23: Let Us Love You

The morning light spilled across the bed in golden ribbons, casting soft shadows over intertwined limbs and tousled hair. It filtered through the gauzy curtains of Sarah’s bedroom, turning the pale walls to warm cream, the air fragrant with leftover traces of sex, skin, and vanilla lotion. The room, once sparse and impersonal, had transformed: a bra hooked over the back of a chair, a pair of Marisol’s lace panties discarded on the windowsill, Sarah’s sweater half-hanging from a drawer. It felt like home now.

Bharath woke first.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Not with this kind of bliss weighing him down.

Marisol lay draped across his chest like a goddess asleep on her altar - one leg thrown possessively over his hip, her cheek against his heartbeat, her skin still warm from the night. Sarah was curled into his other side, her soft hair fanned out across his bicep, one hand tucked just under his ribs, as if she was afraid he might float away in his sleep.

Both girls still smelled like sleep and spice. Their breaths rose and fell in sync with his own.

They were all still naked.

Bharath closed his eyes for a moment and simply felt it.

Their skin against his.

The gentle ache in his muscles.

The faint sting of where Marisol had bitten his shoulder - hard - just before climaxing.

And the echo of Sarah’s voice moaning his name in the dark like she was confessing something sacred.

He smiled.

Not a dream.

Not a hallucination.

Last night had happened. The laughter, the music, the dare. The way they’d pulled him into Sarah’s room with wicked smiles and trembling fingers. The way they had undressed him together, eyes dark and reverent, as if unwrapping a long-awaited gift. The way they had shared him - not competitively, but with devotion. As if he belonged to both of them now.

He did.

Marisol stirred first. A sleepy sigh puffed against his chest, then a kiss - soft, aimless, affectionate.

“Good morning amor,” she murmured, voice rough and beautiful. “How did you survive us last night?”

“Barely ... but joyfully,” he whispered, his arm tightening around her waist.

Sarah groaned softly. “What time is it?”

“Who the hell cares?” Marisol grumbled, planting another kiss on his collarbone. “We earned a late morning.”

Sarah shifted, blinking up at the ceiling, then at him. “Did we really...”

“ ... do that in the club last night and then again here?” Marisol finished with a grin. “Yes. Thoroughly. And repeatedly. My entire body is sore. You’re a monster mi corazon!”

Sarah laughed sleepily. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk this morning.”

Marisol lifted herself on one elbow, the blanket slipping off one breast without apology. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Bharath groaned. “This is already unfair.”

“You brought this on yourself,” Marisol said, dragging a finger down his chest.

“Don’t act like the victim,” Sarah added, pressing a kiss to his neck. “You’re the one who left bite marks like some kind of tattoo artist on a sugar high.”

Marisol blinked, then looked down.

“Oh my God.” She sat up straighter, inspecting her own body. “Look at these.”

Sarah twisted to examine her thigh, then the side of her breast. “Damn. He was busy.”

“They’re everywhere, ” Marisol declared, turning and pulling her hair over one shoulder. “Check my back. Seriously.”

Sarah leaned over, fingers grazing lightly down Marisol’s spine, then gasped. “Oh my God, there’s like-three along your shoulder blade.”

Marisol grinned. “That’s it. We need a chart. A map. We’ll pin new ones every night like it’s a scavenger hunt.”

“You’re both insane,” Bharath muttered.

“We’re yours,” Sarah corrected, her voice dipping into something softer. “Completely.”

That silenced him.

He turned his head to look at her. Really look. Her eyes were wide, earnest, and so full of love it made his breath catch.

Marisol watched them both, her smile gentle now. “This right here. This is how we need to go to sleep every night.”

Sarah’s fingers laced with Bharath’s. “Agreed.”

Bharath looked between them, suddenly overcome. “This is too much,” he murmured. “Too good.”

“Shut up and enjoy it,” Marisol said, and kissed his chest.

They lay like that for a while - bodies with intertwined limbs, hands drifting, mouths wandering from neck to shoulder to jawline. Not with urgency. With desire.

Until Marisol, never one to let peace reign too long, turned her head with a devious glint.

“So, Sarah,” she began casually, “if this is how we wake up, what does our morning look like?”

Sarah raised a brow, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I don’t know. Maybe we take turns waking him up?”

Marisol purred. “I call mouth duty.”

Sarah laughed. “Fine. I’ll take ... the other end.”

Bharath sat up like he’d been struck by lightning. “No, no, no-don’t say things like that so casually.”

“Why not?” Marisol said, dragging her fingers up his thigh. “You’re not intrigued?”

“I am many things,” he said hoarsely. “But composed right now is not one of them.”

Sarah leaned over and bit his shoulder - right next to the mark Marisol had left last night. “What if we made him beg?”

“Ay, por favor,” Marisol groaned theatrically, arching her back in anticipation. “We could pin him down and just watch him squirm.”

Bharath’s breath came in fast, shallow gasps. His entire body was tight with tension - not fear, not resistance. Just need.

They were circling him now, voices sultry, touches maddeningly light.

“Make him wait,” Sarah whispered.

“Make him earn it,” Marisol added.

That broke him.

With a growl - low, guttural, unmistakably possessive - Bharath rolled, grabbing Marisol first and dragging her down beneath him in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

She yelped, delighted. “Yes! Dom Papi engaged!”

Sarah shrieked as he turned and reached for her next, pulling her against his chest and pinning her wrist playfully above her head.

“You want to play games?” he breathed, eyes wild.

“Yes,” they whispered in unison.

He kissed Sarah first - deep, hungry, claiming - then turned to Marisol, who grabbed his hair and pulled him in for more.

The blanket was long gone.

The sun was out now. Their friends were all downstairs.

And none of them gave a damn.

By the time the breakfast gang returned from Blue Willow Diner with brown paper bags in hand, the morning sun had risen high enough to paint the windows of Sarah’s house with gold. The air was still tinged with remnants of the wild night before - faint glitter near the front door, a half-deflated balloon caught in the corner of the ceiling, someone’s costume wig draped over a dining chair like a forgotten trophy.

But the house, thanks to a heroic early-morning cleanup mission, no longer looked like a battlefield.

While the rest of the gang had crashed in sleeping bags and on couches in the wee hours of the morning, Bharath, Marisol, and Sarah had padded around in oversized tees and borrowed socks, tidying up in warm silence. They’d collected plastic cups, wiped down countertops sticky with spilled drinks, and folded throw blankets around dozing bodies. It had been oddly intimate - three lovers moving in sync, sharing quiet glances and brushing shoulders, cleaning up the joyful mess their home had become.

Now, they returned with veg breakfast wraps for Nandita and Bharath, egg and bacon sandwiches for the rest, hash browns, a dozen muffins, and a tray of strong diner coffee.

LaTasha was the first to spot them from the couch, where she’d tucked herself into a hoodie and Tyrel’s borrowed blanket.

“Oooh, look who’s back from the land of pancakes and pillow talk,” she called out, grinning.

“Don’t start,” Nandita warned, laughing as she carried the paper bags to the kitchen. “We brought food. Show gratitude, not sass.”

“I’m fully capable of both,” LaTasha replied, stretching with a groan. “But I will accept offerings.”

The rest of the crew began to rouse, groggy but cheerful. Tyrel wandered in behind LaTasha, yawning, immediately stealing a muffin. Jorge and Camila emerged from the guest room looking thoroughly rumpled and smug, while Nandita, still in Ravi’s Georgia Tech hoodie, tucked herself neatly onto the rug beside him with a quiet smile.

As plates were handed out and coffee poured into mismatched mugs, the atmosphere settled into something that felt like home. Not just housemates or party friends - but a tribe. A chosen family.

Marisol sat curled into Bharath’s side, munching on a buttered slice of toast as she offered bites to both him and Sarah in turn.

Tyrel flopped onto the couch beside LaTasha and handed her half his sandwich. “This good enough for breakfast royalty?”

She took a bite, pretending to judge. “Acceptable. Barely.”

Nandita and Ravi were deep in conversation about movie nights and upcoming debate club events, their knees brushing with each laugh. Camila was braiding Jorge’s hair - or trying to - while he read out loud from a quiz in Cosmopolitan with increasing theatrical flair.