Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
76: Wrecked and Worshipped
Coming of Age Sex Story: 76: Wrecked and Worshipped - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s - full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
The bus ride to Doraville had been manageable. Barely.
They’d kept it together: mostly because the bus was packed with Thanksgiving travelers; families with crying babies; an elderly couple who kept smiling at them like they were a wholesome college study group.
Bharath sat wedged between Marisol and Mia, his injured arm carefully tucked against his chest. Sarah sat across from them, staring at Bharath with heat in her eyes, one eyebrow perpetually raised as she bit her lower lip like she was conducting a social experiment on self-control. Zara and Ayesha flanked her on either side, legs pressed against his, hands occasionally brushing his knee under the guise of adjusting bags.
“We’re fine,” Mia had whispered into his shoulder. “Totally fine.”
“So fine,” Ayesha agreed, her voice too high.
Marisol said nothing. She just traced slow, deliberate circles on his palm with her thumb as she leaned on his shoulder. Over and over. Like a heartbeat. Like a countdown.
But it wasn’t just touching.
It was everything.
The way Mia kept inhaling near his neck, like she was memorizing his scent. The way Zara’s leg bounced restlessly, a metronome of barely contained need. The way Sarah’s eyes tracked every micro-movement - his jaw tensing, his throat working when he swallowed, the slight hitch in his breathing when Marisol’s hand drifted too close to his thigh.
Ayesha was the worst. Or the best. She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, posture impeccable. But her pupils were blown wide, and every few seconds she’d bite her lower lip so hard it turned white.
They looked normal.
They felt like a bomb with a lit fuse.
By the time they transferred to the train at Doraville station, something had shifted. The air between them had gone from charged to combustible.
The train car was older - one of the models MARTA kept threatening to retire. Flickering fluorescent lights. Plastic seats that had seen better decades. That particular smell of industrial cleaner trying and failing to mask years of human existence.
And it was completely empty at that time in the night. Sarah checked carefully to ensure that no one could see them. After all, it was almost as if the train was running only for them that night.
That’s when it started. Not with a decision. Not with a plan - just with a crack.
Marisol was the first to break.
She’d been quiet all day, her composure held together with sheer will and her mother’s words still ringing in her ears. “Mija. You’re happy.” She’d kept it together through dinner, through the goodbyes, through the bus ride.
But the moment the train doors closed and the car lurched forward, something inside her snapped.
She turned to Bharath, eyes bright and wild, and whispered in rapid Spanish: “No puedo mas. I can’t anymore. I can’t ... I need you papi.”
Her hand went to his face. Cupping his jaw. Thumb tracing his lower lip.
“Mari...” he started.
“Three days,” she breathed. “Three days I couldn’t touch you. Three days I thought I’d lost you. Three days since I watched Mami try to stab you and I thought...” Her voice cracked. “I thought I’d never feel you again.”
She kissed him like a woman who’d been holding her breath underwater and finally broke the surface.
That’s all it took.
Mia made a sound - a half sob, half whimper - and pressed herself into his other side. Her face buried in his neck. Her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
“I missed you too papi,” she whispered against his skin. “I missed you so much it hurt. Like physically hurt. Like my chest was too tight and my skin was too small and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t...”
Her lips found his throat. Soft, trembling kisses that turned into something more urgent. More desperate while Marisol still kissed him from the other side.
“Mia,” Bharath managed, but his voice was already unsteady.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me to stop. Not now. Please not now.”
Zara moved without thinking.
One second she was sitting across from them. The next she was kneeling on the seat beside him, one hand tangled in his hair, tilting his face toward her.
“We were good,” she said, voice shaking. “We were so good. All day. All fucking day we kept it together. We smiled. We laughed. We ate tamales and danced and pretended we weren’t dying inside missing you.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “I’m done pretending.”
Her lips hovered a breath away from his. “Tell me you missed us.”
“You know I did,” he rasped.
“Say it.”
“I missed you. All of you. So much...”
She kissed him before he could finish. Hard. Claiming. Like she was trying to crawl inside him and live there.
Ayesha’s control shattered like glass.
She’d been holding herself so carefully. Sitting with perfect posture. Hands folded. Breathing measured.
But watching Zara kiss and lick him sitting on his thigh, watching Mia’s lips on his throat, Marisol’s hands under his shirt, something inside her just ... gave.
She moved to his other thigh, pressing against him, her hand sliding to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Rapid. Thundering.
“We survived,” she whispered. “Maria accepted us. She accepted us. Do you understand what that means?”
Her hand slid lower. Over his ribs. His stomach.
“It means we’re real. It means we’re a family. It means...” Her voice broke. “It means we have a chance to be accepted by our families too. It means ... we can be together forever.”
She joined the other girls as she kissed the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then just beneath his ear.
“And I’m never letting go.”
Sarah was the last.
She’d been watching. Always watching. Cataloging every reaction, every touch, every crack in everyone’s armor.
But when she saw the desperation in their eyes - the raw, aching need - something in her chest split open.
She parted his thigh with Zara and Ayesha on them and just slid in between on her knees. Zara and Ayesha kissed and licked him as Mia and Marisol slid their hands under his shirt. Sarah held his head in her hands and gave him a volcanic smooch that possibly melted Bharath’s brain.
“Look at me,” she commanded softly.
He did. His eyes were dark. Pupils blown. Breathing ragged.
“We almost lost this,” she said. “Maria almost took this from us. Not because she was cruel. Because she was scared. Because she loves her daughters. Because she thought we were destroying them.”
Her thumb traced his cheekbone. “But we proved her wrong. We showed her this is real. This is good. This is...”
She couldn’t finish.
She just kissed him again. Slowly, deeply, pouring everything she couldn’t say into it. They were lost to the world as the empty train rocked and the lights flickered around them.
And somewhere in the back of his mind that had not turned to mush as yet, Bharath knew ... knew this was reckless. Knew they were in public. Knew they could be seen, could be caught, could be...
But rational thought was drowning under the weight of five pairs of hands, five warm bodies pressed against him, five voices whispering his name like a prayer.
Marisol’s hand slid under his shirt. Mia’s teeth grazed his collarbone. Zara’s fingers tightened in his hair. Ayesha’s palm pressed against his chest, feeling every frantic beat of his heart. Sarah ground down slightly on his thigh and he felt her heat even through layers of denim.
“Girls ... We can’t...” he tried.
“We can papi,” Marisol breathed against his ear. “We are.”
“Just this,” Mia whispered, lips on his throat. “I can’t just wait until we get home. Please. I need ... I need to feel you. I need to know you’re real.”
Marisol’s voice was wrecked. “Three days without you. Do you know what that’s like? Do you know what it’s like to need someone so badly you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think...”
“One day,” Ayesha corrected softly, but her voice was just as desperate. “One day and I felt like I was losing my mind.”
Sarah leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. “We held it together for Maria. We were polite. We were good. We didn’t touch you. We barely looked at you.”
She rolled her hips slightly. “We’re done being good.”
Bharath didn’t point out that that was technically not true ... but he was beyond caring now. They were left to the mercy of the gods.
That’s when the control shattered completely.
Because they’d spent many days now walking on eggshells. Smiling through fear. Pretending their hearts weren’t breaking every time Maria looked at Bharath with suspicion or rage or grief.
They’d been good daughters. Good girlfriends. Good women. And they had been rewarded for it. Bharath’s calm and maturity and belief in Maria had paid off. They had been accepted by her. All the trauma and emotion now needed release.
And now ... finally, finally ... they could just be. Be desperate. Be needy. Be his.
The train rattled on through the Atlanta night.
And somewhere between Doraville and Midtown, six young people stopped fighting the inevitable. They’d been holding back a flood with their bare hands. And now the dam had broken.
Even today, Bharath couldn’t tell you how they hadn’t been arrested on that train.
Maybe the gods were watching over them. Maybe Atlanta was too tired to care. Or maybe ... just maybe ... the world looked the other way when desire was this raw, this passionate.
The girls swarmed him. Lips. Hands. Heat. Their restraint had evaporated like breath on glass.
Sarah ground against him from her position like she was made of hunger. “I swear to God, you’re going to ruin my underwear.”
“I already did,” Ayesha whispered, dragging his hand between her legs to prove it.
Mia nipped at his neck and moaned, “I want your taste back in me. I’ve missed you inside me all day. I need you to bite us all over and claim our bodies as yours again.”
Marisol whispered in Spanish ... filthy things, sacred things ... as she guided his hand up her blouse and onto her bare breast, her nipple already swollen and eager. “Dámelo, mi alma. Te necesito. Now.”
Zara was the worst ... or the best. She didn’t say anything. She just sank to her knees between his legs, looking up with those teasing, wide eyes, mouthing the word later as she rubbed her cheek against his tented pants like it was a shrine.
They didn’t dare fully touch skin. Not yet. But they dry humped him through their clothes like animals in heat. Bharath was already painfully hard, the thick line of him strained against his jeans, soaked through in patches from grinding friction.
By the time the train hit Midtown, the girls were trembling. Mia’s skirt was ruined. Zara’s jeans were visibly wet at the crotch. Ayesha’s hips wouldn’t stop bucking. Marisol’s breath hitched every time the wheels screeched. Sarah had to bite her own shoulder to keep from screaming as she ground against Bharath.
When they reached North Avenue, Bharath snapped.
He snapped because in that moment, with five girls shaking around him, trembling with need they’d swallowed for days, something instinctive rose in him.
He felt what they needed from him. And every thought in his head went silent.
“Follow,” he said, his voice like thunder under velvet.
There was no hesitation and no backtalk. The girls obeyed instantly, forming a line behind him as they stepped out into the cool night air. There was something ritualistic in the way they moved now.
By the time they reached Sarah’s house, their gait was uneven. Their thighs rubbed together with every step. They were soaked, ruined, beyond the reach of reason.
Bharath opened the door, stepped inside, and turned. The front door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a bubble of sudden, deafening silence.
For a second, they just stood there in the dark foyer, breathing. Panting, really. The train’s reckless energy still crackled in the air between them, but it had nowhere to go. They were a live wire dropped in water.
They were a tangled mess of want. Mia was still trembling against his back. Zara’s nails were dug into his bicep. Sarah’s breath hitched in short, sharp gasps. Ayesha stared at the floor, her body rigid with held-back tension. Marisol’s gaze was locked on him, dark and bottomless.
It was too much. And not enough.
The desperate kissing on the train had been a pressure release, but it was like drinking seawater. It had only deepened the thirst. They needed to be submerged.
Bharath leaned back against the door, his head thumping against the wood. He was wrecked. They’d ruined him on that train, and he’d loved every second of it. But looking at them now - seeing the wild, lost look in their eyes, the aftermath of days of fear and performance - he didn’t see just horniness. He saw a need for order.
His own breathing slowed. The frantic heat in his veins didn’t cool; it focused, hardening into something deliberate. The part of him that was their calm center, their general, their Dom Papi - the part they worshipped on Tuesdays - rose to the surface without a single word being spoken.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t command. He just looked at them.
One by one, he met their eyes. Marisol first. Then Mia. Sarah. Ayesha. Zara.
He saw the exact moment each of them understood. Saw the frantic desperation in their eyes crystallize into something sharper: surrender. Their postures shifted almost imperceptibly. The anxious fidgeting stopped. Their breathing, though still ragged, fell into a shared rhythm. They were waiting. Not for permission, but for a path. Him. In control.
Bharath pushed off from the door. The movement was slow, deliberate. He didn’t speak. He simply walked to the center of the foyer, turned, and let his gaze sweep over them one final time like a general surveying his territory.
“Shoes. Off. Line up. Now.”
Shoes hit the floor in five soft thuds. They stood shoulder to shoulder by the hallway, their eyes wide and hungry, bodies pulsing with need.
“Strip. Tops first.”
It was as if their clothes vanished by magic. Five pullovers, jackets, sweaters and tops gone in five heartbeats. The living room was suddenly filled with the sight of heaving chests, trembling collarbones, and nipples so stiff they looked sculpted.
Five goddesses. Five shades of heaven.
Rose. Brown. Caramel. Honey. Chocolate.
Bharath stalked forward and grabbed Sarah by the hair, tilting her head back.
“You want me?” he asked.
She gasped. “Yes, sir.”
“Then you don’t get to come. Not until I say.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, sir.”
He turned to the rest. “That goes for all of you.”
He ravaged them. One by one. And then all at once. Claiming their breasts one at a time. Marking his property again. Over and over.
He left bite marks on Zara’s shoulders, sucking until she screamed his name. He licked across Ayesha’s collarbone and bit just above her heart. He devoured Mia’s chest, her cries echoing as he painted her with love bites like a possessive artist.
Marisol melted under his tongue as he reunited his teeth with fading love bites. “Mi amor ... te suplico...”
Sarah arched her back and whimpered. “Harder...”
He used his mouth, his teeth, his hands. He kissed their ribs, dragged his tongue down the valley between their breasts, scraped his stubble against their softest spots. His injured arm throbbed, but he didn’t stop until they begged him to fill them up.
“Bottoms. Now.”
Skirts. Jeans. Leggings. All gone.
The girls stood in nothing but ruined, sodden underwear. Some lace, some cotton, all drenched. Every pair clung like second skin, darkened and shimmering with want.
He ran his finger between Ayesha’s legs, pushing against the wetness. Her knees buckled.
“You call this control?” he murmured.
“No, sir,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Fix it.”
He turned to Sarah and Mia. “Undress each other.”
They obeyed with shaky hands, pulling each other’s panties down like offerings. They each took the other’s discarded underwear and looked at Bharath.
“Taste her,” he ordered. Then he looked at the other girls and indicated for them to undress each other as well and taste each other.
Sarah stuffed Mia’s soaked panties into her mouth. Each of the girls stuffed their panties into another girl’s mouth.
Zara and Marisol whimpered, already anticipating what was coming.
“Now,” he growled. “Make your sisters moan.”
The girls stood before him now - stripped bare but for their ruined panties in each other’s mouths. They were not just wet. They were soaked. The air itself smelled of them, thick and feral and holy. It was a perfume of surrender.
Each girl trembled, lips parted, thighs pressed together as if they could hide anything from him.
“You think this is funny?” Bharath asked, voice cold and firm, scanning them with predator’s stillness. “Acting like animals in public? Risking everything?”
They shook their heads. Sarah still had Mia’s panties stuffed in her mouth. Mia wore Sarah’s in hers. They moaned through them, shame and arousal blurring the lines in their eyes.
“Answer me.”
Zara dropped to her knees, “No, sir. We’re sorry” she mumbled tasting Marisol in her mouth
“Sorry?” He stepped forward, standing before all five of them now, towering. “You will be.”
He pointed to the carpet. “Kneel. All of you. In a line.”
They dropped instantly. Five beautiful bodies on their knees before him like temple maidens awaiting the rites of a merciless priest. Their breathing came ragged, their chests rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm.
He walked behind them, eyes devouring each curve, each quiver. “Spread your knees.”
The sound of thighs parting was like a chorus. Their drenched cores visible between slick folds and flushed skin, some already dripping halfway down.
“Hands behind your backs.”
They obeyed. Without resistance. No hesitation. Just trust. Just submission.
“You want me to forgive you?” he asked softly, walking between them now.
“Yes, sir,” Ayesha whimpered.
“You want me to make you mine again?”
“Yes, sir,” Sarah whispered, biting her lip.
“Then you will earn it,” Bharath growled.
He started with Mia.
He knelt behind her, kissing the nape of her neck before slowly sliding two fingers into her. They slid in easily as she was dripping, clenching, already on fire.
Mia let out a strangled sound around the cloth in her mouth. Her back arched involuntarily.
“Not a sound,” Bharath hissed as he slapped her huge breasts. “Suck on Zara’s taste”
He pumped slowly, fingers curling inside her. Mia’s eyes rolled back. Tears welled in the corners as she struggled not to moan as she greedily sucked on the cloth in her mouth.
He withdrew suddenly. She collapsed forward, panting, thighs shaking.
He moved on to Ayesha.
Ayesha gasped when he spread her open from behind, her caramel skin slick with arousal. He pressed his thumb against her clit - firm and unrelenting. He pressed his other hand against her other entrance, making her jump. Then as he slowly used both hands to pleasure her, Ayesha was in heaven. She bit down on her own lip so hard it bled.
First two fingers in. Then three. He fucked her with his fingers until she was shaking uncontrollably, her body tensed like a bowstring. Then he stopped, leaving her empty and whining.
Zara was next. She was already rocking back and forth, whispering please, please, please like a mantra.
He slapped her inner thigh. “Greedy girl.”
Then he grabbed her by her hair on all fours and plunged his fingers in without warning.
Zara screamed. She made a muffled, broken sound as he worked her open, palm grinding against her swollen clit while he pulled her head back with his other hand. She bucked. He didn’t stop. Not until she was right at the edge.
Then he pulled out and removed the panties from her mouth and made her lick his fingers clean. Zara moaned loudly as she bobbed on his fingers from both hands as if she were giving him a blowjob. She shrieked in ecstasy when he pushed his fingers deep into her mouth and squeezed her throat the way she loved causing her to orgasm so hard that she went limp. Bharath caught her. After gently laying her on the floor, he made sure she was ok and then stuffed the underwear back into her mouth.
“Next.”
Marisol moaned when she felt his breath on her folds. He didn’t touch her right away. Just hovered. Letting the anticipation build.
“I can smell how much you need me, chellam,” he whispered.
Then he pushed her head down to the floor and raised her ass and spread her cheeks gently kissing her on each magnificent cheek. He gently rubbed her all along her crack and then suddenly shoved two fingers inside her with zero mercy. She gasped. Her thighs spread wider. She leaned back into him like a puppet pulled by strings.
He twisted his fingers inside her, rubbing that sweet spot inside her again and again until she broke, over and over until a puddle formed beneath her as she squirted hard on the floor. But Bharath did not relent, using her moisture to insert fingers into her forbidden hole as well. Marisol almost lost her sanity when he did that, screaming into cloth stuffed into her mouth. Only when her cries became whimpers and she went limp with pleasure did he stop fingering her holes.
Marisol whimpered like a dog denied water when he pulled out his hand.
Finally, Sarah.
He didn’t kneel behind her.
He stood above her and ordered, “Face me.”
She did ... her mouth still stuffed with Mia’s panties.
He yanked them out of her mouth and made her wear them.
Then, as she stared up at him with adoration, he pressed his foot between her knees and nudged her legs apart.
Then, he traced her folds over the panties, slow, deliberate. “You think you’re in control, Sarah?”
She swallowed. “Never. Only you, sir.”
He smiled, cruel and tender. “Then suffer like the rest.”
Sarah gasped when he took hold of her beautiful face and forced his fingers into her mouth and pulled her head down with his other hand. She was already so aroused watching her sisters that she had a screaming orgasm when she tasted Marisol and the other girls on his fingers. Bharath played her like a violin knowing how much she enjoyed oral play. Finally, before she could collapse from sensory overload, he pulled out of her mouth and tore the panties aside and sank two fingers in deep.
Sarah didn’t fight. She rode his fingers, her body shuddering as he stroked her, choked her, teased her, edged her with the precision of a master.
And then, when her breaths started coming in sobs ... he stopped.
The five girls were wrecked. They sagged against each other and on the floor like broken dolls, still on their knees, still soaked, still trembling.
Bharath stood in front of them, towering. His own cock was straining against his jeans, painfully hard. But this was not about him. Not yet.
“Who wants to come again?” he asked coldly.
Five hands raised.
He smirked. “None of you will. Not until I say.”
He paced again, slow, deliberate. “You are not allowed to touch yourselves. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not unless I command it.”
Groans. Desperate nods.
“You will keep wearing each other’s ruined panties. You will remember who owns you. You will carry my marks on your bodies like a blessing.”
He pointed to their mouths. “Put on your sister’s underwear.”
He watched, drinking in the sight of his girls rushing to obey him while tasting each other’s need, marked by him, ruined and bound by his control.
He finally unzipped his pants and let his cock free.
Five pairs of eyes widened. They whimpered around soaked cotton. It was longer, harder and girthier than they had ever seen it before.
“Take out what’s in your mouth and crawl here,” he said.
They crawled.
“Take turns. No hands.”
What followed wasn’t just a blowjob. It was worship. Each girl took him into her mouth like he was holy. Soft lips. Wet tongues. Guttural moans.
They passed him between them almost ceremoniously.
Mia licked from base to tip, eyes glazed.
Ayesha gagged slightly, unable to fit it in her mouth but didn’t stop.
Zara moaned with every bob of her head.
Marisol mouthed prayers in Spanish between licks as she rubbed him all over her face as his precum and sisters’ spit coated her face.
Sarah sealed her lips around him and looked up, her eyes pleading him to take control. He pulled her hair and fucked her mouth hard. Before long, Sarah collapsed to the ground as her kink brought her to the edge as she begged an unrelenting Bharath for allowing her to climax. He just shook his head and made things worse for Sarah by making the other girls suck on her nipples and pleasure her body while she bobbed on him.
After the other girls pulled up a shaken Sarah and helped her kneel as he made them assume the position in front of him again. All of them ruined, aching, dripping.
He stood tall in the middle of the foyer, breathing heavily, sweat beading across his brow as the five of them knelt before him, flushed, breathless, trembling. Their lips were swollen. Eyes glassy. Chests rising and falling in unison, as if they shared the same breath.
And in a way, they did. They had spent what felt like an eternity without release. Without surrendering. Without belonging.
Now, they were feral with need. All restraint had cracked.
Bharath’s voice was low and sharp, cutting through the haze. “On fours. All of you.”
Their bodies responded before their minds did. They were all on their fours now, as five beautiful specimens of asses, all drenched with desire pointed back at him. Goosebumps rose on bare skin. Anticipation shimmered in the air like static as the girls panted.
He walked slowly among them, touching one ass, then another.
Mia whimpered. “Please...”
He cupped her cheek, fingers grazing her lips. “Face down. Ass up.”
Mia lay on the hardwood floor like an offering, legs already parted, eyes dazed with lust and love and something close to religious awe.
He entered her slowly, achingly slow, and she screamed loudly - not in pain, but in release. Her back arched, hands clawing the floor. She was very tight, and he realized she’d been holding herself back. Saving it. For this.
For him.
He savoured her tightness as her elbows gave way and she collapsed on the floor, her body quivering with the need for release as she begged.
“Please papi ... I need it ... please papi...
Finally, he leaned forward. “Good girl. You can cum now,” he whispered against her neck.
That was all it took.
Her body seized, a quake of pleasure surging through her, and she went limp beneath him ... passed out with a little sigh, smiling as if in sleep.
He didn’t stop.
He turned to Ayesha next, who was already on all fours, hips raised, her eyes begging without words. One firm stroke and a spank on her delicious ass and she gasped so hard it echoed. She clenched around him as if trying to trap him inside forever. She sobbed his name, again and again, until her arms gave out and she collapsed face-first into the rug, still twitching.
“You are also good girl, chellam. Cum now,” he ordered, and the others shivered as Ayesha thanked him endlessly as she shattered.
Zara was next.
She didn’t beg. She just looked at him, defiant, desperate. “Break me.”
He did.
He picked up someone’s panties off the ground and stuffed it back into her mouth to muffle her scream as she came, convulsing beneath him like a live wire. When he filled her, her eyes rolled back and her legs gave way. He took her so hard that Sarah and Marisol gasped. But remained defiant with her look until her eyes turned needy. He smiled as she started to whine beg interminably as he plowed into her mercilessly. When he finally relented, she slumped back onto the floor, head resting on Mia’s thigh, completely undone.
“Three,” he said. “Still conscious, Sarah?”
Sarah was panting with desire having watched her three sisters being dominated by the person she loved more than any other in the world.
“Prove yourself,” he said, voice like iron.
She lay back and spread herself, and when he took her, it was with a gentleness that shattered her. He cradled her head. Kissed her throat. Made love to her like she was fragile glass and he was fire.
She whispered “I love you” throughout in between sobs as he finally emptied into her.
Then she too was still collapsing on Ayesha’s back.
Only Marisol remained, trembling and wide-eyed.
“Mi corazon...” she whispered. “What are you?”
He didn’t answer.