Page 1 of Yes! Professor Hendrix
Chapter One
Lena Morrow
It was a dumb mistake!!The kind you replay in your head again and again, even though it’s already too late. I had just finished writing one of the filthiest scenes I’d done in months—sweaty, breathy, absolutely unfit for public consumption. Zaysh, my mean-ass main character, was finally getting what he’d been longing for. Ayoka had been working my damn nerves—evenIwas mad writing that female lead. She was heartbroken as hell, but shit, I wanted her to lay down and open those legs to that fine-ass, tattooed prince who’d been chasing her for so damn long.
“I need to feel your touch. I crave you, Zaysh. I want you so bad.”
“And my dick, Hera? You want that inside you too?”
Her eyes drop to my dick, widening at the sight of my hard-on. She's fucking terrified.
“I've never seen one so big,” she admits, worried. “I don't know if I can take it.”
With my eyes locked on hers, I move in closer, settling back between her thighs. My hand rests on her hip as my lips press against the curve of her neck.
“Touch it, Ayoka.”
She shivers at these words and I repeat them.
“Grab the monster that scares you and show it who's boss,” I growl into her ear. “It’s yours now. Tell me you'll tame it – make it submit to your every fucking desire.”
“Uche…” She moans, digging her nails into my back.
“Touch your dick, Hera...”
Readingthrough my first draft of the scene all over again, right in the middle of my writing high, an email popped up. I opened it while chewing my bottom lip, still mentally deep in the scene.
Subject:Field Trip Form – Due Tomorrow
From: Mr. Nolan Hendrix
Dear Parents and Guardians,
I hope this message finds you well. We are organizing a field trip to the Natural History Museum next Friday as part of our science unit on ecosystems and biodiversity.
Please note that permission slips were handed out to students earlier today. Kindly check with your child and return the signed form by tomorrow, Wednesday, at the latest.
If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to reply to this email.
Best regards,
Mr. Nolan Hendrix
4th Grade Teacher
St. Gabrielle Academy
“Marisa!”I shouted down the hall to my 9-year-old daughter. “Did you give me that permission slip for the field trip?”
“It’s on the fridge!”
Marisa was in fourth grade at St. Gabrielle Academy—one of the best Catholic schools in Chicago. It was about a ten-minute drive from our place, which worked out perfectly for me. It was just enough time to drop her off, grab a coffee, and come back home to ease into my writing day. My routine had found its rhythm. Mornings were for writing, afternoons for errands, cleaning, cooking—whatever needed to be done—before it was time to pick her up.
Once she was back, we tackled homework, then carved out a little mother-daughter time. A snack, a laugh, maybe a cuddleon the couch. The single mom life hadn’t always been easy, but I never complained. I handled mine. I was proud of the home I had built for us.
As for Marisa’s father... that had always been the part that knotted my chest. He decided to show up again after five years of denying her. At first, I wanted to shut him out completely, block him from her life like he’d done when he left; but I let him in. For Marisa. Problem was, he came and went like fog—drifting in when it suited him, vanishing just as quick. No calls. No consistency.
It used to break her. I’d seen the way her little shoulders slumped when she waited and he never came. But lately she had stopped asking. Stopped expecting. As if even she had figured out he wasn’t worth holding her breath.
