novelraw Chapter 175: Must. Watch [18+]
Chapter 175: Must. Watch [18+]
The night had softened.
After the laughter of Denny’s, the buzz of dress shopping, the chaos of the ride back - everything slowed into something quieter, thicker, more intimate.
Sarah’s house had a hush to it now. Lights dimmed. Slippers shuffled across hardwood. Marisol and Sarah were in the kitchen giggling over mango slices, smacking each other’s hands away. Mia, on the couch, pulled a throw blanket around herself and yawned dramatically.
“I think I’m out,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Long day.”
Marisol turned to look at her. “You sure?”
Mia nodded, snuggling into the couch cushion. “Mmhm. I’m wiped. You guys go to bed. I’ll crash right here.”
Sarah walked over and fluffed the blanket around her, tucking her in like an older sister would - sweet, slow, and suspiciously gentle. “You did great today, Mia.”
Mia looked up, her voice soft. “Thanks. You too.”
From the hallway, Bharath appeared, towel slung around his neck, hair still damp from a quick rinse. He paused at the edge of the living room, gaze landing on her.
“She’s asleep?” he asked quietly.
“She just crashed,” Marisol said. “Long day.”
He walked over. Kneeling beside the couch, he brushed a lock of Mia’s hair from her forehead and placed a gentle kiss there - reverent, warm, and unknowing.
Mia’s heart nearly stopped.
It wasn’t the kiss itself - it was the way he did it. Tender. Like she mattered. Like she was already part of something sacred. Her stomach flipped, and she had to clench her eyes shut to stop herself from tearing up.
“Sleep well,” he whispered.
Then he stood, turning away - only to be ambushed by Marisol and Sarah, who each grabbed an arm and began pulling him backward.
“Bedtime, señor,” Marisol grinned.
“You owe us,” Sarah purred. “Big time.”
“Owe-?”
He didn’t get to finish. Marisol jumped onto his back, wrapping herself around him like a backpack, while Sarah leapt into his arms from the side, squealing in delight.
“No escape!” Marisol cried.
Bharath laughed, low and surprised, trying to keep balance as he carried both girls toward the hallway. “You are crazy.”
“We're yours,” Sarah whispered in his ear.
And with that, the trio disappeared upstairs into the master bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.
The second it shut, Mia opened her eyes.
She sat up slowly, breath trembling, her entire body tingling with anticipation. The forehead kiss was still echoing through her chest, beating like a drum. But it wasn’t just the sweetness of it - it was what came after.
The sounds.
Soft at first. Murmured laughter. A creak of the bed. Something being set down.
Then a moan.
Mia’s hand tightened around the edge of the blanket.
A rustle. Another gasp. A sharp, helpless cry - Marisol’s, breathy and stunned.
She stood. Quiet. Barefoot.
She moved to the hallway like a ghost, keeping to the shadows, breath shallow.
And then… the door creaked open.
Just a sliver.
Barely a few inches.
But it was enough.
She saw her sister’s hand - knuckles pale, wrapped around the doorknob - and then it disappeared.
The message was clear.
Mia. Watch.
Inside, the room glowed in amber lamplight, filtered through gauzy curtains that swayed from the pedestal fan’s gentle hum. The air was thick with heat - not just the heat from the central heating that clung to every surface, but the kind that bloomed from skin and breath and tension too long contained.
Bharath stood at the foot of the bed like a storm forged into a man. Still. Coiled. His chest rose with deliberate breaths, jaw tight, a pulse ticking violently in his neck. His eyes weren’t angry.
They were ablaze.
Dark. Commanding. Feral with restraint breaking.
Marisol knelt in front of him, panting, her choli open and falling off one shoulder, eyes glassy and wide, lips parted. Beside her, Sarah lay on her back, her spine arched, hair a sunburst against the cream sheets, the faint pink of her flushed skin catching the light like silk.
Bharath’s gaze flicked between them. “I warned you,” he said - low, unhurried. His voice was different now. Gravel dragged through velvet.
Marisol swallowed. “We counted on it.”
That was the spark.
He moved.
In one motion, Bharath grabbed Marisol’s waist, lifted her clean off her knees and tossed her onto the bed. She squealed, legs flying, landing with her hair a tangled mess around her face. Before she could recover, Sarah was already clutching her hand, eyes on Bharath like she was watching a god descend.
And Mia - frozen at the door - couldn’t look away.
Her breath caught sharp in her throat.
Bharath stripped the last of his shirt, and his body glistened under the lamplight - lean muscle rippling beneath golden-brown skin still dewed from the gym, his abs cut deep, arms tense with purpose. A shadow of sweat darkened his waistband, and even from the threshold, Mia could smell it: salt, desire, the trace of his manly smell clinging to him like prophecy.
He didn’t climb onto the bed.
He ascended.
Like a king returning to his throne.
Like a man reclaiming what was already his.
He straddled Marisol, pinning her wrists to the pillow with one hand, the other dragging down her ribs in slow, punishing reverence.
“You think I’m just going to let that slide?” he growled against her throat.
She whimpered, writhing beneath him. “Please... hard.”
“Do you even deserve it?” His voice sharpened. “Teasing me all day. Using Mia to wind me up. You think I wouldn’t notice?”
Marisol gasped. “She wanted to...”
“She wanted me,” he corrected. “And you... pushed her.”
Sarah crawled up from the side like a supplicant, her hands ghosting up his back. She pressed her lips to his spine - a kiss that looked like prayer - then whispered, “We only ever act for you.”
His answer was not in words.
He bit Marisol’s shoulder - hard enough to make her cry out - then gripped her hip, rolling her beneath him as he yanked her skirt up. She writhed, the sound that spilled from her lips raw and keening.
Mia trembled at the door, her knees nearly buckling. One hand clamped over her mouth. The other had already slipped beneath the elastic of her shorts.
This wasn’t just desire.
This was witnessing the sacred.
He shifted over them, all sinew and heat, commanding the space like gravity made flesh. And the girls - fierce, brilliant women in every other domain - collapsed for him. Because they wanted to.
Because they needed to.
He reached back, slapped Sarah’s thigh - firm, reverent. She moaned into the sheets, arching for more. Another slap. Then another, each one met with a deeper gasp, a whispered thank you.
Marisol tried to lift her hips again - desperate for friction - and was promptly denied.
“No,” Bharath said, voice tight. “You’ll take what I give.”
She whimpered. “Yes, baby.”
He spanked her.
Once.
The crack echoed, and Marisol sobbed - not in pain, but in surrender. Her thighs quivered, her toes curling into the sheets.
Again.
Then Sarah.
And again.
Their cries were wet and wild now, breathless and helpless under the rhythm of his domination. Their bodies trembled, arched, but never resisted. This wasn’t violence. This was devotion by discipline.
And all the while, Mia - cheeks burning, thighs clenched - watched, panting like she’d run a marathon, unable to tear her eyes away.
Marisol turned her head, trying to kiss Bharath’s hand. “Please… let me come.”
He gave her a look.
“You’re not allowed,” he growled. “Not until I say so.”
Sarah nodded against the sheets, her voice a breath. “We won’t. Promise.”
They were edging, and he knew it.
And he loved it.
“You’ll hold it,” he whispered, grinding into them but pulling away each time they gasped. “You’ll stay at the edge. For me. Because you’re mine.”
“You exist,” he whispered, dragging his fingers over Sarah’s ravaged breasts as she arched, “for this.”
Then he turned to Marisol, tracing her collarbone, stopping at the marks he had given her like it was a signature line. “For me. Every time I see you, I think about how much more of you I still have to ruin.”
Sarah moaned, biting the pillow.
“Please, baby…”
“Please what?”
“Please keep ruining me,” she gasped.
Bharath’s smile was dark. “Gladly.”
They whimpered, tears running from the corners of their eyes.
Mia rubbed harder. Her lips were bitten raw now, her breath coming in bursts. Her body pulsed with need, the wetness soaking through her shorts as she imagined him pinning her like that. Owning her like that. Loving her into ruin and reverence.
Bharath pulled back, surveying the two trembling women beneath him. He looked like a man forged by storms - sweat dripping down his neck, jaw clenched, body shaking with restraint.
He kissed Sarah - deep and commanding - then turned and claimed Marisol’s mouth like she was the first and last thing he would ever taste. Their hands fisted the sheets. Their bodies bucked beneath him.
And then he spoke - softly, dangerously.
“Which one of you will come first?”
Marisol whimpered. “We’re… we’re not allowed.”
“But you want to.”
“Yes.”
He reached down, fingers trailing between them. “Then beg.”
They did.
Together.
Begging. Whimpering. Sobbing.
“Please, Bharath…”
“Please let me…”
“Please, I need it…”
“Let me come for you…”
“You’ll come,” Bharath growled, “not as my lovers-as my sluts. My sacred, obedient sluts who begged for it all day in front of mirrors and silk. You earned this because you gave yourselves.”
They shattered under the weight of his voice.
And he rewarded them.
First with touch.
Then with his voice.
“Now.”
It hit them like lightning. Marisol went first - body seizing, back arching as she sobbed his name. Sarah followed seconds later, shaking violently, clutching the sheets like a lifeline.
They collapsed, boneless, bliss-drunk, still moaning his name like a mantra.
Bharath lay between them, arms wide, chest rising and falling as he kissed their temples and whispered Tamil endearments into sweat-damp hair. They curled into him, one on each side, lips on his skin, worship written into their every breath.
And still - just outside the door - Mia shook as if she had been electrocuted. Listening to Bharath like this was rewiring her entire body.
Every nerve was on fire. Her shorts soaked through. Her body ached for him.
And her heart?
Opened.
Not just to lust.
But to the kind of love she didn’t know she was allowed to want. The kind that saw her. Claimed her. Exalted her.
She slid down the doorframe and sat on the floor, legs splayed, hand buried, eyes burning as the tears finally spilled.
Not from sadness.
From longing.
Inside, the bed creaked again. A laugh. A moan. Bharath’s voice - low and thick - telling them he wasn’t done. That they hadn’t even started.
And Mia closed her eyes, head tipping back.
She whispered, “Soon… that will be me begging him”
Then rubbed harder.