Get Ready, Alaric Is Coming

MMF Erotic Romance Meets Tender Voyeurism

Elias Mercer isn’t the same man he was in His, Theirs, Enough. He’s been claimed. Worshipped. Undone. But becoming visible has a cost. After an evening of exquisite surrender—public, witnessed, and impossibly raw—one woman lingers just outside the glass. Mara, a quiet regular at his bookshop, didn’t mean to stop. Didn’t mean to watch. But now, what she saw lives inside her like a secret. The Second Shelf is her chapter—and his, too. A moment of reverence. Of curiosity. Of not looking away. Enjoy this first look at a chapter deep in the MMF Erotic Romance sequel, Yours Theirs Still. – Rowan

The Second Shelf

The book lay open on the second shelf.
Half-read. Half-forgotten.
Like everything else this week.

Mara padded barefoot into the kitchen. The tile was cold. Her tea had gone bitter. She poured it out without tasting it.

Then she stood at the window, hands curled around the sink edge, forehead tipped toward the glass like it might answer something.

Yesterday hadn’t happened.
Not really.

Except—it had.

She hadn’t meant to stop.
Hadn’t meant to stay.
She certainly hadn’t meant to watch.

But she had.

And now Elias Mercer—shy, sad-eyed, literature-dusted Elias—lived in her chest like a confession.

She had seen him.
All of him.

Bent forward over a bookshop counter.
Fucked into like his spine was made for surrender.
Claimed.
Owned.
Worshipped.

She pressed her knees together.
Then cursed herself.

It wasn’t just arousal.
It wasn’t even jealousy.
Not really.

It was about being seen.
And how Elias had let himself be known in a way that felt both sacred and impossible.

She spent the morning cleaning.
Avoiding the second shelf.

Eventually, she folded herself into the armchair beneath it—knee tucked under, hoodie too large, sleeves bunched at her wrists. She picked up the book. Read two lines.

Put it down again.

Instead, she thought of the moment Alaric turned toward the window.
That look.
Not threatening. Not mocking.
Just aware.

Like her presence had already been accounted for.

And then—
The moment after.

When Elias came.
Hard.
Without touch.

His body had shaken. His eyes had opened.
And he had seen her.

They’d looked at each other through the glass.
And he smiled.

Not embarrassed.
Not shy.
Just—seen.

And seeing her back.

That was what undid her.
That he knew.

She hadn’t slept well.

Not because she was haunted.
Because she was… shaken loose.

Like watching Elias like that had unmoored something in her own spine.

She didn’t know if she wanted to be him.
Or be near him.

She thought of his body.
Smaller than Alaric’s.
Delicate, yes—but not fragile.

There was strength in his softness.
Lean lines.
A soft belly. Slender hips.
A cock that didn’t announce itself.
That didn’t threaten.
That wasn’t designed to dominate the room.

And yet—
he had been the centre of it.

All that power, orbiting around him.
All that pleasure, built from his willingness to be opened.

And somehow, that made him the strongest thing in the room.

She tried to shake it.
But she couldn’t stop imagining—

His thighs trembling.
His mouth open.
The twitch of surrender becoming climax.

And later… his face.
Quiet. Radiant. Almost boyish again.
Held like a page between fingers.

She didn’t know what to do with it.
The world it hinted at.

Not just sex.
Not just books.

But some third thing.
Some thread that wove them together.

Ink. Trust. Fire.

She’d flirted with Elias once.
And he’d smiled.

Gentle. Awkward.
But not disinterested.

She wondered now if that moment had been a door she never opened.
Not because she didn’t want to.
But because she hadn’t understood what lived behind it.

She still wasn’t sure she did.

She’d kissed men.
Been kissed by women.
Been fucked. Been left. Been adored.

But she had never felt that kind of gravity.
The kind that rearranges meaning.

She didn’t know if Elias was gay.
Didn’t know if he was taken.

She didn’t even know if she wanted him.

But she wanted to be near that.
To be trusted like that.
To witness more.

To not feel so outside.

She didn’t want to be a ghost at the window forever.

Her phone buzzed.
She flinched.

Picked it up.

Elias Mercer
Hey.
I know you saw.
I’m sorry if it crossed something.
Or… ruined something.
But I’m also not sorry.
Because it was real.
And you were there.
And I felt held.

I’ve been thinking about that chai you brought me.
And the way you said I shelve poetry like I’m afraid it’ll fall apart.

Would you maybe… come to dinner?
With me. And a few others.
Nothing weird. I promise.
Just… a table.
Some people.
A soft way in.

If you want to see more.
You don’t have to.
But I’d really like to see you.

Mara stared at it.
Read it twice.

Then pressed her forehead back to the chair cushion.

And breathed.