Chapter 8 – Tuesday Morning, 7:55 a.m.

The bell still hadn’t rung, but the classroom already felt thick with something unspoken like the second right before thunder cracks.

Ms. Adeyemi walked in at 7:57 in that high waisted black pencil skirt that stopped just above the knee, a fitted white blouse tucked in neatly, and low black heels that clicked softly with every step. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun; small gold hoops caught the light. She looked every bit the professional teacher. Except she wasn’t not really, not anymore.

She set her bag down carefully, opened the register, and started calling roll in her usual calm voice.

“Khalid.”

“Here, ma.”

Front row centre, tie perfect, eyes already on her. Last night’s winner. The one who’d slept beside her, woken up inside her at 5 a.m. when she’d rolled over and guided him in without saying a word. He still carried the faint trace of her lemongrass body cream on his skin.

“Chidi.”

“Here.”

Two seats back, left side. Jaw set. Eyes dark. He’d left her flat hard and denied; he hadn’t touched himself since. The frustration rolled off him in waves.

“Tobi.”

“Here, ma.”

Window seat. Fidgeting with his pen, leg bouncing under the desk. He kept stealing glances at Khalid’s back like he wanted to burn a hole through it.

“Yusuf.”

“Here.”

Back corner. Hoodie up, but it didn’t hide how his gaze tracked her every move.

She finished roll, closed the register, turned to the board.

“Today we keep going with Things Fall Apart. Page 92. Discuss the scene where Okonkwo beats his wife during the Week of Peace. Five minutes in pairs, then we share.”

The room filled with the rustle of pages and low murmurs.

She walked the aisles slowly, clipboard in hand, listening to bits of conversation. When she reached the back row she paused behind Yusuf’s desk.

“Thoughts?” she asked quietly.

Yusuf looked up. “He breaks tradition because he can’t control his anger. It’s weakness pretending to be strength.”

She leaned down just enough to pretend she was checking his open book her breast brushing his shoulder for half a second. Just enough pressure for him to feel the hard peak of her nipple through the thin blouse and bra.

Yusuf sucked in a sharp breath. His pen slipped from his fingers.

She straightened without a word and moved on.

Next she stopped beside Tobi’s desk. He was paired with another boy who was earnestly explaining something about colonial disruption. Tobi wasn’t listening.

She placed her hand on the back of his chair, fingers trailing lightly down the nape of his neck barely there, feather soft then away.

Tobi’s whole body jerked. A tiny, choked sound escaped his throat. The boy next to him frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tobi rasped. “Just… cramp.”

She kept walking.

When she reached Chidi’s row she bent low to pick up a dropped pencil from the floor beside his desk. Her skirt pulled tight across her ass; the hem rode up just enough to show the lace edge of her stocking top. Chidi’s eyes locked there. She stayed bent a beat longer than she needed to.

As she rose, her hand brushed the inside of his thigh high, deliberate fingertips curling just enough to squeeze once, firm and possessive, right over the growing bulge in his trousers.

Chidi’s breath hitched loud enough to hear. His hands gripped the desk edge so hard his knuckles went pale.

She turned to the front like nothing had happened.

“Time. Share your ideas.”

Hands went up. Answers came. She nodded, praised, corrected. Perfect teacher.

But every few minutes she moved again.

A casual brush of her hip against Khalid’s shoulder as she passed.

A slow lean over Tobi’s desk so her cleavage hovered inches from his face while she pointed at a line in his book.

A whispered “Focus” to Yusuf, delivered with her lips close enough to his ear that he felt her warm breath.

Chidi got the worst of it.

During a quiet moment while the class wrote notes, she walked behind his row again. She dropped her pen again bent to retrieve it, and this time let her hand slide up the inside of his thigh under the desk. Palm flat. Fingers curling just enough to squeeze once firm, possessive right over the thick ridge of his erection.

Chidi’s pen snapped in half. Ink bloomed across his fingers.

She straightened, looked straight at him, and mouthed one word:

Later.

His eyes went glassy with need and fury.

Khalid noticed. Of course he did. He turned slightly in his seat, caught Chidi’s gaze, and gave the smallest, smuggest smirk.

Chidi’s jaw ticked.

The bell rang at 8:55.

Students packed up, chattered, left.

The four stayed seated.

She closed the door. Locked it. Half-closed the blinds again.

Then she turned, leaned back against the door, and crossed her arms.

“Chidi,” she said softly. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

He stood up so fast his chair scraped back.

“I followed the rule,” he said, voice low and rough. “I didn’t touch myself. All night. All morning. And you” He gestured at Khalid. “You let him sleep there. You let him fuck you again this morning. I can smell it on you.”

Khalid didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed.

Adeyemi pushed off the door and walked to the centre of the room.

“Jealousy is allowed,” she reminded them. “But acting on it without permission isn’t.”

She looked at Chidi. “You want relief?”

He nodded once sharp, desperate.

“Then earn it.”

She sat on the edge of her desk, legs crossed.

“All four of you on your knees in front of me. Hands behind your backs. No touching. You get to watch me touch myself while I tell you exactly what I’m imagining. The first one who begs prettily enough gets to come on my thigh. The rest wait until after school.”

She uncrossed her legs slowly.

And began to unbutton her blouse one button at a time while four sets of eyes burned into her skin.

The Tuesday “extra discussion” had just begun.

And the risk of someone walking in felt closer than ever.