The Depths He Commands
Some beginnings come quietly—like water lapping against tile, like a man watching another without daring to touch. The prologue to His, Theirs, Enough invites you into a dream, one that belongs to Elias Mercer… but perhaps also to you. This is literary erotica designed to linger. – Rowan
Steam curled off the surface of the water, catching the moonlight like smoke from a ritual fire. The pool shimmered silver, still. Perfect. Untouched.
Until it parted with a single, slow stroke.
He moved like a creature born of water—immense, at ease—each motion deliberate, unhurried. Naked, unapologetic. He swam as if alone.
But he wasn’t.
From behind a marble column, Elias watched—breath shallow, chest tight.
He hadn’t meant to linger. Just a glimpse, he’d told himself. One look.
But the man in motion—glistening, bare, utterly unconcerned by his own magnificence—was impossible to forget. And harder still to resist.
Then he turned.
Water streamed down his back as he reached the steps, climbing out with a grace that betrayed nothing of the sheer power he carried. Moonlight kissed the carved landscape of muscle, each line gleaming. Droplets traced down his chest, over his abdomen, lower still—
There was nothing left for the water to hide.
Elias’s lips parted. His knees weakened. A quiet ache pulsed through him—hungry, unspoken.
It wasn’t just lust.
It was awe. Reverence. The sight of him—the knowing in him—made something deep inside want to fall, to kneel, to give.
The man paused, towel in hand, and—without turning—smirked.
He knew.
He always knew.
Elias watched, breathless, as the other ascended. Step by step, every inch of his towering frame came into view. Broad shoulders glistened beneath the moon, narrowing to a body cut with strength. But it was lower—
As the final veil of water slipped away, Elias’s breath hitched.
There was no illusion. No bravado.
His cock hung heavy between his thighs—thick, long, unashamed. It swayed with the weight of something sacred.
Not sacred for its size alone, but for what it meant.
Dominance. Ownership. Power, made flesh.
Elias’s mouth went dry. Then wet. His body thrummed with heat—not fear, but anticipation.
His heart beat like a warning—run—but his feet were already moving.
He stepped out from the shadows.
The man hadn’t moved.
He stood tall and dripping, arms loose at his sides like a king returned from war, expecting worship for the effort. The towel remained untouched. He had no intention of covering himself.
His gaze caught Elias like a snare, and held.
“You watched,” he said, voice smooth and low—
A voice that made promises, even as it asked nothing.
Elias opened his mouth, but no sound came. His breath faltered. His body betrayed him with a single, involuntary step forward. Almost nothing.
But it was noticed.
Of course it was.
“Come here.”
Two words.
And the world shifted.
The air changed.
Gravity bent around them.
Elias moved as if drawn by a thread, unsure whether he was walking toward surrender or salvation.
Perhaps both.
The man looked him over, gaze slow and certain, like he already owned what he saw.
When Elias finally stood before him—barely a breath apart—the man tilted his head, just enough to force him to look up.
“You’re not afraid,” he murmured. “You’re waiting.”
He lifted one hand and brushed the back of his fingers across Elias’s cheek. Slow. Reverent.
“That’s good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t take. I invite. But once you step in…”
He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of Elias’s ear, his breath hot against skin.
“You don’t leave until I say so.”
***
He woke with a gasp.
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His Theirs Enough
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