The scent of oakwood and damp earth enveloped Marlene as she descended the stone spiral staircase—a smell that reminded her of yellowed pages and forgotten summers. She had always loved it, but tonight every nuance seemed to lie on her tongue like a promise. Her fingertips brushed over the cool railing as the memory of an afternoon fifteen years ago rose up: Lukas and her, down here, under the pretext of studying labels, had shared their first kiss. A fleeting, awkward kiss that tasted of cherry candy and embarrassment. Back then they were seventeen, full of longing and without a plan. Now, with a wedding ring on her finger and a life in orderly paths, this place felt like a forbidden chamber, just waiting to be opened.
Lukas was already waiting below, his hands buried in the pockets of his dark jeans, his head slightly tilted to avoid the light of the wrought-iron lamp. He looked like he used to, only marked by the years: the crow’s feet around his eyes deeper, his shoulders broader, his silhouette more angular. But his smile—that insolent, knowing smile—was unchanged. “You haven’t changed,” he said as she reached the last step. His voice sounded hoarser, full of undertones that began to tingle under her skin.
Marlene laughed softly, a sound that faded in the damp air. “Liar. I have ten extra kilos and gray hair.” She stepped closer, smelling the mixture of his aftershave and the cool stone—a familiar, unsettling combination. “You look good, Lukas.” Her voice was quieter than intended, almost a whisper.
“Come, I got a bottle—a Barolo you have to try.” He turned and walked ahead, through the narrow aisle between tall shelves that reached almost to the ceiling. The bottles shimmered in the dim light, a sea of dark glass and golden labels that caught their gazes. Marlene followed him, her eyes fixed on the movement of his shoulder blades under the thin linen shirt. She remembered watching him in the lake back then, how the water ran over his skin and revealed the muscles beneath. A pull, which she thought she had long forgotten, spread in her chest—a painful, sweet desire.
They reached a small alcove where a round wooden table and two chairs stood. Candle stubs on a saucer, a corkscrew, two glasses. Everything was prepared, as if he had planned the evening down to the last detail. Lukas sat down, opened the bottle with practiced moves, and poured. The wine glowed ruby red in the candlelight, like liquid fire. “Cheers,” he said, his gaze resting on her as he raised the glass, and she felt an invisible string tighten between them.
“Cheers.” She drank. The wine was velvety, with hints of cherry and something smoky that lingered on her tongue. “It’s wonderful.”
“I knew you’d like it.” He leaned back, turning the glass between his fingers, and looked at her over its rim. “Remember the evening we secretly met here? Your father was upstairs calling for you. We hid behind the barrel, and you were trembling like a leaf.”
Marlene felt a warm tingle rising from her belly. “Yes. We were so silly. I was so afraid he’d come down.”
“I was afraid too. But I wanted to kiss you so badly.” Lukas’s voice dropped, grew rougher. “I wanted more, much more. I wanted to touch you, feel your skin, taste you. Everything you didn’t give me back then.”
The air between them seemed to thicken, heavier with unspoken words. Marlene took a sip of wine to moisten her throat. “We were seventeen. Everything was forbidden and exciting.”
“And now?” he asked softly, his gaze boring into hers. “Now we’re adults. What’s forbidden now?”
Her heart beat faster, a wild drumroll in her chest. She knew where he was going. And a part of her—a part she had suppressed for years—wanted exactly that. “Lukas…”
“I know you’re married. I’m divorced. But I never forgot what it was like to kiss you. How you tasted—of summer and sin. How you felt, soft and trembling under my hands.” He leaned forward, his knees almost brushing hers. “I want to feel you again, Marlene. Just once. I want to know if it’s still there, this fire.”
She held her breath. The wine, the candles, the darkness around them—everything seemed to condense into a single point, into a hot core at her center. Her mind screamed no, but her body was already responding. She set down her glass, stood up, and walked to him. Her hands trembled as she took his face and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm, the kiss hesitant at first, then more demanding. He tasted of wine and desire, of all the years that had separated them.
His hands slid into her neck, pulling her closer until she felt the hard edge of the table at her back. But she didn’t care. She opened her mouth for his tongue, let him in, enjoyed his exploring, gathering movement. It was as if time had looped—they were seventeen again, but now there was no fear, only an urgent greed that seized them both.
The Taste of the Past
He pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark, his pupils wide, as if the wine had colored them. “You’re even more beautiful than before,” he murmured, letting his lips wander over her jaw, down to her neck. Marlene tilted her head back, offering him her throat, a silent sacrifice. His mouth sucked gently on her skin while his fingers opened the collar of her blouse. Button by button she revealed herself, until the fabric fell aside and her black lace bra came into view, a delicate mesh that enclosed her breasts.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathed, stroking his thumb over the edge of the underwire, a touch that shot through her like an electric shock. Marlene shuddered. Every touch seemed to radiate straight to her center, gathering in her pelvis. She grabbed his shirt, pulled it out of his pants, and unbuttoned it. His chest was firm, with a fine down of dark hair that continued in a line below his navel. She placed her palm on his heart, felt the rapid beat under her skin, and felt her own pulse quicken.
“I want to feel you,” she said, her voice a rough whisper that was more promise than
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