"You squeezed it," Alicia accused, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I saw you squeeze it!"
"Reflex action. To ensure a firm grip."
"You... you lecherous dog!" she stamped her foot, though her own face was still heavily flushed from our shared mana session and the lingering aphrodisiac vapor. "Is there any woman in this Academy you won't touch?!"
I leaned over the cauldron, looking her dead in the eye.
"Are you jealous, Alicia?" I whispered. "If you wanted me to squeeze yours, all you had to do was ask."
Before her brain could process the sheer audacity of my statement, I reached out.
Squeeze.
I shamelessly grabbed her left breast right through her uniform. It was firm, perky, and fit perfectly in my palm—a solid B-cup, maybe a C on a good day.
Alicia froze, her crimson eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Her brain entirely flatlined.
I gave the soft mound a critical, assessing squeeze, then let go with a disappointed sigh.
