Reborn as an A-Rank Guide: Trapped By The Crazy Sentinels

”Handle it yourself.”

Surely all these men knew what to do, right?

To Bunny’s absolute shock, Orion simply lifted his head and stared at her in total, unblinking confusion.

Damp strands of snow-white hair fell messily across his defined brow. His almond-shaped eyes were wide, clear, and glistening with moisture, framed by thick, soft lashes. The tiny beauty mark tucked beneath his right eye caught the ambient light, lending a faint, alluring charm to his otherwise gentle face.

There was something about a white-haired man that made him almost impossible to resist.

Except he literally did not know how to handle himself.

Bunny screamed internally. How can you not know?! How can a fully grown man be this completely innocent and clueless?! Even if he had never experienced a heat cycle before, surely he had at least heard of basic human biology!

Defeated, Bunny practically pushed him into the bathroom, blurted out a few hasty, awkward instructions, and decided to let him figure out the rest on his own.

An hour passed.

Not a single sound had come from inside the bathroom.

Growing increasingly uneasy, Bunny walked over and knocked on the door. ”Orion? Are you okay?”

Silence.

Oh no. Did he faint or something?!

Bunny hurriedly shoved the door open.

Orion was curled up alone in the far corner of the bathroom floor, his clothes completely drenched. He had been standing beneath the freezing shower spray this whole time.

Apparently, he had been trying to use icy water to force his scorching body to calm down. Judging by the results, it clearly hadn’t worked.

His soaked clothes clung tightly to his sculpted frame, the wet, translucent fabric revealing the sharp contours of his chest and abs.

Way too big, way too pale, and...

Stop. Bunny cut her own thoughts off, pinching the bridge of her nose. Focus.

She stepped into the bathroom. Orion tilted his head up, looking at her with a pitiful, puppy-dog expression—as if silently pleading: I tried. It still doesn’t work.

”Ugh, whatever,” Bunny scolded him, thoroughly exasperated.

His skin was burning hot to the touch. If this dragged on any longer, his body would suffer serious neural damage.

Fine. She would just have to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

Bunny crouched beside him and began undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. Her movements weren’t gentle; in fact, they were quite rough with irritation.

”Don’t move!”

Realizing Bunny was angry, Orion shrank back obediently, not daring to shift an inch. He barely even dared to breathe too loudly.

Leaving him in soaking-wet clothes would only make him sick. After stripping away his drenched shirt, Bunny dealt with the rest of his clothing. The heavy fabric peeled away with a wet sound, exposing the full, aching length of him—thick, flushed a deep, angry red, veins standing out sharply against the pale skin, the tip already glistening and leaking steadily from the relentless, burning heat.

It twitched hard against his stomach the moment the cold air hit it, a low, broken sound escaping his throat.

Bunny’s jaw tightened. Of course it was this big. Of course.

She wrapped both hands around him without preamble, fingers barely meeting around the girth. The heat of him seared her palms. She gave one firm, testing stroke from base to tip, squeezing just under the head, and Orion’s entire body jolted as if she’d shocked him. A sharp, choked gasp tore from his lips. His hips jerked upward helplessly into her grip.

”Stay still,” she ordered, voice low and strained. ”I’m not doing this again.”

She then set a ruthless rhythm—tight, twisting strokes that dragged the slick precome down his shaft, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive underside on every upward pull. Her left hand worked the base in counterpoint, squeezing and releasing in time with the frantic pulse she could feel throbbing under her fingers. The wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filled the small bathroom, mixed with the ragged hitch of his breathing.

Orion’s head fell back against the wall. His eyes were wide, glassy, lashes trembling violently. Every stroke sent raw, electrifying shocks racing up his spine and exploding behind his eyes. He had never felt anything like this—never even imagined the body could produce sensation this overwhelming, this consuming. The primal instinct buried deep in his genetic code howled in relief and demand at the same time. It wanted more. Harder. Faster. It wanted her hands never to stop.

His white hair clung to his damp forehead. A soft, broken sound kept escaping him—half whimper, half moan—every time her thumb swept over the leaking slit. His hands hovered uselessly in the air, fingers flexing as if he wanted to touch her but didn’t dare. The look on his face was pure, stunned devotion mixed with helpless pleasure, as though she were doing something sacred instead of simply trying to keep him from burning out.

Bunny’s own cheeks burned. Her arms were already aching from the effort of working him properly, but she didn’t slow. She leaned in closer, both hands flying over the thick, hot length, twisting on the upstroke, squeezing ruthlessly on the down. Precome poured over her fingers in thick strands, making every movement obscenely slick.

”Come on,” she muttered under her breath, half to him, half to herself. ”Let go already.”

Orion’s body arched hard. His mouth opened on a silent cry. The climax hit him like a seizure—violent, full-body, continuous. Thick ropes of come pulsed over Bunny’s hands and wrists in heavy, endless spurts, painting her skin and the floor between them. His thighs shook uncontrollably. The pleasure kept rolling through him in waves, each one wringing another pulse from his cock until he was trembling and oversensitive, still twitching weakly in her grip.

Only when the last shudder finally left him did Bunny slow and stop.

By the time it was over, she was near total physical exhaustion.

She gave Orion’s forehead a firm, admonishing tap. Only then did the stubborn man finally settle down.

As Bunny washed her hands and gathered her diagnostic gear, Orion crouched quietly beside her, watching her every move with a mix of awe, satisfaction, and lingering devotion.

Then, he suddenly reached out, gently taking her sore, aching arms into his and massaging her wrists with surprisingly delicate pressure.

Bunny glanced up at the mute young man.

All right. At least you know how to be grateful.

Still, why was he so adorably, hopelessly clueless?

What Bunny didn’t know was that, long before Orion had even been born, the artificial gestation pod incubating his embryo had suffered a brief oxygen-deprivation glitch due to a technician’s error. That incident had left Orion permanently non-verbal.

And perhaps it was also why he was just a little slower, purer, and more innocent than the rest of the world around him.