In the title story, Night Lovers, a young man lies still in the dark, pretending to sleep as the door clicks open once again. A man enters-naked, sure of himself, already hard. Their nightly ritual begins without words. It's not love, not even affection. It's something older, more primal. He touches him. He takes. And the boy, silent, throbbing, yields.
He pulls back the covers, slow and sure, like opening something sacred. My skin meets the moonlight, and then his hand. He strokes me once, twice, until I shift beneath him. That's all he needs. His mouth follows. Heat wraps around me, wet and deep. I grab his hair and guide him down. Only then does he look up-those eyes, dark and full of want, finally meeting mine.
When two bodies speak, no words are needed. Some nights never end at dawn.
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