tantrayaan

  The world outside was still gray with sleep, painted in streaks of soft gold from the early morning sun. But inside the living room, Bharath was very much awake. Very awake.

  He y perfectly still, listening to the rhythm of their breathing. One breath, warm and slow against his chest. The other, faint and shallower, brushing past his neck. He blinked, vision adjusting to the soft light of dawn filtering through the gauzy curtains.

  He did not move. Not yet.

  Because he was wrapped in the kind of luxury no man could ever really prepare for. Marisol was pressed flush against his right side, her bountiful chest rising and falling against his face, one thigh slung zily over his own like she was anchoring him to the mattress. Her silky hair had taken over the pillow, a fragrant, wild mess that tickled his jaw.

  On his other side, Sarah had curled up half on top of him sometime during the night. Her arm was draped over his chest possessively, one knee tucked into his hip. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut and mango shampoo, and one soft breast had found its home against his cheek.

  He was sandwiched between warmth, softness, femininity. Not some fantasy, but real, tangible skin, breath, curves, and heartbeats.

  And nestled against both sides of his face?

  Heaven.

  Two breasts, both DDs, both exquisite in their own way. Each one resting against his cheeks, his jawline, his lips if he angled his head just so. Warm, soft, grounding. Sarah’s breast, to his left, had slipped free from the sheet and rested lightly against his neck. Its weight was gentler, higher, more sculpted, the kind of shape that sat snug in his palm and left him always wanting more. Her nipple - small, pink, and upturned—was already peeking through the morning chill.

  To the right, Marisol’s fullness rested in decadent contrast. Heavier, softer, and more generous, her breast felt like the most comfortable cushion in the world. Her nipples, darker and broader, carried the kind of sensitivity that turned her voice into music if he so much as grazed them.

  He did not try to be poetic. There was no poetry here. Just awe. The raw kind.

  He tilted his head slightly, brushing his nose against Sarah’s breast. Her scent hit him immediately - a hint of the lotion from the night before. It was faint but unmistakable, and it made his mouth water. Slowly, reverently, he brought his lips to her nipple and gave it a soft kiss. She stirred, not fully awake, but her body responded anyway. Her back arched faintly and a quiet hum escaped her throat.

  His hand slid beneath the bnket and over her hip, fingers tracing the dip of her waist until he cupped the swell of her breast in his palm. She felt perfect. He thumbed her nipple, watching it stiffen against his touch. She whimpered softly in her sleep and squeezed her thighs around him without meaning to. Her inner thigh grazed against his length with enough friction to make him grunt low in his throat.

  She did not even realize what she was doing.

  He turned to his other side and inhaled deeply. Marisol’s skin was warm and faintly salty, with the earthy sweetness of amber and cinnamon. He pressed his face into the generous slope of her chest, nuzzling until he found her nipple with his lips. Then he kissed it, slow and deep. She did not move at first. Just sighed. Then she muttered something in slurred Spanish that he could not understand but made his chest tighten anyway.

  His hand found her other breast under the sheets. His palm sank into it as if her body molded itself for his hands alone. When he rolled the nipple gently between his fingers, her hips shifted and her leg tightened around his.

  Bharath blinked, looked down at his morning state, then sighed.

  He pulled both women closer with each arm. Left arm curled around Sarah, right hand still teasing Marisol. Both girls let out small sounds of contentment, unconsciously nestling into him further.

  He could stay like this forever.

  And then he saw them. Faint, but there.

  Marks.

  On Sarah’s breast near the curve of her sternum - one of his love bites, nearly faded. Another, lower on Marisol’s colrbone - darker, but already lightening at the edges.

  He grinned. He remembered that night clearly. They had made him promise—both of them—that he would never let their marks fade. That when one started to disappear, he would repce it. Not out of possessiveness, they said. Out of reverence. Out of belonging.

  He kissed the fading mark on Sarah first, just above the spot where her heart beat under skin. A soft, open-mouthed kiss. She squirmed lightly in her sleep, her grip on his waist tightening.

  “Again…” she mumbled, barely conscious.

  He smiled. “Later,” he whispered, and kissed her again anyway. Then his teeth found the spot just beside it, and he left a fresh one—gently, but firm enough to make it st.

  She let out a moan and pressed her hips forward into him.

  He turned to Marisol next. Her cvicle was already home to a mark from the night before, but he was not about to leave it half-faded. He traced his tongue just below it, then bit—soft, slow, just enough pressure to make her arch and mutter, “You better be repcing the one that’s fading, mi corazón…”

  “I am,” he said softly. “I always keep my promises.”

  She hummed, her leg hiking higher over his thigh. Her hips found his, rubbing sleepily against his hardness.

  “Don’t tease,” she said, half-awake.

  “Who’s teasing?” he murmured, kissing across her breast again and drawing her nipple into his mouth.

  Sarah stirred next, waking more fully. She blinked, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, then looked down at him.

  “What time is it?” she murmured.

  “Too early,” Bharath said between licks.

  “You’re already up,” she said, voice gravelly with sleep. “And already causing trouble.”

  She reached down and grabbed his hand, guiding it back to her chest. “I want one too. A fresh one.”

  “You got yours already.”

  “Doesn’t count,” she said. “I was not conscious while you did it.”

  Bharath chuckled and kissed her again—this time just below the curve of her underboob, teeth scraping gently. Sarah gasped. “That’s better.”

  Marisol smirked, one eye now open. “Do me again.”

  He did not argue.

  He leaned into her chest again and sucked deeply, using his tongue to swirl around her already stiff nipple before biting just under the curve of her mound. This time, she let out a full moan and dug her fingers into his hair.

  “You’re such a good boy when you’re horny,” she teased breathlessly.

  Sarah giggled. “He’s not just horny. He’s ravenous.”

  “Damn right I am,” Bharath mumbled, still focused on Marisol’s breast.

  Sarah tugged his head back and guided it to hers. “Then prove it.”

  He was only too happy to oblige.

  For the next few minutes, Bharath took turns vishing attention on both women, cupping, licking, sucking, marking. His hands moved from breast to breast, his thumbs pressing into soft flesh, fingers trailing along ribs, massaging the weight in each palm like they were his personal prayer beads.

  Marisol arched into him with abandon, murmuring encouragement between breaths.

  Sarah whined when he left her for more than a few seconds. “Come back here. No favoritism.”

  He ughed into her chest.

  Her response was to pull him deeper, breasts squishing against his face. “That’s your fault if you can’t breathe.”

  By the time the arm finally buzzed to life, shrill and annoying from the nightstand, all three of them were tangled in a mess of limbs and flushed skin.

  Marisol spped the top of the arm clock with a grumble. “Kill it.”

  Sarah whined, “Five more minutes.”

  “I have to go,” Bharath said reluctantly, untangling himself one limb at a time.

  “No,” Marisol said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  Sarah clung to his forearm. “You’re warm. We’re cold.”

  “I’ll come back sweaty,” he teased.

  “Gross,” both girls said at the same time, but neither let go.

  He kissed them each again, then gently pried himself loose. Marisol rolled toward Sarah and tucked her head into the crook of her neck. Sarah’s arms wrapped around her automatically.

  As he stood, stretching with a quiet groan, he gnced back at the bed.

  Two women, tangled in sheets and hair and each other, marked with his love, glowing in the soft light of morning.

  He almost crawled back in.

  But instead, he pulled on his shorts, grabbed his towel, and headed to the gym smiling.