Derek Kage and Johnny Donovan have been meeting for book club every week, but the intellectual discussions always seem to end with lingering glances and accidental touches. Today, they finally close the books and open up to each other.
The literary pretense dissolves the moment Derek reaches across and runs his fingers along Johnny’s jawline. The novel falls forgotten to the floor as their lips meet in a kiss that has been building for months of subtext-laden book discussions.
Johnny takes the lead, pushing Derek back onto the couch and climbing on top. Their bodies press together urgently, hands fumbling with buttons while mouths refuse to separate. The raw chemistry between these two is a story no author could improve upon.
Derek ends up on his back with Johnny driving into him bareback, each thrust punctuated by the kind of breathless moans that make it clear they have been wanting this for far too long. The intellectual connection translates into incredible physical compatibility.
Their mutual climax is as perfectly synchronized as their taste in literature. As they lie tangled together in the aftermath, catching their breath among scattered books, both men know that next week’s book club meeting will be very different.
