21: Sacred Tuesdays: Morning Edition

The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 4:37 AM in soft red light.

Sarah didn’t need to check it. Her body had learned the rhythm of this home - of this man. She stirred awake with her cheek pressed to Bharath’s chest, their legs tangled, her breasts squished warmly against his ribs. His arm was still possessively looped around her back, hand cupping her ass like it belonged to him.

It did.

They were all naked under the thick blanket, though the cool Atlanta air still bit at her back where the covers had slipped. The warmth, though - God, the warmth was everywhere. His scent. His skin. The faint soreness between her legs. Her breasts ached, splotched with tender purple marks where his mouth had feasted, relentless and reverent. Her nipples were still sensitive, tingling at the memory of how he’d suckled, teased, and bit down just to hear her moan.

Last night had been ... feral.

Monkey sex, she thought with a little grin, nose brushing his collarbone.

But now, in the gentle quiet of pre-dawn, a deeper peace settled around them like a revered mantle. Sarah pressed soft, lingering kisses along Bharath’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her lips. On his other side, Marisol slept deeply, wrapped around him completely, her leg thrown casually over his hip, her arm draped possessively across his torso.

They fit together perfectly, she thought. Not just physically-but emotionally, spiritually, in every way that truly mattered. She smiled softly against Bharath’s skin, tracing slow patterns with her fingertips.

Sarah’s mind drifted into dreams - not of sleep, but of the future. Quiet mornings like this, cozy and intimate. Waking up together, whispering soft declarations of love, making breakfast while laughing over silly things. It was a simple dream, but to her, it was everything.

She could see it clearly now: the three of them building a life together, supporting each other’s ambitions, celebrating each other’s achievements. She imagined Bharath’s proud grin as she announced she’d decided to pursue a master’s degree in Chemical Engineering after graduation. Her professors had been practically begging her to stay, calling her their brightest star. She’d been shy about admitting it to Bharath and Marisol, worried they might feel she was complicating their future, but instead, they’d been delighted.

“You have to,” Bharath had said immediately, eyes shining with genuine excitement. “You’re brilliant, Sarah. We’re right here with you, all the way.”

Marisol had laughed and hugged her tight. “Are you kidding? I’m already planning our graduation party. You’re not allowed to leave us yet.”

Sarah smiled at the memory, kissing Bharath’s jawline tenderly. His support, his belief in her, meant everything. And Marisol - her best friend, her sister in every way but blood-had become an irreplaceable part of her heart. She couldn’t imagine life without either of them.

Yet Bharath had worried, gently cautious. “Let’s not jinx this. You both know Marisol’s mom won’t exactly throw a parade when she finds out about us.”

Marisol had rolled her eyes dramatically. “My mom will come around eventually. Until then, we’ll just charm her into submission.”

“Or wear her down,” Sarah had teased, nudging Marisol’s shoulder playfully.

But beneath the jokes, Sarah knew there was real concern. Marisol’s mother wasn’t exactly easygoing. But somehow, Sarah felt confident. They’d navigated tougher storms. Together, they were unstoppable.

Her relationship with Bharath and Marisol had been healing her profoundly, erasing the shadows of her past relationship with Derek, the man who had emotionally and physically tormented her. Derek had treated her like nothing more than a pleasure doll, stripping away her dignity and her faith in men. But Bharath - gentle, patient, fiercely protective Bharath - had restored that faith entirely. His love and devotion had shown her what true partnership looked like, what real intimacy felt like. She was so deeply, irrevocably in love with him.

Sarah glanced tenderly across Bharath’s chest at Marisol, still wrapped around him, sleeping with an innocent softness Sarah had rarely seen in anyone else. Marisol hadn’t always been this open, this peaceful. Before Bharath, Marisol had been fiercely guarded, a control freak whose walls were higher than most people dared climb. Fiercely loyal yet prickly, Marisol had often assumed the worst of men - a legacy of abandonment from a father who had walked away for another woman, leaving her mother to struggle alone, juggling multiple jobs to raise her daughters.

But Bharath had somehow breached those walls. He’d seen past the sharp edges, the protective thorns, into the warmth and softness Marisol hid from the world. His patient love had transformed her - not by changing who she was, but by making her feel safe enough to reveal her true self. Sarah had watched her friend slowly bloom, learning to trust, learning to soften, learning that vulnerability didn’t equal weakness.

Marisol loved Bharath with a fierceness Sarah recognized all too well. She would give her life for him without hesitation, though they both knew Bharath would sooner die than let anything hurt either of them. And the bond Marisol had allowed herself to form with Sarah-sisters by choice and best friends by destiny - had healed them both in ways they hadn’t realized they needed.

They had saved each other.

Sarah’s heart swelled again, full of gratitude and quiet awe. She had Bharath to thank for this too - not only for healing her own heart but for healing Marisol’s as well. It made her fall in love with him even deeper.

Sarah sometimes marveled at the depth of Marisol’s surrender to Bharath.

Marisol - who once bristled at the idea of being tamed, who stalked through life with her chin high and fists clenched - had become a woman who melted under his touch. She still had that fire, still met the world with sharp eyes and sharper words when needed, but with Bharath ... she softened. She submitted. Completely. And not with quiet reluctance or girlish fantasy, but with pride. With joy. With purpose.

She wanted to be his. Not just sexually, but wholly. Emotionally. Spiritually. She trusted him without hesitation, offering herself up to his hands, his voice, his needs - because she knew he would never take what she didn’t freely give. That he would never humiliate her, never exploit her vulnerability. Bharath’s boundaries were as unshakable as his patience. And it fascinated Sarah to witness that trust. To see someone so powerful, so proudly self-reliant, revel in being claimed. Sometimes Marisol would even push him - moaning the word “yours” into his neck, daring him to take her harder, to go further, until Bharath flushed or groaned or whispered, “You’re going to break me, Marisol.”

Sarah had once thought submission was just something you either had or didn’t. That it was innate - something wired in you. For her, it had always been there, humming under her skin. She liked being guided, praised, used, cherished. She loved offering her body to Bharath, knowing he would turn it into something special. Her submission didn’t feel like a loss of control - it felt like safety, like worship. But seeing Marisol - this storm of a woman - find peace in surrender changed how Sarah saw everything.

It made her feel proud of her own submission, not shy about it. Because if someone like Marisol, someone who commanded every space she entered, could collapse under Bharath’s touch with blissful abandon ... then maybe surrender wasn’t weakness. Maybe it was the ultimate expression of strength.

They had talked about it, late at night, tangled together in post-orgasmic warmth, the air still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat.

“It scares me,” Marisol had whispered once, her breath ghosting across Sarah’s collarbone. “How much I want him to own me. I didn’t think I could ever need anyone like that.”

Sarah had stroked her hair, fingers lazy. “Needing him doesn’t make you less. It makes you his. And that’s the strongest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Marisol had looked up at her then, eyes glassy with sleep and something far more vulnerable. “You don’t judge me for it?”

“Never,” Sarah had murmured. “We’re the same. You just ... fought it harder. And that’s okay. You make surrender look fierce.”

They’d fallen silent for a while after that, lying chest to chest, fingers tracing idle lines over each other’s backs. And then Marisol, in a rare moment of vulnerable confession, had whispered, “Sometimes ... when I see him loving you, I don’t feel jealousy. I feel honored. Like ... like I get to be part of something bigger.”

Sarah blinked, surprised. “Yeah,” she murmured, warmth blooming in her chest. “That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Like watching him take care of you makes me love him more. And love you more. It’s not just sharing - it’s worship. Of him. Of us.”

Marisol had smiled then, not the smirk she wore with the world, but a soft, humbled curve. “I never thought I’d be able to want that. Not until you.”

They hadn’t needed to say more. The silence between them pulsed with understanding.

That night, they kissed slowly - pressing soft mouths and softer truths against each other. It was never sexual. Just spiritual. Sarah giggled thinking how Bharath would have loved to see them like that. He always enjoyed watching the two of them kiss and more. Even if he had just climaxed a moment earlier, seeing Sarah and Marisol kiss or perform for him with each other almost made him hard instantly. He reveled in watching his two women learning how to love each other as deeply as they loved him. That intimacy between them, born of shared worship, had become its own bond- sisterhood, friendship, reverence, eroticism all braided together into something Sarah couldn’t name but felt in her bones.

And Bharath ... God, he had grown too.

He had never asked for this role, never craved dominance for dominance’s sake. If left to his own instincts, he’d have made slow, tender love to them every time - eyes locked, fingers laced, mouths full of sighs. But they had shown him what they needed. Marisol needed to be spanked, pinned, and praised. Sarah needed to be choked, filled, used with devotion. And he had stepped into that role, not because he needed to assert control, but because he wanted them to feel everything. To feel owned. To feel loved through submission.

Sarah adored that about him-his willingness to change, to grow, not for power but for pleasure. Their pleasure. His strength wasn’t in dominance alone, but in listening-in being exactly what they needed, exactly when they needed it. He was becoming more commanding, more confident, not out of pride, but out of love.

And yet, Sarah knew that sometimes, Marisol still feared being too much. In quiet moments-aftercare and candlelight-she would murmur, “What if I scare him off?” or “What if one day he doesn’t want someone this ... intense?”

Sarah would hush her gently, wrapping her arms around her and reminding her of the truth: Bharath wasn’t intimidated by her intensity. He was honored by it. He saw the strength in her submission. And so did Sarah.

Their bond had grown from there-not just the three of them, but Sarah and Marisol too. Sisters in surrender. Best friends who had peeled each other open and found love where neither had thought to look. The trust between them had healed wounds they hadn’t even named before.

Sarah pressed another kiss to Bharath’s chest, his heartbeat steady against her lips. The night was still, the air cool, the blanket slipping just enough to let the world breathe over their skin. And with Marisol’s leg tangled over his hip, her face buried into the crook of his neck, Sarah smiled.

They were so good like this.

So warm. So right. So theirs.

And even as the heat in her belly began to stir again, her heart stayed full, sweet and sure. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

As lovers. As friends. As an intense, feral, joyful mess.

She pressed another gentle kiss to his chest, warmth spreading through her as the sleepy peace around them began shifting toward something more heated, more playful.

Her thoughts began drifting again, the romantic warmth slowly heating into something more primal as she continued planting slow kisses along Bharath’s chest. Her heartbeat quickened slightly. It always did when she thought about the future-their future. What their home would look like, the places they’d travel, the way they’d support each other’s dreams and careers. How, through every victory and setback, they’d have each other’s hands to hold.

Her gentle kisses became firmer, more lingering. Bharath stirred slightly beneath her touch but didn’t wake yet. Marisol shifted in her sleep, pressing herself even closer to him.

Sarah’s mind turned playful, mischievous, the warmth growing hotter. She imagined future mornings, tangled together exactly like this-laughing, teasing, loving each other without reservation. How these tender moments of connection would become the foundation of their life together.

Her playful thoughts quickly intensified, vividly picturing Marisol kissing her sensually in the kitchen while Bharath watched, eyes dark with desire. Bharath’s hands roaming possessively over both of their bodies, igniting them again and again.

Her breathing grew shallower, cheeks flushed with anticipation.

They would always return to this - their safe place, their sensual sanctuary. A place where love and lust intertwined perfectly.

Sarah pressed a final, lingering kiss to Bharath’s collarbone, knowing exactly how to wake him gently, softly, deliciously. This was their forever-calm and storm, love and lust, friendship and fierce devotion, all tangled perfectly together.

She smiled softly, ready to wake them both - and begin again remembering last night’s carnal activities again.

There had been no choreography, no control - just pure heat and chaos. She and Marisol had thrown themselves at him the moment the bedroom door shut, not with shy affection but with a hunger that had surprised even her.

Marisol had been the first to drop to her knees.

“Sit,” she’d whispered, tugging Bharath toward the bed with that wicked glint in her eye. Sarah had barely kicked off her leggings before Marisol was already taking him into her mouth, hands grasping his thighs, tongue lavishing his length like he was the only god that ever mattered.

Sarah had straddled his chest a heartbeat later, grinding her soaked panties against his sternum while he moaned into Marisol’s throat. She had leaned forward, kissed Marisol hard - tongue to tongue, his taste between them - just the way he liked it.