Chapter 6
Europe. The word echoed in my mind like a siren’s song, drawing me away from familiar shores and toward an ocean of possibilities. And there I was, in the midst of a hard-won conquest, sharing my little universe with three distinct souls: two guys and a girl, each carrying the essence of their homelands. One of them, an Italian, looked like he was sculpted by the gods of the Mediterranean. Towering stature, square jaw, stubbled beard, and hair that danced around his shoulders like dark waves. His smile… oh, his smile! It was like the Tuscan sun had nestled in his lips, radiating a glow that reached the deepest corners of my soul.
I was welcomed with a warmth that contrasted with the chill of the cobblestone streets. He, with his melodic voice, introduced me to the others and led me to my sanctuary on the second floor, a cozy room at the end of the hallway, near the bathroom. The house, modest and two stories tall, blended seamlessly with the others on the street, as if it had always belonged there. Despite its size, there was a warmth, an intimacy that enveloped us all.
The Irish guy, owner of the main room on the ground floor, was in a romance with a local girl, while the Frenchwoman kept to herself in her spacious attic. I, alone in my small room, felt my heart pound harder every time the Italian got close. And I wasn’t the only one. The Frenchwoman seemed enchanted by his presence too, creating a silent competition between us, a dance of glances and subtle gestures, each vying for his attention without revealing our true desires.
One of my tactics was to leave my bedroom door slightly ajar, like an innocent trap. Sometimes, I’d catch him passing by, his eyes scanning the dimness of my space, where I’d be in moments of near-naked intimacy. But he never dared to enter, never commented on what he saw. It was a game of silent voyeurism, fueling my hopes and doubts. Was he shy? Respectful? Or maybe… gay?
One night, while everyone was having fun in the living room watching a soccer game, I decided to try again. I went upstairs, slipped into a pink satin nightgown that left little to the imagination, turned off the hallway lights, and lit some candles, creating a seductive atmosphere. I left the door ajar and lay on the bed, headphones on, pretending to hum along while caressing my breasts.
It didn’t take long to hear footsteps in the hallway, followed by a sudden silence. A shadow materialized in the doorway, watching me intently. Was it him? My heart raced. But then, a feminine voice, in French, broke the silence:
“Ça va?”
The Frenchwoman entered, closing the door behind her. I froze, not knowing what to expect. She sat beside me, her intense gaze holding me in a spell. The scent of her desire was palpable, her hand approaching my body timidly. A gentle, sensual touch, like an invitation.
I looked into her eyes, biting my lips, my hand seeking her thighs. Fear and excitement mixed inside me. Was this real? Or just a cruel game?
She caressed my breast, her nails teasing my nipples, sending shivers across my skin. I surrendered to the moment, my body responding to her touch. It was like our spirits were connecting in a cosmic dance.
Then, she stood up, her eyes still locked on mine, and undressed, revealing her slender, delicate body. She approached, her warm body molding to mine. Her lips found mine in a kiss that was sometimes wild, sometimes gentle, stealing my soul and taking me to unknown places.
In that room, under the candlelight, I discovered a new world, an ocean of sensations I’d never explored. And as I lost myself in her arms, I forgot about the Italian, forgot the competition, forgot everything except the present moment and the intense connection we shared.
She dove in suddenly, taking my underwear with her and tossing it to the floor, spreading me open and examining me with an expression of desire and a playful smirk on her lips before descending and touching me with her mouth. I was swept away by her lips, feeling her tongue trace my most intimate spot, and I could hear the sound of her kisses, strong and precise. With every suck, I writhed more and more, driven wild and completely surrendered to that woman. Her fingers buried inside me hit the spot of greatest pleasure, making short, teasing movements. I poured myself into her mouth, wanting her to swallow me whole. A powerful orgasm didn’t take long; it crashed over me like a ton of pleasure, leaving me there broken and spent.
She lowered her gaze to my body with an intensity that made me tremble. In a brusque move, she ripped off my intimates, discarding them on the floor like mere petals from a flower that had already bloomed. Her eyes, shining with desire and a mischievous smile, examined me with a hunger I’d never experienced. And then, she leaned in, her hot mouth approaching my core.
I was consumed by her mouth, her tongue dancing over my skin with a skill that drove me insane. The sound of her kisses echoed in the room, strong and precise, each suck making me twist in growing ecstasy. My fingers dug into the sheets, holding on as I gave myself completely to that woman and her magical caresses.
Her long, nimble fingers found my most sensitive spot, teasing it with short, intense movements. My moans escaped as hoarse whispers, my body melting into a sea of pleasure. I poured myself into her mouth, wanting to be devoured by her, consumed by her passion.
And then, it came. An overwhelming orgasm, like a massive wave crashing over me, taking me to unimaginable heights. My body contracted, arching in spasms of pure pleasure. And when it finally ended, I was there, broken and exhausted, but at the same time more alive than ever.
She stood up, her face flushed and her lips glistening with my essence. Her eyes met mine, and in that look there was a deep connection, an intimacy that went beyond words. In that moment, I knew something had changed inside me. The Frenchwoman, with her magical touch, had awakened a part of me I didn’t even know existed.
And as I watched her dress, a smile formed on my lips. Maybe the Italian wasn’t the only treasure I’d find on this European adventure. Maybe the real treasure was discovering myself.