The Late-Night Tutorial
Azusa Misaki used to think office hours were boring. That changed the semester Professor Hayashi started locking eyes with her a second too long while explaining differential equations. No grades were ever mentioned. No deals. Just chemistry that neither of them could ignore.
Now every Thursday after 8 p.m. the lecture hall is empty except for them. Papers scatter across his desk; her skirt rides up when she perches on the edge. He teaches her nothing about calculus anymore—only how slowly a man can unbutton a blouse, how much pressure makes her gasp, how many positions a narrow office chair can actually support.
When she finally stumbles home at midnight, legs shaky and lips swollen, her phone lights up with one new message:
“Next week we review integration by parts. Bring the red lingerie.”
Now every Thursday after 8 p.m. the lecture hall is empty except for them. Papers scatter across his desk; her skirt rides up when she perches on the edge. He teaches her nothing about calculus anymore—only how slowly a man can unbutton a blouse, how much pressure makes her gasp, how many positions a narrow office chair can actually support.
When she finally stumbles home at midnight, legs shaky and lips swollen, her phone lights up with one new message:
“Next week we review integration by parts. Bring the red lingerie.”
6 meses atrás
