Page 17 of Yes! Professor Hendrix
Lena’s hand landed on my arm. “Baby, she ain’t stupid enough to try shit. Let her go.”
I stepped back and she gasped like she had forgotten how to breathe. Lena crouched, leaned in, her eyes cold as steel.
“I don’t know who told you romance authors were harmless. But try me. That little beating I gave you earlier? That was mercy. Try me again, and I’ll rearrange your whole damn face.”
She stood and came to me like she was walking out of a damn warzone, and I couldn’t help it—my dick hardened again. Her fire, her danger, the way she owned the space around her… I crashed my mouth onto hers, kissed her rough, like I was claiming her in front of the world.
She gasped when I pulled away, breathless and flushed. “Let’s go, Mr. Nolan. Marisa and her class are waiting. I don’t want my baby worrying about us.”
“Our baby. Don’t play with me, Lena Hendrix.”
Her brow lifted. “So we’ve already moved to Hendrix?”
“We moved to Hendrix, and our next kid moving into your womb the second I slide back in that wet-ass pussy,” I said, grinning while pecking her lips.
We walked out together and joined everyone on the bus. And since I’m petty as hell, I made the driver leave Mrs. Porter’s nosy ass behind. She better Uber her way home or catch a ride with shame. She sure as fuck ain’t sitting her dirty ass on this bus.
The restof the day rolled out smoother than I expected. After nearly wrecking my baby’s pussy and threatening to kill a woman in a public bathroom, I switched right back into teachermode. Real professional. Real polished. No dirty talk—but I couldn’t help stealing a few nasty-ass glances.
I felt Lena’s eyes on me, watching me like I was her personal damn Netflix. And not the wholesome, family profile. Nah. The raw, uncut, late-night version. Every time I helped a kid tie their shoe or explained some shit on an exhibit, I could feel her eyes dragging down my back, over my ass, crawling up the veins in my arms like she remembered how those hands made her body cry out just hours ago.
Finally, I turned to her, voice low, teeth clenched. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, Miss Morrow. Keep it up and I’ll fuck you right in the middle of this damn museum.”
Her mouth parted like she wanted to say something back—but she didn’t. She clutched Marisa’s hand tighter, shifting focus to our daughter as if that would cool her down. But I saw the blush creep up her neck. I saw how her legs squeezed together.
Marisa pulled her to the side and whispered something but I was close enough to hear everything so I watched the exchange from where I stood.
“Mommy… do you love Mr. Nolan?” Marisa asked, her little brows lifted like she was asking about Santa Claus.
“What? Baby?—”
“I want him to be my daddy,” she said. “He looks at you like he loves you. Like he’s been loving you for a long time but you didn’t notice. You should give him a chance.”
That shit made me smile, and I saw the way Lena lifted her eyes to meet mine. I could still see the doubt all over her face. I know I’m moving fast. This morning, she didn’t wake up thinking she’d get dicked down by her daughter’s teacher—and now here she is, getting a husband and a dad for Marisa in the blink of an eye.
I get the doubt. I understand it. But I don’t fucking accept it.
I’ma let her process all this shit during the rest of the visit… then I’m gonna fuck that doubt out of her so deep, so hard, she won’t evendareto imagine living without me again.
When I told Lena I’d always known she was gonna be my wife and Marisa my daughter, I meant that shit. Since day one, I wanted them in my life as my family. I knew I’d love Marisa like my own and give her the world. But I was even more convinced of that the day I found her in tears—crying because she felt she didn’t have a real dad.
As Father’s Day was approaching, I had given my students an assignment to talk about their fathers—what they liked, what they did together, why they’re the best dads in the world. While everyone else buzzed about their hero, Marisa slid to the back of the class, shoulders shaking. My chest tightened as I knelt beside her.
“Hey, Marisa, what’s wrong?”
Through sobs she whispered, “I don’t know what to write about my dad. We don’t play. He doesn’t come to see me often. I think he doesn’t like me.”
Fuck… that cut deep. Seeing her like that tore me up inside. I felt mad and frustrated. Right then I swore I was going to make this little girl happy—be the perfect dad she’d never had.
“Hey, cupcake, look at me,” I said, tilting her chin. “You’re the best little girl I’ve ever known. Beautiful, kind, strong. Any dad would be honored to have you as his daughter. I would be proud if you were mine.”
Her big, sad eyes met mine, and I felt something shift inside me.
“You know what? I have an idea. For today’s assignment, you can pretend I’m your dad. Let’s do this together. You’ll tell them my favorite color, my favorite food, how I love taking you to the fair, to the pool, and how we like watching cartoons. Would you like that?”
Her face lit up, that little grin breaking free, and my heart pounded. We worked side by side, and when she stood up in front of the class she was so excited to talk about what we had prepared together. At the end of class, when everyone had left, she ran back and hugged me, whispering, “I wish you were my real dad, Mr. Nolan.”
My heart melted.
