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.