I left the underwear at home.

The following Thursday I walked into the humanities building at 6:52 p.m. wearing a soft sweater and a dark skirt that ended above the knee. No one else was in the corridor. When I knocked, Elias’s voice came through the door the same way it had the week before—calm, expectant, already certain I would obey.

“Come in. Lock it.”

I locked the door. He was standing near the window this time, sleeves rolled up, a single lamp burning on the desk. His eyes moved over me once, lingering on the line of my skirt.

“Turn around. Hands on the desk.”

I turned and placed...