steady, rhythmic breath, a faint, ethereal glow pulsing from his skin like a subtle halo in the dim afternoon light filtering through the blinds.
But meditation?
Hardly.
He was replaying it all, every scorching detail etched into his mind like a forbidden film on loop.
The way he'd thrust into Olivia's tight, welcoming pussy, her back arching in ways that proved her that she was more flexible than anyone expected.
Those hazel eyes of hers, always so composed, had lost all control—widening in shock before glazing over with raw, unfiltered pleasure.
