I still think about her sometimes, the way her skin tasted like salt and cheap wine under the Lisbon streetlights. It was my first real trip alone after the divorce, and I had flown there on a whim, chasing nothing but distance from my old life. The city felt alive in a way home never did, all narrow alleys and fado music spilling out of doorways. I was sitting at a tiny bar near the river when she walked in, dark hair loose, a red dress that clung like it was painted on. She ordered a drink in Portuguese, then switched to English when she caught me staring. Her name was Sofia, and she was twenty-six, studying architecture, with eyes that held secrets I wanted to unravel.
We talked for hours.
She laughed at my bad jokes about American coffee, and I listened to her stories about growing up in the hills above the city. There was a pull between us from the start, something electric and unspoken. By the third round, her hand brushed mine on the table, and neither of us pulled away. She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear, and said, “My apartment is just up the hill. Come with me.” I didn’t hesitate. We left the bar together, the night air thick with the scent of grilled sardines and ocean.
Her place was small, one room with a big bed and windows open to the breeze. She kicked off her shoes and turned to me, pulling the straps of her dress down slowly. I watched as the fabric slid over her breasts, nipples already hard in the cool air. She stepped out of it and stood there in black lace panties, confident and waiting. I crossed the room and kissed her, tasting the wine on her tongue, my hands roaming her back, pulling her against me. She was soft and warm, her body fitting mine like it was meant to.
We moved to the bed without speaking much at first. I laid her down and kissed her neck, then lower, taking one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently until she moaned and arched up. My hand slipped between her legs, feeling the heat through the lace. She was already wet, and I rubbed her through the fabric, circling her clit until she pushed my hand harder against her. “Take them off,” she whispered. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and slid them down, exposing her smooth, shaved pussy. I spread her legs and leaned in, licking along her folds, tasting her sweetness. She tasted like desire and the sea, and I licked deeper, sucking on her clit while she grabbed my hair and pulled me closer.
Sofia came quickly the first time, her thighs trembling around my head, a string of Portuguese words spilling out that I didn’t understand but felt in my bones. I kept going until she pushed me away, laughing breathlessly. Then she rolled me onto my back and straddled me. Her hands worked my belt open, freeing my cock, which was already throbbing hard. She stroked it slowly, thumb circling the head, spreading the precum. “You’re bigger than I expected,” she said with a grin, and lowered her mouth to take me in. Her lips were warm and tight, tongue swirling as she sucked, taking me deeper each time. I watched her head bob, her hair falling around her face, and felt the pressure building fast.
She stopped before I could finish and climbed up my body, positioning herself over me. She rubbed my cock along her wet slit, teasing, then sank down in one slow motion. The heat of her pussy gripped me, tight and slick, and I groaned as she took every inch. She rode me steadily at first, hips rolling, breasts bouncing. I reached up to pinch her nipples, and she moaned louder, picking up speed. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, her wet pussy sliding up and down my shaft. I thrust up to meet her, hands on her ass, spreading her cheeks as I fucked her from below.
We switched positions after a while. I flipped her onto her stomach and entered her from behind, gripping her hips as I pounded into her. She pushed back against me, begging for more in broken English. “Harder, please.” I gave it to her, slapping her ass lightly, watching it jiggle with each thrust. Her moans grew louder, and I reached around to rub her clit again. She came a second time, clenching around my cock, her whole body shaking. I wasn’t far behind. I pulled out at the last second and came across her lower back, thick ropes of it painting her skin while she sighed in satisfaction.
We lay there afterward, catching our breath, the city sounds drifting through the window. She traced patterns on my chest with her finger, and we talked more, about nothing and everything. I stayed the night, waking once to her mouth on me again, slow and lazy in the dark. By morning she made coffee, and we kissed at the door like old lovers. I left Lisbon two days later, but the memory of that night stayed with me, the way she felt, the way she moved. It was just one night overseas, but it reminded me what it felt like to be wanted like that, raw and real. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks about it too.
