“Do you have a cigarette?” The question hit me like a light breeze, unexpected yet welcome.
I looked up. The man next to me at the bar stood so close I could feel the warmth of his skin. His voice was deep, with an accent that sounded like distant shores. “I don’t smoke,” I said, my tone flatter than intended.
“Too bad.” He smiled, but that smile was different—not a practiced play, but something real, almost vulnerable. “Then maybe a drink?”
I pointed at my nearly empty mojito. “This one’s still doing the job.”
“Another one? Same kind?” He waved at the bartender before I could object. I could have refused. But there was that silence radiating from the beach behind us, the rhythmic hiss of the waves, and the fact that I hadn’t spoken to anyone but hotel staff for days. Maybe it was loneliness guiding me. Maybe curiosity too.
“Thanks,” I said as the fresh mojito appeared before me, the mint a green promise. “Are you on vacation here too?”
“Work,” he replied. “Photographer. I’m doing a series on coastal landscapes.” He pointed to a worn camera bag on the floor. “And you?”
“Time off. Just getting away.”
“From what?”
“From life.” My laugh sounded more bitter than I’d planned. He studied me, and his gaze felt like a gentle touch—not intrusive, but probing. His eyes were dark, almost black, and in the pale light of the bar, they sparkled like the ocean on a moonless night.
“I’m Leo,” he said.
“Elena.”
“Elena.” He savored the name on his tongue. “A beautiful name.”
I took a sip, the cold a sharp contrast to the warm air. “You don’t have to be nice. I’m only here because I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he confessed. “But I’m always nice. It’s exhausting, but I’ve gotten used to it.”
I snorted into my glass. “And that’s supposed to be a compliment?”
“No, an observation. But if you want one: your laugh sounds like you rarely use it. That should change.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “You’re good at reading strangers.”
“I’m a photographer. I notice details. The way you hold your glass—with both hands, as if it’s giving you support. Or how you keep looking at the beach, as if you’re searching for something out there.”
“Maybe I am searching for something,” I said softly.
“And did you find it?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Maybe just now.”
The moment hung between us, heavy and sweet like the scent of salt and coconut oil lingering in the air. He leaned closer, and I smelled his aftershave, woody and fresh. “Want to take a little walk? The beach is beautiful at night.”
I nodded, placed a bill on the counter, and stood up. He picked up his camera bag, and we stepped out into the darkness.
The sand was cool under my bare feet—I’d left my sandals in the bar; they bothered me. Leo walked beside me, half a step away, so I could hear his breathing. The surf was louder now, a steady roar that swallowed all other sounds.
“Tell me something about yourself, Elena,” he said without looking at me. “Something no stranger would know.”
“I’m afraid of the dark,” I confessed. “But here, on the beach, I’m not.”
“Because the sea protects you?”
“Because the sea is bigger than anything I’m afraid of.”
He stopped, turned to face me. “I’m afraid too. Afraid that one day I won’t feel anything anymore. That everything becomes indifferent.” He raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers touched my cheek, and that simple contact made me shiver. “You know what drove me here tonight? The thought that I’m leaving tomorrow and haven’t really met anyone. But now…”
“Now?” I whispered.
“Now I feel like this night could change everything.”
I stepped closer until only a whisper of air remained between us. “Then let’s not think about tomorrow.”
His lips found mine, gentle at first, testing. His kiss tasted of salt and whiskey, and I opened to him, let his tongue in as it grew more probing when I wrapped my hands around his neck. He pulled me tighter against him, and I felt his body, firm and warm under the thin linen shirt.
“Elena,” he murmured against my mouth. “I want you.”
“I know,” I said. “I want you too.”
He took my hand, and we walked along the beach, away from the bar lights, until we found a sheltered spot, a small cove surrounded by rocks. The sand was softer here, almost powdery. He spread out his jacket, and I settled onto it, pulling him down to me.
We kissed again, hungrier this time. His hands roamed over my back, under my top, and I felt his fingers on my bare skin, hot and demanding. I unbuttoned his shirt, let my hands glide over his chest, felt the muscles beneath that tensed at my touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and it didn’t sound like flattery, but like a discovery. “Your skin, how it shimmers in the moonlight…”
I pulled him closer until his weight was on me, and I felt his arousal against my thigh. A shiver of anticipation ran through me. “Show me how beautiful you find me,” I whispered.
He didn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth traveled from my lips to my neck, nibbling at my earlobe, while his hands pushed my top up. I raised my arms, and he pulled it over my head. Then his mouth on my breast, through the thin fabric of the bikini. I moaned softly, arching into him.
“Let me feel you,” I said, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. He helped me pull them off, then his boxers. His cock stood erect, and in the moonlight, I saw the fine veins running over it. I wrapped my hand around him, let my fingers glide along the length, and he drew in a sharp breath.
“Elena…”
I smiled, leaned forward, and took him in my mouth. He tasted salty, masculine. I let my tongue circle the head while my hand massaged the shaft. His hands buried themselves in my hair, and he groaned, a sound lost in the roar of the waves.
“Not yet,” he panted, “or it’ll be over too fast.”
He pulled me up, kissed me again, while he removed my bikini. Then I lay naked under him, the sand cool on my back, his body warm above me. He looked at me, and in his eyes was something that struck me deeper than any touch.
“I want to…”
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
