Henry had a secret. It wasn't some world-ending secret that would get him shunned from society or abandoned by all his friends, but it was a secret nonetheless. Erotica. It was his guilty pleasure. His hobby. Books full of lewd words and mouth-watering phrases that made his hand press down against the front of his slacks and brought his bottom lip between his teeth. It was his porn, his thing. He liked the imagination, liked the way the words twisted on the page and that it didn't need to be realistic because you didn't need to watch it happen. He let his mind conjure up the images as his eyes scanned the text. OR Alex finds Henry's erotica...