Professor Black Novels & Stories

The air inside Room 204 was suffocating, thick with a dark, crackling energy before I even reached my seat in the back row. Professor Dante Black stood at the front of the lecture hall, but the polished, unflappable composure he usually wore like armour was noticeably frayed. His dark suit jacket was discarded over the back of his chair, his crisp white sleeves pulled up past his elbows, and his jawline set in an iron-hard, unforgiving line. He had already reduced a timid freshman in the front row to near silence over a minor question about the syllabus before I had even pulled out my notebook.

I started the lecture, focusing on the whiteboard, on my notes, on anything but her. It worked for the first ten minutes. Then we started reviewing the last exam. “So, Professor,” she said, voice light, almost teasing, “would you say this exam question is meant to… test how well we follow directions? Or how well we handle pressure?” A few students chuckled. I didn’t. I met her gaze briefly. She was smirking, not cruelly, but knowingly. Like she remembered every second of the blackmail exchange and was savoring the memory. “Both,” I said shortly. “You should be familiar with that concept by now.”

Please don’t look for me anymore. Next to it was a red exclamation mark, showing that he had been blocked. “P-Professor…” A beastman freshman shakily raised his hand as he said, “The cafeteria has closed–” With a bang, a deep crack split the lectern straight down the middle. “Then starve,” Sarek snapped as he lifted his head. Under the lights, his golden-brown pupils contracted into dangerous vertical slits. “If this were the battlefield, trash like you who only think about food would’ve been torn apart and used as rations.”

I froze at the kitchen doorway. Right there, standing next to the toaster was a really tall man with an insane build. He was wearing a casual black sweater that made his shoulders look twice as wide. And he was holding a coffee mug that said; world's best mum. From his voice and his build, it finally clicked. That man right there was my Professor. Mr Chadwick. The man I kept jerking off to. My mum had mentioned to me before, that her fiance's name was Chadwick. But never in my wildest dream would I had imagined it was "the Chadwick." My biology professor.

I sank lower into my chair, cheeks burning, clutching my notebook like a shield. I was always late these days. Always distracted. Always trying not to stare at Theo, the quiet boy who sat three rows ahead of me — the one who sometimes smiled at me in passing and made my stomach do little flips. But lately, even Theo couldn’t hold my attention when Professor Black was speaking. “Desire,” Professor Black said, continuing his lecture on nineteenth-century literature, “often exists in the space between what we want and what we’re allowed to have.” His voice was smooth and measured, but there was an edge to it tonight that made my sk

The lecture hall had emptied hours ago. I stayed behind, as instructed, standing nervously in front of Professor Blackwood’s massive oak desk. The strict, handsome 45-year-old literature professor had been eyeing me all semester — his gaze lingering on my short skirts and tight tops during every class. “You’ve been failing my course, Miss Kane,” he said, leaning back in his leather chair, eyes dark. “But I’m willing to offer extra credit. Very… hands-on credit.”

Even though she hadn’t told me about her relationship with the professor, she was still one of my favorite persons in this messed up world. “Good.” I watch as he pushed a button in the middle of the stirring wheel, jerking the car to life. The engine sounded like soft purr and not like the regular noise other cars made. I see why boys are obsessed but I still don’t get the hype. The professor drives from the restaurant. I wave goodbye to Fiona but she doesn’t wave back. I realize the rolled up windows are tinted. Bugger. “Andrea.” The professor calls my name, bringing my attention to his face. I admire his side profile as the lights from the dashboard illuminate him.

I can see each muscle as she flexes, her calves high and tight as she balances on her four-inch heels. Just as I am sure one more step will make me fall over dead, the professor makes one last turn before stopping before a solid wood door. On a brass placard placed at about eye level, the word with the name 'Dr. Delilah M Davis is engraved. The number 225 is listed just above it with smaller, matching bras. Pulling a key from an inner jacket pocket, she jams it into the lock, twists, and with a quiet little click it swings open. Without saying a word, Professor Davis disappears inside.

“Like, how is someone’s relationship your business? I could be dating a cow for all I cared and it won’t still be your business.” “That is what I don’t understand either. If this person thought it was just inappropriate, they’d have gone to the school board first but they didn’t. They want something.” “Yeah, to blackmail you obviously.” I could almost see Alyssa roll her eyes. “But for what? I don’t have anything. I’m as poor as poor can get.” “Jared’s fucking rich.” I sat up on my bed and brought up my knees to my chest. “Not a lot of people know that. He’s a professor. That’s not the first thing that comes to anyone’s mind. Doesn’t that narrow the list?” It felt like we were closing in on

Grace looked outside the window of the cafe, observing all the people that passed by having nothing to do, as she looked through the busy streets, her eyes landed on the billboards that laid on the big buildings, she saw adverts for music videos and perfumes being displayed on them but her eyes caught one in particular the one for Black Entertainment. It was the biggest bill board present, in it was a picture of New York's leading man and CEO of the biggest producing company and chain of hotels, And a man whose shoulders she was lying on not too long ago, Mr Leonard Black. He was dressed in Black Suit his long hair styled to the back making him more handsome, he had a smirk on his face simil