Our Shared Shelf Novels & Stories

She smiled, at last. “Good morning,” Cheryl called out as she came in, dressed already and ready for the day. “Coffee, good!” We shared expenses at the house, it made it cheaper on all of us and prevented waste. We’d all go shopping on Sunday afternoons and plan meals that we might share if we were all going to be home together. In cases where a shared meal was spontaneous, we’d go to the store that evening, as we did last night. “I have to get ready, ladies. See you later at the Old Barrel, as usual.” I called out as I left to grab some clothes and walked into the bathroom to shower before I left for the day.

Max’s POV After I finished eating, I asked where I could take a shower, since the bathroom in my room was being remodeled. The closet had me forgetting all about wanting to take a shower, though. “Sure, you can use the shower in the shared room,” Luke said, leading the way. “Why do you call it the shared room?” I asked. Amelia had called it that when we were paralyzed. “All five of us have our own rooms if we want to be alone,” Luke explained. “Then we have a shared room, so if we want to sleep together, we can. It helps with bonding between mates.”

“Do we really have to leave today?” Elara turned around. “Why are you asking that?” Shelyn stood and stepped closer. “We’re still comfortable here.” Elara frowned. “We already agreed.” Elang nodded. “Yes. But now the situation is different.” “Different how?” Elara asked. Shelyn glanced at Elara’s phone on the sofa. “Ellanan’s shares have improved.” Elara let out a breath. “That doesn’t change anything.” Elang stepped closer. “That actually changes a lot, Ma.”

The photos seemed so pointless now, so I tossed them into a box and began packing my things. Daniel hadn't given me much in the years we were together. He certainly hadn't given me enough to fill up a box. I threw the box of stuff and pre-wedding photos into the communal dumpster. By tomorrow, the dump truck would have taken all this trash away.

Third POV "Okay, Alexa," Aaron said, his voice soft. "We trust you. But if anything happens, we're here for you, got it?" Alexa smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Got it, guys. Thanks for understanding." Sharon stood at the balcony, gazing out at the starry night sky, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. The others were asleep, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had been building up inside her.

Asha lightly mushed his shoulder and said, “Oh hush! You know I could do worse damage than this. Young laughed wholeheartedly, inciting the couple to look at one another, sharing a private memory and joining in to make a chorus of shared joy. “You know what, you’re right. Let me shut up,” he said as he put the remaining pile onto the counter as gently as possible. “Yeah you do that,” Asha said lightheartedly. “I am definitely going to be coming back and often! Y’all have such an amazing collection.” “Thank you sweetheart, please do. We love having genuine book lovers in our establishment,” the older woman said as she leaned in and half-whispered, “plus I love encouraging young women to spend

“At first, we just used it as a fun game. When we went to college, we realized we could share the same girls. It felt completely natural to us. We did not feel bad about it at all. We liked watching each other. We liked the feeling of giving the same woman intense pleasure at the exact same time.” Alexander nodded his head in agreement. “It quickly became our thing. We never, ever got jealous of each other. It is impossible for us to feel jealousy toward one another. How could we? We share the exact same blood. We share the exact same soul. Sharing a woman did not push us apart; it actually made us feel even closer to each other.” I listened to their story in total silence. My heart was beat

Sera Wint‍e​rs ⁠Contro⁠l is an illusion you c‌ling to e‌ven wh‌en you know yo‍u've already l​et go. Especially‍ t‌hen. ‍One we‌ek in their wing. Seven​ days of s​hared meals. Shared space. Shared s​ilence that f‍elt⁠ heavie​r than co​nversation.

There was a leather couch in the corner, a bar cart with expensive-looking bottles of whiskey, and a window that overlooked the estate grounds. It was the kind of room that screamed power and control. The kind of room that belonged to a man like Jonathan Hart. I walked over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines. Most of them were business books, biographies of CEOs and politicians, a few on philosophy. Then I noticed something odd. One of the shelves looked… different. Like it didn’t quite sit flush with the wall. I reached out and pressed against it gently. There was a soft click, and the shelf swung inward.