Page 101 of Yearn
My older parents were both surgeons—brilliant, respected, always on call, always vanishing into the sterile brightness of hospitals that ate their hours whole.
Dinner in our house wasn’t roasted chicken and laughter.
It was a nanny setting plates in front of me, a chef stirring soups or elaborate dishes I never remembered the names of.
Everything was polished, efficient, and impersonal.
I’d sat at our long dining table that echoed with silverware but never with warmth.
If I scraped my knee, it was a bandage from the house staff, not a parent’s kiss.
If I brought home an A, it was handed to the maid to stick on the fridge that nobody looked at later.
Sitting here, with Teyonah and her kids, I realized what had been missing all those years. This wasn’t just dinner. This was family—messy, loud, imperfect, and alive.
The kind of medicine no hospital could ever prescribe.
Then Oliver spotted something half-tucked in Teyonah’s purse on the chair beside her. He leaned sideways, squinting. “Mommy, what’s that book. . .the. . .Pool Boy?”
Her fork froze mid-air. Her eyes widened before narrowing into a look of instant damage control. “Oh, that book? This is for my book club. It’s just about a boy that likes pools. That’s all.”
Oliver gasped like she’d just confessed state secrets. “Wow! I like pools too! Can you read it to us for bedtime tonight, Mommy?”
J nodded. “Yeah. That will be fun. I bet he swims fast.”
Teyonah nearly choked on her rice. “Oh no.”
I raised my eyebrows.
She shook her head so fast her curls bounced. “We’ll read something else.”
The way she said it—rushed, guilty, almost scandalized—told me everything. That book wasn’t about pool filters or lifeguard training.
No.
That book was smut.
Pure, filthy, mom-hiding-it-in-her-purse smut.
Mmmm. Very naughty Mommy.
And fuck if I didn’t want to know every single position hidden in those pages. My mind flashed instantly to her stretched out on her bed, reading by lamplight, biting her lip at some dirty line and shifting her thighs together.
If The Pool Boy was half as hot as the title promised, I wanted her to read it out loud—to me, not the kids—and then let me put her in every filthy scenario she tried to downplay.
My cock jerked in my pants.
Thank God no one could see it.
I smiled into my plate, catching her quick nervous glance at me. She knew I’d caught the slip, knew I’d filed it away like a diagnosis I fully intended to follow up on.
Her blush only confirmed it.
Dinner carried on, laughter spilling, plates emptied, and for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be full in every sense—stomach, heart, soul, cock aching under the table for a woman who read dirty books and raised brilliant kids.
God help me, I was already planning how to make her my patient, my obsession, my love story.
I will never let them go. Never.
