28: A Place to Land

28 August 2000

The front door clicked softly as Bharath opened the door at 5 AM. There was no grand entry - just the creak of the handle and the hush of a bag sliding off his shoulder. When he stepped inside the apartment was dim with dawnlight bleeding through the balcony door, casting rose-gold hues across the wooden floor. The fans whirred gently above, mixing with the faint hum of traffic beginning to stir outside on the street.

The apartment was still - but only for a second. Then came the stampede.

First Kim - barefoot, hair a mess, eyes wide and already wet. She launched into him like a wave, burying her face in his neck, clinging so hard it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “You’re really here.”

He laughed softly into her hair. “Yeah. As promised. Why are you up so early?”

“We couldn’t sleep all night. We were waiting for you to come back home to us.”

Behind her, Anya appeared, wrapped in an oversized T-shirt, sleep-rumpled and radiant. Her composure crumbled the moment she saw his face. She walked quickly - almost angrily - and then punched his chest.

“You idiot,” she breathed. “You absolute, reckless -”

But her voice cracked, and then she was kissing him - his lips, his jaw, his brow, everywhere she could reach, as though confirming he was solid, real, whole. Anya also jumped on him and Bharath collapsed laughing hugging both women to him as they wouldn’t let him go.

Celina came last. Silent. Trembling. She stood there for a second, barefoot in her little cotton shorts, fingers clutched together at her chest, watching them. Then, without a word, she sank to her knees before him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his stomach.

“Don’t you ever,” she murmured, “ever scare us like that again.”

He dropped his bag and pulled all three of them into him, arms stretched wide, like a fortress made of love and madness.

“I’m okay,” he said softly, over and over, his breath shaking. “I’m okay. Where’s Priya?”

“She said she couldn’t wait around to see four animals who couldn’t keep their hands off each other when you came back and asked you to call whenever you are back to human form. She went to the hotel to be with Appa.”

“So basically not till tomorrow then,” asked Bharath cheekily winking at Celina.

Celina giggled. All three girls circled him and enveloped him in their arms.

The bedroom was chaos.

Pillows flung to the floor. Bedsheets tangled. The air heavy with scent and steam and the breathless noise of bodies craving closeness after fear.

Bharath was on his back, head thrown against the mattress, sweat trickling from his hairline to his collarbone. Kim was astride him, grinding slowly, rhythm synced to the shudders of her own gasps. Her hands gripped his chest for balance, and her hair whipped across her face in damp tendrils as she rode him - hard, slow, desperate.

Anya lay across his left side, her hand tangled in his curls, the other between her own legs, eyes locked on Kim with hunger and heat. “That’s it, jaan,” she murmured. “Take him. Show him how much you missed him.”

Celina straddled Bharath’s face, moaning softly as his tongue lapped her in deep, slow circles. Her thighs trembled. One hand held the headboard, the other cupped her own breast, nipples flushed and tight. Her voice was raw. “He’s going to ruin me,” she whispered. “He’s already ruining me...”

He felt their weight like gravity - soft skin, sharp breath, the press of need.

And underneath all of it - the emotion.

It wasn’t just lust.

It was mourning. Celebration. Reclaiming what they thought they’d lost.

Kim cried when she came, shaking with release. She collapsed onto his chest, whispering his name again and again like a mantra. He held her there, still hard inside her, his arms curling around her back like a shelter.

Anya climbed over them, kissed Kim’s shoulder, and reached down between Bharath and Celina, stroking his shaft as she guided Celina to slide down over him.

Celina moaned as he entered her. She buried her face in his neck. “I needed this. I needed you,” she whispered. “I was going crazy.”

He turned and kissed her - deep, messy, hungry.

Anya stroked herself as she watched them - then leaned down and whispered in Bharath’s ear, “After her, you’re fucking me from behind while Kim feeds you her tits. No complaints.”

He laughed hoarsely. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They lay there, still catching their breath, the afterglow thick in the air. But Anya hadn’t moved.

Kim noticed first - the way her fingers had stopped tracing Bharath’s skin. The way her thighs pressed just a little tighter together, like her body was whispering for more.

Celina looked up too, eyes still hazy. “You okay?”

Anya didn’t answer right away.

Then she met Bharath’s eyes. Bold, unsmiling.

“I need a turn.”

Her voice was low. Firm. But threaded with something else - vulnerability.

Not a tease. Not a joke. Just truth.

Kim lifted her head from Bharath’s chest and smiled. “Come on, then. Let us love you.”

Anya sat up slowly, her T-shirt clinging to her skin. She peeled it off, baring her dusky, glowing form - those gentle curves, the swell of her hips, her small but perfect breasts rising and falling with her breath.

Celina slid off Bharath’s thighs and leaned up to kiss Anya’s shoulder. “Your turn to be worshipped, Rani.”

Bharath sat up, cupping Anya’s face. “How do you want us?”

Anya bit her lip. “On your knees. I want to ride you.”

He obeyed instantly, kneeling on the center of the mattress, his cock still flushed and glistening, standing proud from the lingering stimulation.

Anya climbed into his lap, facing him. Her thighs folded around his hips as she sank down, slow and deliberate, her mouth parting with a gasp as he filled her.

“God,” she whispered, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I needed this.”

His hands gripped her waist, but he didn’t thrust. Not yet. Not without her.

Celina came behind Anya, kissing the nape of her neck, brushing her hair aside. Kim moved in front, cupping Anya’s breasts, licking her nipples slowly, reverently.

Bharath finally began to move - rolling his hips upward as Anya rode him, her rhythm slow at first, her hands tangled in his curls. Her body glowed with heat and longing, her thighs gripping his waist, sweat trickling down her spine.

Kim leaned in and whispered, “You’re perfect like this. You always give and give. Now take.”

Anya let out a ragged moan and threw her head back. “Harder,” she gasped to Bharath.

He obeyed - thrusting deeper, faster, their hips slamming together with urgency now. Celina reached around and rubbed Anya’s clit as Kim kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, her stomach.

Anya trembled. Her body was no longer graceful. It was wild. Needy. Unashamed.

“I want all of you,” she whispered. “Always.”

“You have us,” Kim murmured.

Celina pressed her lips to Anya’s spine. “Forever.”

Bharath grunted softly as her walls clenched around him. “You complete us,” he breathed. “You’re our fire.”

Anya came with a cry - a sharp, almost sobbing sound - and collapsed into Bharath’s arms, her body still shivering with aftershocks. He held her tight, peppering kisses along her temple, her cheek, her shoulder.

Kim and Celina folded around them, forming a warm tangle - no longer just three lovers clinging to one man, but a triangle, each one touching the other, each one completing the circle.

All four of them lay sprawled across the bed now, tangled in each other.

Kim’s head on Bharath’s chest. Celina draped across his legs, cheek resting against his thigh. Anya curled along his other side, one hand still idly stroking his stomach like she couldn’t bear to let go.

They smelled of sweat and salt and sex and shared breath. The sheets were damp. Their hearts full.

It was Kim who finally spoke.

“So we’re really going to Amritsar tomorrow?”

Anya nodded, eyes closed, her hand still tracing circles. “Tickets are booked. Delhi first. Then Amritsar.”

Bharath exhaled. “Sounds like a honeymoon.”

Celina gave a lazy smile. “Then you better keep making us all scream like new brides.”

He looked around at them - these three brilliant, broken, beautiful women who had chosen him, protected him, feared for him.

He pulled them close and murmured softly, causing them to tremble, “I hope you weren’t planning on getting too much sleep in the next few days.”

The tiles were warm from the morning sun. Steam rolled thick through the glass-paneled bathroom, swirling gently as hot water pattered down from the wide, overhead shower. It wasn’t loud - it was soothing, a rhythm like rainfall on a temple roof.

Kim stood beneath it, eyes closed, chin tilted up, hair slicked back and heavy with water. She wasn’t in a rush. She let the heat soak her muscles, let the droplets slip down her curves, her thighs, her back.

She didn’t hear him come in.

She felt him - the shift in air, the sudden, wordless thrum inside her skin that only Bharath could summon.

He stepped behind her, naked and warm, and placed his hands on her hips like they belonged there.

“Mind if I join?” he whispered into the shell of her ear.

She leaned back into him, eyes still closed. “Took you long enough.”

His hands began to move. Slow. Sure. Palms sliding across her waist, then up her sides, curving under her breasts before gliding down again. He kissed the back of her neck, then her shoulder. She shivered, not from the cold - but from his care.

“I missed this,” he murmured.

Kim’s voice was soft, teasing. “Which part? Me naked and wet, or the part where you make me lose consciousness?”

He laughed against her skin. “Yes.”

He reached for the shampoo bottle, poured a little into his palm, and began massaging it into her scalp. Fingers gentle but firm, finding every knot, every place where stress lingered. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again - this time in surrender.

“Oh,” she breathed. “That’s cheating.”

His hands moved in slow, circular motions, working through her hair, his chest pressed to her back, his breath warm against her ear.

“You’re allowed to melt,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

And she did.

He rinsed the foam from her hair, his fingers combing through each strand. Then his hands glided down - lathering soap, massaging her shoulders, her arms, her stomach.

When his palms slid over her breasts, she gasped - not from shock, but from how tender it felt. His thumbs brushed her nipples, teasing until they stiffened beneath the slow, soapy pressure.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured. “You’re always glowing.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere,” she whispered.

He turned her gently, and she faced him now - her body slick and shining, her hair streaming down her back. He lowered his mouth to her chest, sucking one nipple slowly, then the other, his hands gripping her thighs.

Kim tangled her fingers in his wet curls, arching into his mouth. “Please,” she breathed.

He slid down, kneeling beneath the stream. Water cascaded down her belly as he lifted her leg onto his shoulder and pressed his mouth between her thighs.

Kim moaned - soft at first, then louder, as his tongue circled, licked, flicked.

She leaned back against the wall, trembling, her hands in his hair, hips grinding slowly against his face.

“Bharath...” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m going to...”

He didn’t stop.

He deepened.

Her cry echoed off the tiles, half a sob, half a moan - her climax rolling through her like a rising tide, thighs clenching, back arching, water streaming down every curve as he held her steady through the wave.

When she finally relaxed, he stood - lifting her easily into his arms, her legs around his waist, her head falling into the crook of his neck.

They stood like that for a moment.

Just breathed.

Then he reached behind her and grabbed the loofah, lathering it slowly across her back, her arms, her legs.

Kim smiled against his shoulder. “You’re spoiling me.”

“I’d worship you every morning if you let me,” he said. “And every night.”

He turned her slowly, washing her back, her shoulders. She took the sponge next and did the same - brushing it over his chest, his arms, his thighs, smiling at the way he twitched slightly at her touch.

They rinsed under the water - their bodies clean, their skin warm and damp.

He leaned his forehead against hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice quieter now. “About ... going to Amritsar. With all of us.”

Kim didn’t answer right away. She lathered his arms gently, resting her cheek against his chest. Her movements slowed. Her breath hitched.

Then she whispered, “Terrified. And kind of okay with it.”

He tilted her chin up. “Talk to me.”

She met his eyes, and for a moment, her fierce composure faltered. “I haven’t told them, Bharath. About you. Or the others. As far as they know, I’m just bringing some college friends home for a few days. They still think I’m the same girl who used to bring home trophies and wear churidars without question and fold her hands quietly during arati.”

She looked down again, her voice tight. “They don’t know who I am now. Who I chose to become. That I love a man with three other women. That I’m one of those women. That I’m proud of it. That I’m happy.”

Bharath didn’t speak. He just cupped the side of her face, waiting.

“I love them,” she continued. “God, I love them so much it hurts. They’re good people. They sacrificed everything for me. My mom still won’t buy new sandals because she wants to send extra money to my cousin’s tuition fund. My dad walks with a limp and pretends it doesn’t hurt because he’s worried it’ll make him less useful in the gurdwara. They’re kind and strong and small-town and traditional. And I’m ... this.”

She gestured between them - between his bare chest, her naked body pressed against his, and the steamy cocoon of the shower that felt a universe apart from the dusty verandah in Amritsar.

“I want them to see me,” she said softly. “But I don’t know if I can survive it if they look and don’t recognize me anymore.”

Bharath’s heart ached, but he kept his voice steady. “Do you want to go without us?”

She looked up in alarm. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.”