17: Sanctified

The first light of dawn filtered in through Sarah’s gauzy bedroom curtains, casting soft gold onto the tangled sheets below. Bharath blinked awake slowly, warmth on either side of him. Marisol was tucked into his chest, one leg thrown across his hips, her hand resting over his heart. Sarah, softer and still half-asleep, was curled against his back, her arm wrapped around his waist.

He smiled quietly to himself.

This was new. This was surreal. And yet somehow, it felt like home.

Bharath leaned down and kissed Marisol’s head gently. She didn’t stir, just mumbled something in sleep and snuggled closer. Then, with slow care, he turned slightly and pressed his lips to Sarah’s forehead. Her breath hitched faintly, but she didn’t open her eyes. Her grip on his waist loosened just enough for him to slip free.

His gym bag was already packed - a habit from the days when he and Jorge dragged themselves out of bed for early morning lifts. But now it wasn’t an obligation. It was discipline. He was getting stronger. More confident.

Marisol’s delighted reactions whenever he peeled off his shirt were just bonus motivation.

He padded out of the room, leaving a note on the fridge - just in case - and quietly locked the door behind him.

Back in the room, the warmth shifted.

Sarah stirred first, inhaling deeply, her cheek still buried in the pillow that smelled faintly like Bharath.

“Mmgh...”

Beside her, Marisol let out a lazy hum, blinking awake. Her eyes fell on Sarah first - tousled, glowing faintly in the morning sun, her breath soft and even.

They smiled at the same time.

“Morning,” Marisol said, voice still gravelly with sleep.

Sarah rolled onto her side, grinning. “That was ... the best sleep I’ve had in years.”

Marisol stretched with a satisfied sigh. “Told you. Bharath is a superior pillow.”

“And heater.”

“And emotional support water bottle.”

They both laughed.

Then the air settled again, quiet and soft. Sarah reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind Marisol’s ear.

“You good?” Marisol asked, her voice gentle now.

Sarah nodded, her fingers brushing the edge of the sheet. “I’m still figuring out what I feel. But I know I want this. I want to be here. With you. With him.”

Marisol let out a breath of relief, her eyes glassing just a little. “Good. Because I was going to keep seducing you until you said yes anyway.”

Sarah laughed. “You’ve got a solid plan. But honestly ... I’m all in.”

They lay in silence for a moment, smiling at each other like girls who’d just passed a secret test neither of them knew they were taking.

Then Marisol added with a grin, “So ... pillow rotation schedule?”

Sarah snorted. “I vote we both pile on top of him.”

“Fair,” Marisol said, draping an arm across her. “But only if I get priority access to his cock.”

“Greedy,” Sarah teased, settling back into her arms. “But fine. We’ll negotiate.”

They burst into quiet giggles again, the sheets rustling as they curled tighter around each other, basking in the absurd joy of something new, something real.

Then slowly, the laughter softened, and the stillness returned - but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with shared breath and unspoken understanding. Sarah’s head rested against Marisol’s collarbone, and Marisol traced light patterns on her shoulder, fingers moving in lazy circles.

“You think it’s too soon to think about ... what this could look like a year from now?” Sarah asked softly, almost hesitantly.

Marisol tilted her head, letting her lips brush the top of Sarah’s hair. “You mean this - us?”

Sarah nodded. “I know we’re in the middle of school and stress and figuring stuff out ... but it already feels like more.”

Marisol exhaled slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

They were quiet for a few heartbeats.

Sarah smiled faintly. “I never thought I’d want something like this. A relationship. Let alone one with another woman in it. But now ... I don’t want to imagine life without either of you.”

Marisol hummed in agreement. “You know what’s wild? I spent most of my life thinking I had to control everything. My image, my emotions, my body. But with him - and now with you - I don’t have to. I can be soft. I can just ... be.”

Sarah looked up at her, eyes shimmering in the soft light. “That’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like I don’t have to armor up.”

Marisol nodded slowly. “We’re allowed to be messy. And real. And flawed.”

“And happy,” Sarah added. “God, I didn’t think I’d ever say that again. But last night? I felt it. I felt ... happy.”

Marisol blinked, then reached over and laced their fingers together between them. “You deserve that, Sarah. Every damn day.”

“I want to earn it,” Sarah whispered. “I want to become someone worthy of this. Of you both.”

“You already are,” Marisol said fiercely. “We’re not perfect either. We’re all just figuring it out.”

They lay in silence again, but now the silence felt like a promise - a cocoon.

Then Sarah smiled again, this time sly. “Okay, but logistically...”

“Oh no,” Marisol laughed, already sensing where it was going.

“I mean, are we all sleeping in one bed every night? Or do we rotate who gets the middle?”

“You just want the middle so you can feel up both of us at once,” Marisol teased.

Sarah gasped mock-offended. “You wound me. I would never-okay, maybe I would.”

Marisol rolled her eyes, grinning. “Fine. We can test all configurations. Like a proper scientific study.”

“Controlled experiments,” Sarah agreed. “Repeat trials. Peer-reviewed.”

Marisol snorted. “Oh, I’ll peer-review you.”

They cracked up again, the tension breaking into delighted giggles. Sarah collapsed into Marisol’s arms, breathless and giddy.

Then Marisol grew quiet again, one hand stroking Sarah’s back. “Do you think ... he’s ready for what this means? All of us?”

Sarah was silent for a moment. Then: “I think he’s overwhelmed. But not in a bad way. I think he feels things big. Like we do. He’s just never had the chance to express it before.”

Marisol smiled. “Yeah. He’s been through so much, even in just a few weeks. But he still leads with kindness. I think that’s what makes this work.”

“Do you ever worry it’ll get complicated?” Sarah asked.

Marisol nodded. “Of course. Love always does. But we’re talking. We’re being honest. That’s what matters. We don’t have to have every answer yet.”

Sarah pressed her forehead to Marisol’s. “Then let’s just ... take it slow. No labels. No pressure.”

“Just love,” Marisol whispered. “Messy, loud, terrifying love.”

Sarah smiled. “Exactly.”

They stayed like that - curled together in the lingering warmth of morning, hands clasped, hearts quiet. Not everything was solved. Not everything would be easy. But they had this moment.

Bharath trooped back to the house after an intense workout that morning. Earlier, he was in such a jubilant mood, he did not even realize how much he had pushed himself beyond his limits at the gym. He was getting pretty strong now.

However, all his tiredness disappeared the moment he opened the bedroom door. His breath hitched when he saw Marisol and Sarah tangled together on the bed. They rose as one when they heard him come through the door as Sarah welcomed him to bed with their eyes. When they saw him transfixed, Sarah got up and knee walked over to pull him into bed.

Sarah’s shirt slipped off her shoulders with a whisper of cotton, guided by Marisol’s steady hands, and then fell to the floor. For a moment, all three of them were still.

Even the light seemed to pause, filtering in soft and golden through the curtains, casting gentle shadows over her skin.

Sarah sat upright on the bed, bare now, exposed in every way - and glorious.

Bharath swallowed hard. “Oh ... wow.”

Her body was nothing short of breathtaking. Lean, sculpted lines carved through what must have been years of dance or yoga practice - not a trace of softness to hide behind, only pure, unabashed womanhood. Her breasts were full and high, perfect DDs tipped with rose nipples already tightening under his gaze. Her stomach was flat, with just the faintest trail of definition hinting at discipline beneath the curves. And her hips - wide and strong - framed a rear so perfectly shaped that Marisol actually let out a soft, reverent “Damn...”

Bharath blinked, stunned.

“Wait ... were you an athlete or something?” Marisol asked, voice caught somewhere between awe and arousal.

Sarah flushed, instinctively folding her arms—then forced herself not to. She nodded. “I did a lot of gymnastics in Middle school through most of high school. I was even competitive for a little while.”

Marisol let out a reverent exhale. “Jesus ... that explains the way you move. And the backbends.”

“I stopped competing when I graduated,” Sarah said quietly, then shrugged. “But I still do yoga. Everyday. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

Bharath was still staring—jaw slightly slack, breath shallow.

Marisol turned and smacked his chest lightly. “Close your mouth, baby. You’re drooling.”

“I can’t help it,” he said hoarsely. “She’s like ... built to ruin me.”

Sarah laughed—a soft, self-conscious sound that made her seem even more radiant. “I didn’t think anyone would ever ... say that about me.”

She moved to the center of the bed and—effortlessly—lifted one leg up and behind her head, stretching with fluid ease as if she were reaching into muscle memory.

Bharath made an audible noise. Marisol clutched his arm.

“Okay,” Marisol whispered, eyes wide. “What the fuck. That’s ... that’s not even fair.”

“I can teach you,” Sarah offered, breathless with a sly grin. “There’s this pose... Happy Baby Split. Hits just the right angle if someone’s deep enough.”

Bharath nearly groaned aloud.

Marisol laughed, a dark flush creeping across her chest. “You’re gonna give him a heart attack.”

“He’ll die happy,” Sarah teased, slowly lowering her leg and crawling closer. “Besides ... yoga’s best when practiced in pairs.”

She kissed Bharath then—soft, slow, devastating.

And in that moment, they weren’t just welcoming her into their bed. They were stepping into a future she was already reshaping with every breath and stretch and slow, sensual bend.

She hesitated—still not quite used to being seen like this.

Bharath caught her wrists gently. “Don’t,” he said softly. “You’re ... magnificent.”

Sarah’s eyes shimmered. She wasn’t used to being seen like this. Not without judgment. Not without someone trying to take something from her.

But Bharath ... he just looked at her like he was seeing the Taj Mahal.

He leaned forward and began at her neck.

His lips were warm, slow, reverent as they pressed into the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt and silk of her. He didn’t rush. He lingered. Let her melt.

Sarah let out a shaky breath, her chest rising as her body lit up under his touch. “Oh ... oh my God...”

He moved down - just a little - to the base of her throat. Then the top of her collarbone. His tongue traced the ridge, drawing little circles that made her toes curl.

Marisol, watching from behind, took off her clothes and crawled up and pressed herself to Bharath’s back, arms snaking around his waist. Her breasts, hidden under his shirt, flattened against him as she whispered into his ear. “That night at the frat house,” she murmured, “you were so shy. So hesitant.”

Her fingers slid down to stroke his stomach, slowly teasing the hem of his shorts.

“You’ve come so far, mi amor.”

He smiled, tilting his head slightly so Marisol could press a kiss to his jaw, and then refocused on Sarah, who was trembling beneath his mouth now.

Bharath lowered himself further, his hands finally coming into play. He cupped her breast - gently at first - just to feel the weight, the heat. She gasped when his thumb brushed her nipple, and the sound she made...

It was raw.

It shot through him like lightning.

He kissed the swell of her breast. Then again, lower. Her skin was soft, fevered. Every inch of her seemed to pulse with heat, her body straining toward him like a flower to the sun.

Marisol leaned forward now too, one hand reaching to tuck Sarah’s hair behind her ear. “You’re so responsive,” she whispered, marveling.

“I ... I’ve never felt like this,” Sarah whispered back, wide-eyed, her fingers gripping the sheets. “I’ve never been this turned on from just kissing.”

Marisol smiled and rested her chin on Bharath’s shoulder as he took Sarah’s nipple in his mouth.

Sarah arched up with a cry, one hand flying to his hair, the other to Marisol’s arm for balance. Her hips shifted. Her thighs squeezed together instinctively. It was like her whole body had become a single nerve, wired directly into Bharath’s tongue and lips and the slow, possessive squeeze of his hands.

Bharath let go with a gentle pop, licking the nipple once before turning to the other.

He was more confident now. More assured. There was no fumbling, no hesitation - just a deep, sensual rhythm. A musician who knew his instrument.

Marisol felt a jolt of pride. He learned that with me.

She slid her hand across Bharath’s chest, feeling the strength in his heartbeat, the lean muscle of his transformation.

“This is what you do,” she whispered to Sarah. “You unlocked him. Just like I did. And he’s going to worship you for it.”

Bharath moved lower - kissing down the center of Sarah’s abdomen now. Her skin quivered with every exhale. His tongue drew a path to her navel, and when he kissed just below it, her thighs parted instinctively.

“Bharath...” she gasped, voice trembling.

He looked up at her, pausing. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Sarah reached for him with both hands. “Please don’t.”

Marisol smiled, eyes gleaming with heat and pride. “Play her like you play me, cariño. Make her sing.”

And Bharath did.

He took his time exploring every inch of her soft yet sculpted form. His lips. His hands. His breath. Every motion slow, every touch deliberate. His tongue slid along her hipbone while one hand returned to her breast, teasing her into little gasps and whimpers. Her legs draped over his shoulders without even realizing it, her body arching toward him, seeking more.

She wasn’t just aroused - she was awakened.

And Marisol watched with reverence, holding Bharath close from behind, whispering encouragement, worshipping the man he had become.

They were a symphony now.

Sarah’s back arched again, her knuckles white against the bedsheets, as Bharath trailed his tongue teasingly along the groove of her pelvis, just skimming the edge where heat and hunger pulsed like a drumbeat.

She whimpered - not from pain, not from fear - but from the unbearable pleasure of anticipation. Every nerve in her body had become a livewire, aching for his touch, but he wasn’t giving in. Not yet.

Bharath smirked - actually smirked - against her skin. A confident, delicious curl of his lips that made Marisol inhale sharply behind him. That wasn’t the shy boy I brought home from the party...

He pressed a kiss to Sarah’s hip, then to the inside of her thigh. His fingers skimmed up her other leg, parting her gently, until she lay open beneath him - dripping, trembling, completely at his mercy.

“Look at her,” Marisol whispered into his ear, still hugging him from behind, her own breath hitching. “She’s already soaked, baby.”

Bharath didn’t answer with words. He shifted forward, shoulders sliding beneath her thighs, and let his mouth descend.

Sarah let out a cry - a helpless, wordless sound - as his tongue pressed against her pink folds, parting her slowly, reverently, and then flicking up in one practiced stroke that made her entire body jolt.

“Oh God ... oh God, oh-”

Marisol watched in rapt awe. She could see the difference in him now - the precision, the patience, the control. This wasn’t the careful fumbling he’d done with her those first nights. This was a man who knew how to play.

Bharath moved slowly at first, drawing gentle circles with his tongue, then flattening it and dragging it up through her slickness. His hands gripped her hips to hold her steady - but they also teased, thumbs brushing over the sensitive creases of her inner thighs.

Sarah writhed, her moans becoming louder, less coherent.

He sucked lightly on her clit.

Her body convulsed.

She came with a sharp cry, thighs locking around his head, hands clutching at his hair as her entire body bucked into his mouth.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as she trembled and whimpered from the first climax, Bharath eased the pressure for just a breath, then dove back in - firmer now, faster, licking with deep, slow sweeps until her second orgasm hit before she could even catch her breath.

“F-fuck, Bharath- I c-can’t- I can’t-ohhh!”

Marisol couldn’t look away. Her fingers had tightened around his waist, her own body flushed and needy just from watching. She leaned forward, lips brushing his neck, whispering praises in between Sarah’s ragged gasps.

“She’s never had this before,” Marisol murmured. “She doesn’t even know what to do with it.”

Bharath lifted his head slightly, his chin slick with her arousal, and gave Marisol a look that sent a thrill down her spine - dark, calm, and in control.

“Then let me show her.”

He wrapped an arm around Sarah’s thigh and began again - not with gentle affection now, but with practiced, dominant intensity. He alternated pressure, circling and flicking, pausing just long enough to tease before diving in again.

Sarah began sobbing his name. Not from sadness - from overwhelm. Her body was surrendering without restraint, her third orgasm building impossibly fast beneath his unrelenting mouth.

Marisol slid up beside her, brushing the hair from Sarah’s damp, flushed face, cooing softly. “Let go, mi amor. Just feel it.”

“I can’t ... I can’t ... I’ve never...”

“You can,” Marisol whispered, kissing her temple. “You’re safe. You’re his now.”

That broke something loose inside her.

Sarah’s entire body shuddered violently as she came again, mouth open in a silent scream, her chest heaving, thighs shaking. She collapsed back onto the sheets, soaked and shining, her breath coming in broken waves.

Bharath finally pulled away, his face glistening, his eyes glowing with something powerful. He looked up at the two of them - his lovers - and smiled.

That same shy, earnest boy Marisol had fallen for was still there, but now wrapped in a mantle of growing confidence, authority, and sensual power.

Marisol reached down and kissed him hungrily, tasting Sarah on his lips, moaning into his mouth. “You have no idea what you’ve just unlocked,” she whispered.

Bharath’s voice was low, thick with arousal. “I think I’m starting to.”

He turned his gaze back to Sarah, who lay trembling and dazed, her lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure.

Sarah blinked at him, breathless, voice hoarse. “I didn’t know I could feel like that. Like my whole body just ... opened.”

Bharath kissed her cheek, gently. “You were always waiting for the right touch.”

Marisol wrapped an arm around them both and smiled, whispering, “And baby? He’s just getting started.”

Bharath rose from between Sarah’s legs like a god emerging from sacred waters, glistening with her pleasure, chest rising with quiet control. His eyes met Marisol’s-dark, commanding, magnetic-and she knew immediately: he wasn’t asking anymore.

He extended a hand.

“Come here,” he said.

Marisol obeyed instantly.

She slid toward him, eyes shining, body already alight with anticipation. He pulled her into his lap and kissed her fiercely, tasting her submission and his own rising hunger. His hands roamed her thighs, her waist, cupping her possessively - a silent reminder that she was his.

She gasped into his mouth. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

He didn’t speak. He simply turned her to face Sarah’s trembling, dazed form, and guided her forward.

“Touch her,” he said.

Marisol crawled toward Sarah, gentle now, her lips brushing over the other woman’s face, then her jaw. “You okay, babe?”

Sarah blinked slowly, voice breathy and raw. “I feel like I’m floating. Like I died ... and it was perfect.”

“You haven’t even started,” Marisol whispered with a teasing smile, her fingers tracing the contours of Sarah’s slick thighs.

Bharath moved behind them like a predator, calm and composed, watching them unfold like petals under his hand. He undressed slowly now - removing the rest of his clothes with a quiet deliberateness - and when he knelt behind them, both women instinctively turned toward him.

Marisol looked back over her shoulder at him, her hair cascading like a river of silk, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with a reverence that bordered on worship.

“What now, mi amor?” she asked, voice a breathless whisper.

Bharath stepped forward, his hand cupping her chin, lifting her face to meet the intensity of his gaze. “Now, I claim her. Lie beside her.”

Marisol shuddered at the authority in his voice, something primal yet safe. Something ancient. She obeyed wordlessly, turning and lowering herself beside Sarah, her body moving with graceful submission. She reached for Sarah’s hand and held it gently, protectively, her fingers threading with hers like a silent vow.

Bharath leaned over Sarah, who trembled beneath his shadow, her body glistening with the remnants of their earlier play. His lips brushed her ear, and when he spoke, his voice was velvet wrapped in thunder.

“This is your choice,” he said, his breath warm against her skin. “Not mine. Not hers. Yours. If I take you ... it’s not just sex. It’s your soul opening to mine. Your heart giving itself to us.”

Sarah turned her head, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his. She didn’t cry from fear. It was something else. Something deeper. The unbearable weight of being seen. Of being chosen.

“I’ve been broken,” she whispered. “Used. Hurt. But right now ... I’ve never felt more safe.”

He kissed her brow reverently, a seal of protection. “Then give yourself to me.”

“I already have,” she said. “I did the moment I saw you love her like an apsara.”

Bharath moved between her thighs with agonizing tenderness, his hands reverent as he spread her open, his body whispering against hers. Marisol kissed Sarah’s temple and jawline as he positioned himself, murmuring soft encouragements in Spanish.

“Tranquila, mi hermana ... deja que entre ... déjalo reclamarte.”

Sarah’s hand trembled as she placed it on Bharath’s chest. Her body quivered from overstimulation - the echoes of earlier waves of pleasure still rippling through her. But this ... this was different. This was surrender.

When he pressed against her entrance, Sarah gasped, her spine arching as her legs flinched from the hypersensitivity. Her body tried to resist what her soul craved.

Marisol wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered, “Breathe. Let him take you. Let him in. Like I did.”

Sarah’s breath hitched. “It’s ... it’s too much. I ... oh-ohh!”

Bharath moved slowly. So slowly it was maddening - a promise of gentleness, of eternity, of presence. Her walls fluttered helplessly, unprepared for the sheer stretch, the depth, the intimacy of being filled by someone who worshipped her even as he possessed her.

Marisol’s fingers stroked Sarah’s cheek as she whispered, her voice trembling with awe.

“I remember that moment. The first time he entered me ... it felt like the world stopped. My heart... mi corazón ... it left my chest and settled in his hands. Every inch of him inside me felt like the missing piece of my body coming home.”

Sarah whimpered beneath her, overwhelmed.

Marisol continued, voice low and reverent, remembering her own first time - her eyes distant and radiant.

“I felt him stretch me. Not just my body ... but something deeper. The first push made me cry. Not from pain. From release. From knowing. That I had waited for him. That all the longing, the aching, the loneliness - it was all for this. For him.”

Sarah clutched her hand tighter.

“I remember the way he whispered my name. How his lips kissed my tears. How every thrust didn’t just take - it gave. I felt like a temple being consecrated ... like the universe had carved him for me and said, ‘Here. Be whole.’”

Her voice dropped, thick with memory.

“When he finally filled me, when he spilled his cum inside me ... I shattered. And then I was remade.”

Bharath groaned softly above them, still moving inside Sarah now - his rhythm a worshipful cadence, Sarah’s body arched and trembling beneath him.

“I felt fire in my spine,” Marisol whispered. “Ecstasy in my womb. And peace... peace, mi amor. Like I could finally sleep without nightmares. Because I was his.”

Sarah cried out, her legs locking around Bharath as her first climax built. Her breath was jagged. Her body quaked.

“I feel it!” she gasped. “Marisol-I feel everything! Oh God-I-Bharath!”

He gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his temple as he held back, letting her feel every inch, every beat of his love inside her. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her lips - worshipping her in motion.

“I love you,” she sobbed, in between groans. “I love you, Bharath! I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m-”

Her voice cut off into a scream as her orgasm consumed her. Her eyes rolled back. Her toes curled. Her body seized and then melted into his. It was not just a climax. It was a resurrection.

Bharath thrust again. And again. Sarah keened and bucked beneath him, her tears soaking Marisol’s arm. She didn’t want it to end.

“I felt like that too,” Marisol whispered, her voice shaking. “Like my soul had never been touched until he touched me. And when he came inside me ... it was like I belonged.”

Sarah wept. “Yes. Yes. I do. I belong!”

“Then take him,” Marisol murmured. “Let him finish inside you. Let him give you everything.”

Bharath growled now, his restraint slipping. Sarah looked up at him, eyes wide, lips trembling, and nodded, mouth open in a final gasp.

“Please. Please finish in me. Claim me. I want you in me.”

And Bharath, groaning her name like a sacred word, thrust one final time. His body jerked, his mouth clamped on her shoulder, and he emptied himself deep inside her in pulse after pulse of molten heat. Sarah gasped and whimpered with each wave, clutching him with her thighs and arms like she never wanted to let go.

Time hung still.

Silence fell, broken only by the echoes of breath and the rhythm of three hearts pressed close.

Sarah’s body trembled under the aftershocks, sweat mingling with tears. She lay there, boneless, glowing, complete.

Bharath gently withdrew, collapsing to the side, cradling her as though she were made of glass and starlight. Sarah whimpered faintly - not from pain, but from the sacred fullness she still felt within her.

And Marisol, eyes shining with reverence, shifted downward.

She gently parted Sarah’s legs. Sarah didn’t stop her. She moaned softly, thighs trembling, as Marisol dipped her head and whispered over her slick entrance, now painted with Bharath’s spend.

“It’s sacred,” she murmured. “Every drop of him is a blessing.”

She turned towards Bharath as if waiting for his assent. He was mind blown seeing what Marisol was going to do. He nodded his head in disbelief holding his breath waiting for Marisol.

She leaned in and slowly, sensually, sucking all the pearly fluid with her tongue - reverently, deliberately, making Sarah cry out anew from the sensitivity and tenderness of it. Then she kissed upward - her thighs, her belly, her breast - until she reached Sarah’s lips.

Sarah, panting and wide-eyed, received her. Their mouths met in a kiss that was soft, lingering, open-mouthed - a communion. They kissed, snowballing his cum with each other, looking at him the whole time as if they were performing for him.

Bharath was speechless.

Between gasps, Marisol whispered, “You’re truly my sister now.”

Sarah cupped her cheek. “And you’re mine.”

They kissed again, tongues tasting not just each other but the proof of Bharath’s love between them. When they parted, a shaken Bharath looked up at them both - undone, wrecked, overcome.

Marisol leaned in and licked the last drop from the corner of Sarah’s lips.

“Now we are sealed,” she whispered. “Priestesses to the same god. His. Forever.”