17: Mirror of the Divine

Celina stirred against the cushions of the divan, her body melting slowly into consciousness like butter meeting warm toast.

The apartment was quiet. Not empty - no, never truly empty now - but still. Resting. Like it too had exhaled.

She blinked once, then again, letting her eyes adjust to the dim violet light spilling in from the balcony beyond. Pale moonlight filtered through sheer cotton curtains, casting gentle shadows against the polished teak floors.

The divan beneath her was enormous, soft as a lover’s sigh, with enough room for two people to curl side by side without touching. Heavy silk pillows were tucked under her head, and someone - Kim, probably - had drawn a woven blanket over her legs. She shifted slightly. Her body ... felt different. New. As if her bones had been remade under moonlight.

Because they had.

Celina drew her hand across her stomach. No pain. No tightness. No shame.

Her body was hers again. Healed in the dreamscape.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, just for a second, trying to recall the exact moment when it had all turned - when the light in that other place had entered her chest, when Kim and Anya had held her in their arms like she was sacred instead of shattered. When Bharath’s voice, soft and low and eternal, had said:

Come back to me.

And she had.

Her eyes fluttered open.

She was whole.

And yet - not complete.

Because he wasn’t here.

She sat up slowly, pushing the blanket aside. The apartment was beautiful, even in the shadows - minimalist and elegant, with low furniture and soft fabrics. A tall bookshelf framed the hallway, overflowing with paperbacks, framed calligraphy, and candles burned halfway down to the wick. The large balcony stretched beyond sliding doors, dotted with hanging planters and cushioned chairs, the city’s skyline glimmering in the distance.

But there was no sound of him.

No quiet breath. No shuffling in the kitchen. No rustle of sheets or murmured Tamil under his breath.

Just silence.

She rose, barefoot, her legs steady. She wore one of Kim’s oversized T-shirts - faded, soft, bearing the logo of some forgotten college festival. Her shapely thighs peeked out from beneath it, smooth now, no longer streaked with bruises. She padded across the floor, her movements careful but instinctive.

She needed him.

Not just wanted - needed.

The realization struck her like a note held too long. He had rescued her. Fought for her. And then - not just mended her body, but entered her soul in the dreamspace. Touched her in ways no man ever had. Not with hands. With presence.

And now she could feel it - the ache where he wasn’t. The part of her that yearned to be near him again, to feel his warmth and weight and breath and truth.

She reached the hallway.

Two bedrooms. The second bedroom’s door was shut. Celina remembered that this probably belonged to Priya. The master bedroom - his room - was mostly closed, the frame lit faintly by candlelight.

And from inside ... a sound.

A soft moan. Feminine. Feathered with heat and disbelief.

Celina froze.

Another sound. A giggle. Low, sinful, muffled by skin.

Then- A groan.

His voice.

Her fingers clenched slightly against the wall. Her breath caught.

She felt like she shouldn’t intrude. This was private. Sacred. But some thread tugged her forward - not voyeurism. Not jealousy. Something else. Then she remembered.

A memory. A vision. A dream.

She was not a stranger. She belonged there with them.

However, when she reached the doorframe, she peeked in through the crack between the door and the frame.

And her breath left her completely.

It was him.

Bharath.

Not just the gentle dream-healer. Not the soft-voiced rescuer.

This was the man of her dreams. Her visions.

Glorious. Animal. Divine.

He knelt on the mattress, sweat glistening along the carved lines of his chest and abdomen, his hips moving in powerful, controlled thrusts. His back flexed with every motion, a sculpture in motion. He was buried deep in Kim, who straddled him with abandon, her breasts bouncing with each impact, her mouth open in wordless ecstasy. He thrust his shaft into her over and over as Kim moaned and gasped at every welcome invasion.

And behind him - Anya.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms snaked around his chest, her mouth pressed to his ear. She whispered into him like a spellcaster, each word dripping with filth and devotion.

Celina’s knees trembled.

She felt like she should leave. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Because it was exactly as she’d seen in the dreamscape. The way their bodies moved. The angles. The rhythm. The worship.

Kim cried out, her voice cracking. Bharath grunted, sweat pouring down his spine. Anya clutched his hair and bit his shoulder as he filled Kim with all he had.

Celina’s hand found the doorframe. Her other hand pressed to her mouth.

And her thighs clenched as her body remembered.

She wasn’t jealous. She was awed.

Anya shifted, pulling Bharath back against her chest, cradling him like a war prize. “You’re going to fuck me next,” she whispered, loud enough for Celina to hear. “But not before you wreck her again. Show her what it means to be taken by our man.”

Kim whimpered in response, already grinding back down, her body eager and messy and perfect.

Celina’s breath hitched.

She shouldn’t be seeing this.

But something deeper told her - this was always meant to be seen.

This was a rite. This was sacred. And she belonged there with them.

She slipped to her knees in the hallway, trembling, her eyes never leaving the scene through the half-open door.

She remembered Kim whispering to her in the dream: He is truth.

And Anya: He won’t just touch your body. He’ll touch the story you thought no one could love.

And now ... she saw it.

Celina’s hand drifted down her own thigh, tentative, reverent.

She didn’t slip it beneath her shirt. Not yet. She just pressed against her own skin, feeling how wet she was. How alive.

She closed her eyes for a moment and listened.

Kim’s cries - unashamed.

Anya’s voice - low, commanding, aroused.

Bharath’s moans - primal. Anchored. Powerful.

They weren’t just fucking.

They were binding.

And something in Celina’s soul whispered: Soon.

Soon it would be her. Soon, she would be brought to this altar.

Not as a rescued girl. Not as a wounded heart.

But as a woman.

A storm.

An offering.

Her fingers dug into the wood now, her breath shallow.

She imagined stepping through that door. Of Bharath looking up, seeing her, and stretching out a hand.

Calling her name like a prayer.

She imagined Kim whispering, “She’s ready”.

Anya licking her lips and saying, “About damn time”.

She imagined being lifted, worshipped, loved not despite her scars - but because of them.

Because she had survived. Because she had come back.

Her hand trembled against her thigh.

She pressed her forehead to the wall, eyes wet, not from sadness - from release.

For the first time in years ... she felt no shame.

Only longing. Only gratitude.

Only a rising fire inside her.

She stayed there for a long moment. Listening. Breathing.

Worshipping them from a distance.

And then - just as Kim’s voice crested again into a moan so beautiful it made Celina’s toes curl - she rose.

Kim cried out, her voice cracking under the weight of sensation. Her hands clawed at Bharath’s chest, her head thrown back in bliss. The candlelight flickered wildly, casting golden waves over her heaving body.

And Bharath...

God, Bharath.

He was magnificent. Wild. Beautiful in his ruin. The way his hands gripped Kim’s hips, the way his jaw clenched as he pushed up into her with brutal precision causing her huge breasts to jiggle uncontrollably - it was as if the world outside had ceased to matter. He was fully present. Entirely theirs. Entirely himself.

Celina couldn’t breathe.

Not out of shame.

But awe.

A sacred hunger she didn’t yet know how to name.

And then-

Anya’s voice again.

Low. Sultry. Knowing.

“Celina’s watching,” she whispered, her breath tickling Bharath’s ear. “She’s right outside the door.”

Celina froze.

Her heart stopped.

Her body went utterly still.

“I can feel her,” Anya murmured, her smile audible. “Quiet little ghost. Soaked and shivering and ready to be unmade.”

Celina’s thighs clenched together in a rush of heat so sharp it nearly buckled her. Her breath caught - but she didn’t flee.

She didn’t deny it.

Because Anya was right.

She was soaked. She was shivering. She was vibrating with a need that had no name, and somehow - impossibly - Anya knew.

Inside the room, Bharath’s rhythm changed.

His breath grew rougher. His hips slammed harder into Kim, each thrust now a declaration.

Celina gasped softly.

And then she heard it.

Bharath’s voice - deeper now, ragged.

“She’s here?”

Anya moaned against his back. “Yes, jaan. Our little storm. She’s listening to how you fuck. How you love.”

Another thrust. Sharp. Devastating.

Kim shrieked, trembling atop him. “Fuck, yes!”

Anya’s voice purred like silk over steel. “You think she’s touching herself yet?”

Bharath groaned. “She should be.”

Celina’s hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt almost on instinct. Her fingers brushed against her own soaked heat, and her knees quivered.

“Soon,” Anya whispered again. “She’ll crawl to the edge of this bed and beg you to take her. And we’ll welcome her. We’ll crown her.”

“Celina,” Bharath growled aloud, hips pistoning now with feral force, “I’m going to make you sob when it’s your turn.”

Celina’s cry caught in her throat.

She was wet. Aching. Her fingers moved softly - reverently - barely brushing over her clit as her forehead pressed to the doorframe.

They knew.

They wanted her.

And somehow - she wanted to wait.

To listen.

To learn.

To prepare.

Because what she was hearing - what she was feeling - was not just sex. Not just moaning and thrusting and heat.

It was a language.

A ceremony.

And Celina needed to understand every word.

Inside, Kim had collapsed again, writhing in a daze as Bharath flipped her to her back and leaned over her, kissing her hard while Anya adjusted behind him, stretching like a cat.

Then Anya’s voice came again - honeyed and low.

“Don’t forget your promise, love.”

Bharath turned his face to kiss her jaw. “On your back or your stomach?”

Anya smirked. “Stomach. I want to feel your weight.”

Celina moaned quietly without meaning to.

The bed creaked as bodies shifted. Kim lay splayed in glowing aftershock, hair wild against the sheets, her body glistening in candlelight, her magnificent breasts heaving, drenched in sweat. Anya stretched out beneath Bharath now, her back arched, hips high, hair pulled to one side.

Bharath didn’t enter her immediately.

He leaned over her, kissing her shoulders. Her spine. Her lower back.

“I missed you,” he whispered, kissing the base of her neck.

“Show me,” she hissed.

And he did.

He entered her in one deep thrust.

Anya’s moan - sharp, surprised, raw - sent a ripple through Celina’s spine.

She couldn’t help herself now. Her fingers moved faster, slick and urgent, circling her clit in time with the rhythm of Bharath’s thrusts.

She could feel the moment he went deeper - when Anya gasped and clawed the sheets.

“You’re going to break me,” Anya laughed through the moans.

“Not tonight,” Bharath whispered. “Tonight I will rebuild you.”

Celina whimpered.

She could barely stay upright.

Her forehead thumped softly against the door.

Inside, the rhythm built.

Anya pushed back into him, her breath catching with every movement.

“Think she’s close, jaan?” she asked, voice high and trembling.

Bharath’s thrusts didn’t falter. “She better be.”

“Touch yourself for us, Celina,” Anya called softly, louder now, no longer teasing. “Come for us. Right there in the hallway. Let the apartment hear how healed you are.”

Celina moaned - louder than she meant to.

And then she did.

She climaxed hard, silently screaming, her back arching as her body convulsed against the doorframe, her fingers clamped inside her, her mouth open in stunned, breathless ecstasy.

And inside the room - just as her orgasm peaked -

Bharath slammed into Anya one final time, groaning, his body rigid.

Anya cried out beneath him, shaking as her climax tore through her.

And then silence.

Thick.

Holy.

Celina slumped to the ground in the hallway, trembling.

Sweat dripped down her temples. Her legs were jelly. Her breath came in short, helpless gasps.

Inside, there was no more talking. Just the sounds of three hearts beating. Of a shared stillness.

And then - a whisper. Kim’s voice.

“She’s ready.”

Anya chuckled softly. “She always was.”

Bharath murmured something Celina couldn’t catch.

Then - footsteps.

The door creaked.

It opened just an inch more.

Candlelight spilled into the hallway.

Kim stood there, gloriously naked, her skin flushed and glowing, her breasts gleaming in the low light.

She looked down at Celina - not with pity. Not with judgment.

But love.

And hunger.

And something older.

“You coming in,” Kim whispered, “or do you want to make us beg?”

Celina’s lips parted.

She rose slowly to her feet, her legs trembling, her thighs still slick with need and release.

She stepped inside.

Into candlelight.

Into scent.

Into heat.

Into them.

Bharath sat against the headboard now, arms open.

Anya sprawled beside him, her back against his chest, her legs still trembling.

Kim padded toward the bed, turned, and held out a hand.

Celina took it.

Let herself be led.

Let herself belong.

Kim pulled her into the bed like she was home.

And as Bharath reached for her, as Anya leaned in to kiss her shoulder, as the sheets gathered around them all - Celina whispered the only truth that mattered anymore.

“I’m ready. I’m yours Bharath”

The room felt sacred. Dim candlelight flickered across linen walls, casting gold halos across sweat-slicked bodies and carved shadows. The scent of sandalwood mingled with arousal, thick and heady, curling into her lungs like incense in a temple.

And at the center of it all...

Bharath.

He sat on his haunches at the top of the bed, utterly still, his body coiled like a god in waiting. His skin glistened. His jaw was sharp with tension. His eyes...

They were locked on her.

Predatory. Devotional.

Unblinking.

It was not the look of a man preparing to take a woman.

It was the look of a sovereign preparing to claim what was already his.

Celina’s legs trembled.

She felt naked under his gaze - even though Kim’s oversized T-shirt still clung to her thighs. The fabric was no shield. Not anymore. Not here. Not when her soul felt already unwrapped.

He tilted his head. That slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips.

“Prepare her for me,” Bharath said.

Four words.

But they cracked through her like thunder.

Celina gasped softly - even as something inside her spine straightened.

She had waited for this.

Feared this.

Needed this.

Kim stepped behind her, her hands feather-light as they slipped under the hem of the shirt. “Deep breath, baby,” she murmured, her breath warm against Celina’s neck. “You’re safe.”

Anya was already in front, her eyes molten. She cupped Celina’s cheek gently, her thumb brushing over her lower lip. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispered. “And you’re ours now.”

Celina’s breath caught in her throat.

She wanted to believe that. That she was theirs. That the broken girl who had been used, discarded, forgotten by men who treated her body like a transaction ... didn’t exist anymore.

That this was real. That he was real.

Anya’s eyes held her. “You’re not the girl who got hurt, Celina. You’re the woman who came back.”

Kim’s hands lifted the shirt slowly, reverently, revealing inch after inch of bare skin. “And tonight,” she whispered, “you get to forget everyone who came before.”

Celina flinched.

Just a little.

But Anya saw it.

And stopped.

Her fingers curled under Celina’s chin, tipping her head gently. “You’re thinking it, aren’t you?”

Celina’s throat tightened. “That I’m ... not clean.”

The words burned.

Kim froze behind her, hands still on the fabric bunched above her waist.

Celina swallowed hard, her voice breaking. “That I’ve been touched. That others ... they already-”

“No.”

It was Bharath.

His voice came low. Fierce. Sharp as a blade drawn for battle.

“You don’t belong to them.”

Celina’s eyes snapped to his.

He was still on his haunches, unmoving. But his body was taut. Controlled. Every inch of him coiled with something volcanic.

“You were never theirs,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “They never earned you. They never deserved you.”

He rose slowly, like a storm lifting from the sea. His body was firelight and shadow and authority. He stepped forward onto the mattress.

“You’ll forget every man who ever touched you,” he said, stalking toward her. “You’ll forget what it felt like to be used.”

Kim slid the shirt upward again, her hands tender but unwavering. “Because tonight,” she whispered, “you’re going to learn what it means to be claimed.”

Anya’s fingers found Celina’s waist. “To be loved like a goddess. Worshipped.”

Bharath stopped just a foot from her, his eyes dark with reverence.

“You belong to me, ” he said. “To us.”

Kim kissed her shoulder. “We’re your sisters now.”

Anya kissed her breastbone, soft and lingering. “Your home.”

The shirt lifted over her head and slid away.

And Celina stood there.

Naked.

Shaking.

Seen.

Bharath’s breath hitched.

And so did Kim’s.

Anya stepped back, just a little, her lips parted.

For a moment, no one moved.

Celina felt their eyes on her. Felt them take her in - not as something to possess, but as something divine. Her skin flushed under their gaze. Her nipples tightened. Her core ached.

Her shame had no place here.

Only awe.

Only hunger.

“She’s...” Kim exhaled. “My god.”

“Perfect,” Anya murmured. “Like marble. No-like silk carved into flesh.”

Bharath said nothing.

He stepped forward, slow and silent, until he stood right before her.

His hand rose.

And touched her face.

Celina closed her eyes.

She expected fire. Shock. Ownership.

What she got...

Was gentleness.

His thumb brushed under her eye.

“You’ve suffered,” he whispered.

Her eyes brimmed.

“And yet ... look at you.”

His hand slid down her neck. Over her collarbone. Across her chest.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Celina choked back a sob.

Bharath leaned in and kissed her - once - just below her navel.

“I’m going to erase every mark they left,” he whispered against her skin. “And you’ll only remember this. Us. Tonight.”

Kim and Anya pressed in closer, their bare skin electric where it brushed hers. Their breath warm against her shoulders, their lips reverent, mischievous.

Bharath cradled her face again, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks.

Then he nodded once, still holding her gaze.

“Prepare her for me,” he said again - softer this time. But no less commanding.

Kim smiled against her neck. “With pleasure, jaan.”

Anya’s lips brushed her ear. “Oh shona,” she murmured, her voice dripping filth and affection, “you have no idea what you’re in for.”

Celina trembled.

She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

Kim stepped around to face her, eyes dark with desire and adoration. She took Celina’s hands gently, guiding her to the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry about standing, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’re going to worship you.”

Celina lowered herself slowly onto the mattress, her legs folding beneath her, body trembling. Bharath never let go of her face. His thumbs were still stroking her cheeks as if she might disappear if he didn’t hold her with both reverence and certainty.

“You belong to us now,” he said. “You’re not broken. You’re ours.”

Kim lowered her mouth to Celina’s collarbone and began to kiss slowly, deliberately, making her way down the elegant slope of her shoulder.

Anya slid behind her, brushing Celina’s hair over one shoulder and pressing herself close, her lips against the nape of her neck. “He’s going to take you apart,” she whispered, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Break you open in the best way.”

Celina moaned.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but Kim’s hands were already on her knees, gently spreading them.

“No hiding,” Kim said with a wicked grin. “Not from your sisters.”

Celina’s breath caught.

Kim knelt before her, her gaze sweeping slowly up Celina’s body. She started with her calves. Her slender knees. The pale, flawless skin of her legs.

“Oh my god,” Kim whispered. “You’re already soaked.”

Anya reached around and cupped Celina’s breasts, letting out a soft moan. “These are unreal,” she said, squeezing reverently. “Perfect D’s. Firm. Fucking divine.”

Celina whimpered as Kim leaned forward and kissed her right thigh - then the left. Her lips brushed just inches from Celina’s center, hot breath teasing over her dripping folds.

“You see this?” Kim asked, looking up at Bharath as she licked a slow line along the inside of Celina’s thigh. “She’s starving for you.”

“She was made for him,” Anya purred, her hands stroking Celina’s flat, trembling stomach. “Look at this waist. This navel. This ass.”

Kim slipped around to glance behind. “Holy shit.”

Anya gave a playful smack to one cheek, making Celina squeal softly. “No fat. Just a perfect curve. Sculpted by the gods and gifted to us.”

Celina moaned as they circled her like lions around a divine offering. She could feel their gazes on her pussy - bare, gleaming, swollen with heat. She couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t stop needing.

And all the while - Bharath just watched.

His hands still cradled her face, but his gaze moved slowly down, drinking in every inch. The reverence in his eyes made her feel holy.

Anya leaned in and licked one perfect circle around her left nipple, humming. “You’ll forget every hand that didn’t touch you like this.”

Kim mirrored her on the right. “You’ll forget every mouth that didn’t worship you.”

Celina’s head fell back, a strangled cry breaking from her lips as both girls began to suck gently, alternating, their tongues flicking against her now painfully hard nipples.

“Please...” she moaned. “I-”

“You’re not asking for it,” Anya said, her voice thick with arousal. “You’re receiving it.”

Kim let her teeth graze lightly before kissing lower. “Because you’re ours.”

Celina writhed as hands slid down her stomach, nails grazing her skin, lips kissing every inch they uncovered. Bharath finally let go of her face - just long enough to brush her hair back from her forehead and murmur:

“You’re going to come for them first. You’ll come for your sisters. And then I’ll make you come for me until you forget your name.”

Celina sobbed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

Anya’s fingers found her folds.

She gasped as they slipped through her slickness.

“She’s drenched,” Anya murmured, sucking at her throat now, her fingers circling lazily.

Kim knelt between her legs and pressed a kiss just above her clit. “Can I taste her, jaan?”

Celina’s heart stopped.

But Bharath’s voice came like thunder.

“No.”

Kim pouted.

“Not yet,” he added, eyes burning into Celina’s. “She’s not yours. Not fully.”

Celina’s breath hitched.

Bharath leaned in again, finally touching her body - really touching her.

He traced a single finger along the line between her breasts, down her sternum, over her stomach, and toward her aching core.

She trembled.

“You belong to me first,” he whispered.

Anya’s fingers moved faster. Kim flicked her tongue along Celina’s inner thigh, driving her wild.

“You’re going to beg him to keep you,” Kim whispered. “Beg to stay in this bed.”

“You’re going to cry when he finally fucks you,” Anya added. “Because you’ll feel what it means to be taken by someone who sees you.”

Celina groaned.

She was soaked. Panting. Her thighs grinding into each other.

Anya slid a finger inside her, slow and deep, and Celina wailed.

Kim kissed her clit once - soft, chaste - and she almost shattered.

“Wait,” Bharath said again, his voice a whisper of control.

And they stopped.

Just like that.

Leaving her on the edge, hovering, pleading with her eyes.

“You’re going to remember this, ” Bharath said. “The way they made you tremble. The way I watched every second. The way we own you now.”

Celina gasped.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“I’m yours,” she moaned, legs shaking.

Kim kissed her again. “Forever.”

Anya kissed her temple. “Welcome home.”

Celina sobbed.

And smiled.

Because for the first time since the world broke her-

She felt whole.

She barely noticed the motion until her feet left the ground.

Bharath’s arms slid under her legs and back, lifting her effortlessly off the bed. Celina gasped, clutching his shoulders. Her body trembled in his grasp, but he was solid. Centered. His scent enveloped her - salt, sweat, sandalwood, and something purely him.

He held her like she weighed nothing, like she was precious.

“Where-?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer.

He turned - and carried her across the room with the slow, deliberate grace of a priest bearing a sacred idol.

They stopped in front of a tall, antique mirror propped beside the wardrobe. It ran nearly from floor to ceiling, framed in blackened teak, its surface flickering with the low gold light of the candles behind them.

Bharath turned her gently in his arms so that she faced it - her bare body pressed back against his chest, her legs dangling slightly, her breath catching at the sight of herself.

Her skin glowed - like cream poured over flame.

Her nipples stood dark and hard. Her breasts rose with every ragged breath.

Lips parted. Cheeks flushed. Thighs gleamed with arousal.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders in tousled waves.

But what undid her...

Was the way he looked at her in the mirror.

He stood behind her - naked, magnificent - holding her as if she were the most sacred thing on earth. His dark eyes locked with hers in the reflection, and she felt herself unravel.

Kim and Anya slipped in beside them, bare and radiant, wrapping their arms around Bharath’s torso. Kim pressed against his left side, her hands caressing his sculpted abs, her lips kissing the edge of his ribs.

Anya pressed against his right, one hand resting on his obliques, the other slipping down to grip the base of his already-thickening cock.

“Look at her,” Anya whispered against his neck. “She’s glowing.”

“Like she was carved for you,” Kim murmured, licking along his sternum. “Like your body was made to ruin hers.”

Celina whimpered, unable to tear her gaze from the mirror.

Bharath met her eyes. “Watch.”

He let her slide gently down his body until her feet touched the cool floor, but his hands stayed firm - one arm around her waist, one across her chest, anchoring her against him.

Her legs wobbled. He held her steady.

His lips brushed her ear. “I want you to see what I see.”