The scent of saltwater and burnt sugar hung in the narrow alley as Lena unlocked the door to her room at “Casa das Janelas.” It wasn’t the typical sea smell, but something sweeter, almost caramel-like, wafting from the pastéis de nata at the bakery around the corner. The afternoon heat clung to her skin, and she longed for a shower. Yet as she closed the door behind her, she stopped. A soft clinking of ice cubes came from the adjoining room—a connecting door she had thought was a closet stood ajar.
An Unexpected Neighbor
Lena hesitated. The guidebook had mentioned nothing about a connecting door. She stepped closer and peered through the gap. On the other side, a man sat on the edge of the bed, a glass with an amber drink in his hand. His gaze was fixed on an azulejo panel on the wall depicting a hunting scene. He seemed about her age, maybe mid-thirties, with dark, slightly tousled hair and a narrow face caught in the afternoon sun. Lena cleared her throat. He turned his head, and his eyes met hers with a mix of surprise and curiosity.
“Oh, sorry,” she said in English, “I didn’t know this door was open. I’m Lena, I’m next door.”
He set the glass down and stood. “No problem. I’m Miguel. Or rather, that’s my name. The hotel told me the door is usually locked. Maybe a cleaning mistake.” His German was soft, with a slight accent. “I’m actually from Porto, but here on business.”
“I’m from Vienna,” Lena said, leaning against the doorframe. “Vacation. Alone.” She didn’t know why she added that. Maybe because the city made her bold, as she’d decided on the terrace at breakfast: no holding back today.
An Offer
Miguel smiled. “Alone in Lisbon? That’s nice too. But if you’d like, I have a bottle of port wine from the Douro Valley. Not the supermarket kind, but from a small producer. Would you like a glass?”
Lena felt her heart pound. Normally she’d have refused, made up an excuse. But the sweet smell from the alley, the heat still in her limbs, and this stranger with his dark eyes—she nodded. “Sure.”
She stepped through the door. His room was almost a copy of hers, except his suitcase lay on the bed and the curtains were half-drawn. He poured her a glass. The wine was dark red, almost black, smelling of dried fruit. They sat in the two armchairs by the window, and the conversation started hesitantly, about the city, travel, the heat. Miguel told her about his work as an architect on a project in Lisbon, and Lena about her job at a bookstore. The words flowed more easily as they drank. After a while, he touched her knee, a light gesture she didn’t pull away from.
“You know,” he said, his accent growing warmer, “I bought something at the market this morning. A cream made of almonds and rosewater. The vendor said it’s good for the heat. But I think it’s for something else.” He smiled, and Lena laughed.
“What do you mean?”
“Try it yourself.” He got up, took a small glass jar from his bag, and opened it. An intoxicating scent of roses and bitter almonds filled the room. He dipped a finger in and ran it over her forearm. The cream was cool, leaving a trail of refreshment. Lena closed her eyes. His touch was light, almost tender, but it left a tingling that spread through her entire body.
The First Kiss
She opened her eyes as his finger followed her wrist, then the crook of her arm. His gaze rested on her, questioning. She nodded almost imperceptibly. He leaned in and kissed her. His mouth tasted of port wine and a sweetness she couldn’t name. The kiss was gentle, but his hand slid into her neck, pulling her closer. She felt the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of her blouse. The room seemed to grow tighter, the sounds of the city outside blurring into a distant hum.
Lena placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat under his shirt. She undid the first button, then the second. He helped her pull off his shirt, and his skin was pale in the half-light, with a fine down of hair on his chest. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck, smelling salt and something musky. He groaned softly as she ran her lips over his collarbone.
“You smell like summer,” he murmured against her hair, his hands finding the hem of her blouse and pulling it over her head. The fabric rustled and fell to the floor. He placed his palms on her bare shoulders, slid them down her arms, then back to her breasts, outlined under the thin lace bra. His gaze was intense as he unfastened the clasp and let the bra fall. Her breasts were heavy and warm, and as he cupped them with his palms, she sighed.
“Beautiful,” he said, more to himself. He leaned forward and took one of her nipples in his mouth. His tongue was hot and wet, and Lena arched her back, pressing into him. A feeling of emptiness pulled through her lower belly, a throbbing that urged her to want more. She gripped his hair, holding him as he sucked and nibbled lightly with his teeth. A shiver, not down her back but through her legs, made her tremble.
Undressing
He pulled away, stood up, and lifted her to her feet. His eyes were dark with desire. He unbuttoned her linen trousers, slid the zipper down, and the pants fell to her ankles. She stepped out, standing before him in only her panties. He knelt, as if worshipping her, and slowly pulled the panties over her hips. His breath brushed her pubic hair, and she shivered. He kissed her navel, her hip bones, then the insides of her thighs. His lips were soft, his tongue tip drawing wet lines on her skin.
Lena could barely stand. She leaned against the wall as his hands slid up her legs and gripped her buttocks. He pressed his face between her thighs, and the first contact of his tongue with her slit made her moan. He was skilled, exploratory but not hurried. He licked her with broad, flat strokes, then with pointed thrusts that hit her clitoris directly. She buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him tighter against her. Her breath grew shallow, and the tension in her pelvis built into a urgency she didn’t want to hold back.
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