The door barely clicked shut behind him when Marisol appeared in the hallway, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming with something between affection and conspiracy.

  “Clothes,” she said simply.

  Bharath blinked. “What?”

  Sarah leaned over the arm of the couch, her voice pyful but firm. “Strip. Bath time.”

  He chuckled, tossing his gym bag near the door. “I literally just walked in.”

  “And now you’re walking out of those,” Marisol said, already padding toward him. “You stink like sweat and virtue.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Virtue?”

  Sarah smirked. “Only someone virtuous survives what we did to you this morning and still goes to the gym.”

  Before he could reply, Marisol was on him-lifting the hem of his sweat-soaked shirt and pulling it up over his head. Sarah was already by his side, undoing the waistband of his gym pants with a theatrical sigh.

  “Honestly, this is for our sanity too,” she said. “You in sweatpants after sex? Criminally hot.”

  Bharath opened his mouth to protest-only to find his pants yanked down and a pair of greedy hands cupping his ass.

  “Hey-!”

  “Shhh,” Marisol whispered. “Just let us.”

  He ughed softly as they stripped him completely, pausing every so often to press kisses to his neck, his chest, his hips-nowhere overtly sexual, but everywhere meaningful.

  Sarah brushed her lips across his colrbone. “You’re not allowed to wash yourself anymore. It’s our job.”

  “And our pleasure,” Marisol added, sliding a hand down his back. “New rule. House policy. Non-negotiable.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

  “We pn on it,” Sarah murmured, taking his hand. “Now into the bath, hero.”

  The shower was already filling with steam curling up from the warm water, the air rich with vender oil and something citrusy. Candles flickered near the edge-Sarah’s touch-and soft music pyed from a tiny tape deck tucked on the vanity.

  Bharath stepped in first, easing into the heat with a groan.

  But before he could settle, two pairs of hands were on him again.

  He didn’t resist.

  Marisol stood behind him, guiding his back against her chest, her arms curling around his waist. Sarah stood next to him dipping her hands into the warm water and thering a sweet-smelling shampoo between her fingers.

  “We take care of our man,” Sarah whispered as she smoothed the foam into his hair, her nails massaging his scalp in slow, circur patterns.

  Marisol’s hands slid down his arms, over his chest, her lips pressing kisses to his damp shoulder bdes. “Every inch. Every day. You don’t lift a finger when it comes to this. Understood?”

  Bharath groaned-not from exhaustion, but from how amazing he felt in that moment. Cared for. Cimed. Cherished.

  “Yes,” he breathed.

  The shampoo frothed as Sarah worked deeper, scratching gently behind his ears, dragging her fingers down to his neck.

  “I love this hair,” she said softly. “It’s strong and soft. Like you.”

  Marisol chuckled. “He is soft right now. Well… mostly.”

  They giggled as his cheeks flushed, and Sarah leaned in to press a kiss to his wet temple. Her eyes were gssy with affection.

  “You are ours,” she whispered. “And we don’t waste bathtime.”

  Marisol nodded against his back. “And if you ever try to shower alone again, we’ll punish you.”

  “Oh?” he rasped. “And how exactly?”

  Sarah leaned down and nipped his ear. “We’ll not let you touch us for a whole day.”

  Bharath’s breath caught. “Cruel.”

  “Necessary,” Marisol said. “Now hush. We’re not done worshipping you.”

  They rinsed his hair slowly, taking turns pouring water over his head from a ceramic jug, watching the suds trail down his body. Marisol’s hands began soaping his chest next-long, slow strokes down his sternum, her thumbs caressing his ribs as though learning him again.

  Sarah thered his arms, bringing his fingers to her mouth and kissing each one, reverent. Her lips lingered on his palm before she guided it to her cheek.

  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” she whispered.

  He met her eyes-and saw nothing but truth there.

  Marisol’s hands moved to his thighs now, massaging deeply, kneading the muscle with slow intent.

  “You give us everything,” she said quietly. “And we see it. All of it.”

  Bharath’s voice was hoarse. “You two… you make me feel like…”

  “Say it,” Sarah urged, crawling into the tub now so she could straddle his p, careful not to take it further, just resting her forehead to his. “Say how we make you feel.”

  “Like I matter,” he whispered.

  Marisol tightened her arms around him from behind.

  “You do,” she said fiercely.

  “To both of us,” Sarah added, kissing his jaw, his brow, the tip of his nose.

  They stayed like that for minutes, maybe hours. The water cooled around them, but none of them moved. Bharath’s head rested between their breasts. Their hands drifted along his skin like the tide-never sexual, but deeply intimate.

  They kissed him until he smiled again.

  They bathed him like he was sacred.

  The new rule was clear:

  Bharath never bathed alone again.

  The diner was nearly empty, save for a pair of retirees sipping coffee in the corner and a college couple sharing a newspaper and greasy fries. The neon sign buzzed faintly outside, casting flickers of pink and blue over the fogged windows. It was the kind of pce that smelled like burnt toast, syrup, and butter-safe, unremarkable, and perfect for staying under the radar.

  Bharath, Marisol, and Sarah slid into a booth near the back, the vinyl seat cold against their jeans. They kept their voices low, their touches subtle, but the warmth between them hummed beneath every gnce, every brush of the hand on the table.

  “Toast, hash browns, eggs-no meat?” the waitress asked, barely looking up from her notepad as she refilled their water gsses.

  “No meat, please,” Bharath replied, giving her a polite smile.

  Marisol grinned across the table. “He’s the only man I know who could worship two women and still be gentle to a cow.”

  “Discipline,” Sarah said, smirking. “His superpower.”

  Bharath raised his coffee cup. “And yours is corruption.”

  They ughed softly, and for a moment, it was just the three of them in their bubble-steaming mugs, shared toast, gnces that lingered.

  “So,” Sarah began, sobering slightly, “Mia’s coming today?”

  Bharath nodded. “After csses. I’ll tutor her like we pnned. But… I want to bring her home after. So she can meet you, Sarah. See this” - he gestured gently between the three of them - “with her own eyes.”

  Marisol arched an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

  “If she wants to stay over, let her. No pressure. Just… let her feel the truth of it. Not gossip. Not whispers. Just us.”

  Sarah leaned back. “Let her ask questions. Let her watch. Let her… decide.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. She’s smart. She will figure something is up between us when she meets us. If we don’t bring her into the light, she’ll be lost in the rumors.”

  Marisol stirred her coffee. “You think she’ll be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I know she loves and respects you. And if she sees you loving this - us - I hope she’ll believe it’s real.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Marisol smiled.

  “I haven’t spent proper time with her in weeks. Just quick check-ins. Maybe this is overdue.”

  Sarah reached for Bharath’s hand beneath the table. “And if it overwhelms her?”

  “Let’s figure that out when we cross that bridge. I feel she will understand though.”

  Marisol looked between them, heart swelling with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. “You two really are the most dangerous kind of people.”

  Bharath tilted his head. “How so?”

  “Gentle,” she said. “But unstoppable.”

  They finished breakfast in silence after that, save for a few soft chuckles, shared bites, and quiet sips. Outside, the first week of November painted the world in gold and rust. A chill wind waited to bite at their jackets, but here, in this booth, they were warm.

  And somewhere ter that day, Mia Rivera would step into the world they had built.