Ameth's breath caught, her sharp face tensing against the quilt, but she didn't protest, her icy blue eyes fluttering as she tried to process the sensation, her body caught between confusion and arousal.

Lor gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft, oiled flesh, and began to move, sliding his cock along the crease of her ass, the oil making each stroke smooth and sensual, the heat of her skin driving him wild.

"Don't mind," he murmured, his voice rough, his hazel eyes locked on the way her curvy frame shifted beneath him, her full breasts pressed into the mattress, her breathing steady but measured, betraying none of the turmoil she usually suppressed.

Ameth's icy personality had snapped back into place the moment her climax faded, her sharp face emotionless, her mind clear and racing as Lor's cock glided against her.

The orgasm had sharpened her thoughts, washing away the haze of pleasure, and now she lay still, her toned back rigid under his weight, her full hips unmoving.

Should I take him now? she wondered, her icy blue eyes staring blankly at the quilt, her sharp mind calculating.

Lor had never harmed her—in fact, he was the first to offer genuine help, despite his obvious perversion.

His "Guiding Light" ritual had given her real advice for her vegetable stall, advice that had increased her sales and profits, and the money she'd offered for hauling logs?

He'd barely glanced at it, more interested in her sweaty underwear than the coin.

People dismissed him as a pervert, but beneath that, he was… decent.

Flawed, yes, but sincere in his own twisted way.

Delivering him to the Princess felt wrong—not because she was good or bad, but because it would betray someone who'd helped her without asking for much in return.

But if she didn't act, the Princess would send someone else—someone less conflicted, someone who'd hurt him.

Could she live with that?

She'd owe Lor, and Ameth hated debts.

Yet his help had always come with that perverse edge, the rituals a game for his desires.

He helped me for his own reasons, she thought, her icy demeanor unbroken, her body passive as Lor's cock slid between her oiled cheeks.

Does that make it even?

The questions swirled, her sharp face stoic, her full breasts pressed into the mattress, her toned legs still, her wetness from earlier drying as she focused on the dilemma.

Lor, oblivious to her inner conflict, was lost in his pervert's glee, his hazel eyes dark with hunger as he parted her asscheeks with his oiled hands, his fingers spreading the full, soft flesh to reveal the slick crease between.

The lavender-scented oil glistened, dripping down her curves, pooling at the base of her spine. He positioned his cock at the entrance of the crease, the tip brushing the sensitive skin, the heat of her body making him throb.

With a slow, oily thrust, he slid his cock between her cheeks, the oil acting as perfect lube, the tight, oiled pressure enveloping him as he pressed her asscheeks together with his hands, sandwiching his shaft in the warm, slick valley.

The sensation was exquisite—her full, toned ass gripping him, the oil making each stroke smooth and intense, the heat of her skin driving him wild.

Lor's breath came in ragged bursts, his lean frame leaning forward, his hips rocking with a slow, sensual rhythm, his cock gliding back and forth between her cheeks, the pressure building with every thrust.

He squeezed her asscheeks tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, the oil squelching faintly with each movement, his mind reveling in the sight—Ameth's curvy frame beneath him, her blonde hair splayed, her sharp face hidden, her body passive but yielding.

Ameth remained stoic, her icy blue eyes fixed on the quilt, her sharp face emotionless as Lor's cock thrust between her cheeks, the oil slicking every stroke, the heat of his shaft brushing her sensitive skin.

She felt the pressure, the slick glide, but her mind was elsewhere—If I let someone else take him, I'm free of the debt.

But he helped me…

Her full breasts pressed harder into the mattress, her toned legs still.

Lor's thrusts grew faster, his hands pressing her asscheeks together with more force, the oil making the sensation intense, his cock throbbing as the pleasure built.

His hazel eyes were locked on the way her curvy frame shifted slightly with each thrust, the oil glistening on her pale skin, dripping down her spine.

"The Light… fuck, it's pleased," he growled, his voice thick with desire, his pervert's glee peaking as he thrust harder, the tight, oiled pressure pushing him to the edge.

With a low, guttural groan, Lor's climax hit, his cock pulsing as he came, his release spilling hot and thick across her back, spraying in thick ropes that coated her pale skin, dripping down her spine and sides in glistening trails, pooling in the small of her back.

The warmth spread over her, the oil mixing with his cum, the lavender scent overwhelmed by the musky heat of his release.

Ameth's body tensed slightly at the sensation, but her sharp face remained emotionless, her icy blue eyes unblinking, her mind still racing—

He's done.

Now what?

Lor leaned back, his breath heavy, his hazel eyes glinting with perverse satisfaction as he watched the trails of his release shimmer on her back, his cock softening.

"Sorry," he said, his voice rough but sincere, a rare flicker of guilt in his tone as he realized the mess he'd made. "Got… carried away. The Light's intense sometimes."

Ameth didn't respond immediately, her sharp face still pressed into the quilt.

Without a word, she snapped her fingers, a faint shimmer of ice magic crackling in the air, the dirty liquids on her back vaporizing in a soft, frosty hiss, leaving her skin clean and pristine, the lavender scent returning as the only trace of their encounter.

She sat up slowly, her curvy frame glowing in the lantern light, her blonde hair sticking slightly to her flushed cheeks.

Her sharp face recomposed itself, her icy personality fully restored, her icy blue eyes avoiding Lor's as she reached for her blouse and skirt.

She slipped them on with quick, practiced movements, her purple lace bra and panties hidden once more under her uniform, the fabric clinging to her still-warm skin, accentuating her full breasts and hips.

Her steps were steady but hurried as she moved to the window, her sharp face unreadable, her mission abandoned in the clarity of her post-climax mind.

"See you tomorrow Lor," she muttered, her voice low and grudging, her blonde hair catching the moonlight as she climbed out, her curvy silhouette framed against the night.

She didn't look back, her icy blue eyes fixed forward, disappearing into the night, leaving Lor alone with the fading scent of lavender and the weight of her unspoken conflict.

Lor leaned back on his bed, his breath steadying, his hazel eyes twinkling as he watched her go without stopping her.

His lazy grin widened, "You forgot about the guidance." he murmured.

.

.

Lor drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep, his lean frame sprawled across the creaking mattress, the quilt tangled around his legs.

The room was quiet, the lantern's glow long extinguished, leaving only the faint moonlight spilling through the window to cast silver shadows over the wooden floor.

His black hair fanned across the pillow, his hazel eyes closed, his lazy grin softened in sleep, his body relaxed after the intense "Guiding Light" session.

A few hours later, in the dead of night, Lor stirred, his hazel eyes snapping open as a sudden shift in the atmosphere jolted him awake.

The air felt dense, heavy with a pulsing mana that prickled against his skin, a sensation he hadn't felt since his last run-in with a Class A mana training session at the academy.

His heart thudded, his body tensing as he sat up, the quilt slipping to his waist, his gray pajamas clinging to his sweat-dampened skin.

What the hell? he thought, his hazel eyes narrowing, his senses sharpening as he scanned the room.

The moonlight through the window was unchanged, the town's night sounds—distant dogs barking, a cart's faint creak—muted, but the mana in the air was unmistakable, a thick, electric hum that set his nerves on edge.

He swung his legs over the bed's edge, his bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor, his black hair falling messily into his eyes as he stood.

The mana wasn't coming from his room or the nearby streets—it was distant, directional, pulling at him like a tether.

He crossed to the window on the opposite side of his bed, the one facing away from the town's heart, and pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in, carrying the scent of dew and distant pine.

He leaned out, his hazel eyes squinting into the darkness, then climbed onto the sill with a fluid motion, his leg muscles flexing as he leapt to the sloped roof of his home, the tiles cool under his palms.

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