The darkness outside was so deep that I saw my own reflection in the window—a stranger with tired eyes. Why the hell hadn’t I taken the flight? Six hours on the night train to Rome, crammed into a compartment with three other people, all of whom had long since fallen asleep. Only I was wide awake, staring at the black pane behind which the Italian landscape rushed past, a void of shadows and pinpricks of light.
Then he got on. In Bologna. The train stopped for only three minutes, but that was enough for him to find my compartment, the empty seat across from me. He was tall, with dark hair that fell slightly into his face, and a beard that looked like he’d been traveling a few days—not neglected, but effortless. He smiled at me as he hoisted his backpack into the luggage rack, and sat down. His movements were calm, self-assured.
“Ciao,” he said quietly, so as not to wake the others. His voice was deep, with a slight accent that sounded like warm honey.
“Ciao,” I whispered back. Nothing more. But his smile lingered, and warmth flooded through me, starting from my chest.
He pulled a book from his bag, but he didn’t read. He looked at me, and I looked away, and then back again. This went on for a while, a game that captivated us both, until he put the book aside and leaned forward.
“My name is Marco. And yours?”
“Lena.”
“Your first vacation in Italy?”
I nodded. “Yes. Five days in Venice, now Rome.”
“And how do you find it?”
“Hot. Loud. Beautiful.”
He laughed softly, a sound that echoed through the train. “That’s Italy. You’ll love Rome. Or hate it. But mostly love.”
I didn’t know what to say. Small talk was never my strength, especially not with strangers who looked good and stared at me so directly. His gaze wandered over my face, lingered on my lips, and I swallowed.
The Game of Glances
The train rattled on, through the darkness. The other passengers were fast asleep, one snoring softly. I was aware of every move Marco made: how he crossed his legs, how his hand rested on his thigh, fingers slightly spread, how he leaned back and looked at me as if I were the only thing in the room.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“No. Too excited.”
“I know that. I travel a lot, but I’m always excited before Rome. The city is like a lover.”
I had to smile. “A lover?”
“Yes. She takes you when you come, but she never fully belongs to you.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and fragrant like jasmine. I thought of all the lovers I’d never had, of the men I met and forgot. But Marco was different. There was something in his gaze that held me, a promise.
He stood up, stretched. “I’m getting a coffee from the bistro. Coming with me?”
I hesitated for a moment, then stood up. The others were sleeping; no one would miss us. I followed him through the narrow aisle, which creaked softly under our steps.
The bistro was almost empty. Only a couple sat in the corner, drinking wine, their heads together. Marco ordered two espressos, and we sat by a window. The lights of a small town drifted past, a flicker of gold and amber.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking his cup against mine. The coffee was strong, almost bitter, and I felt it all the way to my fingertips.
“Tell me about yourself, Lena. What do you do when you’re not sitting on trains?”
I laughed. “I work in a library. In Munich. This is my big vacation of the year.”
“A librarian. That fits.”
“Fits what?”
“Your eyes. They look like they’ve read a lot, but also seen a lot.”
I felt myself blush. “You’re a poet, aren’t you?”
“No, an architect. But I try to be romantic.”
His gaze grew more intense, and I knew this was more than just a conversation. My hand lay on the table, and he placed his over it. His fingers were warm, firm, and I felt each one like a small burn.
“I want to kiss you,” he said softly.
I nodded, unable to speak. He leaned forward, and his lips met mine. It was a gentle kiss, almost hesitant, but then it became more demanding. His hand stroked my chin, my cheek, and I opened my mouth, let his tongue inside. The taste of coffee was still on his tongue, mixed with something sweet—maybe himself.
The Kiss That Changes Everything
We kissed for a long time, while the train raced through the night. The couple in the corner had vanished, the bistro empty. Only the humming silence and the rhythmic clicking of the wheels. When we pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Come to my compartment,” he whispered. “I only have one other passenger, and he’s asleep.”
I could have said no. I could have gone back to my compartment and pretended nothing had happened. But instead I stood up and followed him, my hand in his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
His compartment was similar to mine, but the man on the lower bunk was fast asleep, the blanket pulled over his head. Marco sat on his upper bunk and reached his hand out to me. I climbed up to him, the bed creaking under our weight. He pulled me close, and we kissed again, this time more hungrily. His hands slid under my T-shirt, stroked my back, and I trembled at his touch.
“I want to feel you,” he murmured against my neck.
“Yes,” I breathed.
He lifted my T-shirt over my head, and I lay before him, only in my black bra. His gaze wandered over my breasts, and he leaned forward to kiss the skin above the bra. I closed my eyes, let the sensation wash over me. His lips were soft, his tongue tip traced lines on my chest, circles and spirals that made me shudder.
He opened the bra with one hand, a trick I admired. My breasts fell free, and he took one into his mouth. I moaned softly, remembering the sleeping passenger. Marco seemed to enjoy that, the forbidden. He sucked gently, then bit lightly into the nipple, and I arched up, pressing myself against him.
In the Narrow Bed
The train rumbled as it entered a tunnel. The sound echoed, and in the dark I fumbled for his belt. He helped me open it, and pulled down his pants. His cock stood hard as I wrapped my hand around it. It was thick, the skin warm and silky, the veins pulsing under my fingers. I stroked the tip with my thumb, and he hissed softly.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered.
I smiled in the dark and
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
