He was basking in the Tuscan sun, lying alone in the velvet of the grass of the hilltop, with eyes closed and hands clasped behind his head.
A summer holiday in Italy… That was what he needed now, that was what he had been looking forward to so much.
Earlier that day he had been strolling around the winding cobbled streets of a small town steeped in history, with terracotta-coloured rooftops and churchbell towers.
He opened his eyes slowly and shifted his gaze from the blue sky to the landscape, the unspoilt and picturesque countryside of Tuscany.
The green hills were surroundered by lush forests and vineyards, olive groves and golden fields. His eyes lingered on a splash of scarlet poppies and the colourful butterflies before he noticed a stream.
It was not the stream that made him sit up at once but the fairy-like creature, a brunette, sitting dreamily on a rock, cooling her feet of the water, her peach-coloured summer dress wet, showing off her sensous curves.
She noticed him, too, and smiled at him seductively. There was something magical about her, he was sure, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment while heading towards the beauty.
’Yes, this is what beauty is,’ he thought bewitched. ’The heroine of my romantic fantasies. She’s Summer from a Mucha painting. Innocence and seduction, desire and purity, youth and eternity.’
’Speak English?’ He asked her, plucking up courage.
’Piccolo. Little.’ She answered smiling. Her eyes were green like the Tuscan hills.
’May I?’ He asked and sat next to her on the rock. ’I… I come from London. England. You?’
’Firenze,’ came the answer.
’I work. Villa.’ She pointed towards a cream-coloured stone building, a majestic villa, tucked away in the hills peacefully. ’In kitchen,’ she added.
His face brightened up.
’I’m staying there, in that villa, too.’
She nodded again. Probably she knew. In Italy it was not hard to remember someone with fiery red shoulder length hair, freckles and fair complexion. Besides, he was rather handsome and attractive. Yes, he had caught her eyes before.
’My English… Bad.’ She said apologizing.
’It’s okay. I can teach you,’ he said enthusiastically.
’I teach Italian, okay?’ She suggested smiling.
He plucked a poppy and gave it to her.
She nodded and repeated.
’Flower. Fiore,’ she added.
He repeated the Italian word, too.
They laughed though probably nobody else would have found it funny.
They felt good. It was summer, they were young, a pretty girl and a handsome boy sitting together on a rock, their souls and hearts free and have nothing to do just enjoy the moment.
They taught each other lots of words, naming everything they saw, hills, butterflies, trees and fields. But it was not enough. Neither for him nor for her.
’Hand,’ he said a bit embarrassed and touched her hand softly. She placed her tiny hand into his big palm.
’Mano,’ she said blushing but looked into his eyes longingly.
’Arm,’ he said quietly, sliding his fingers up her wrist.
’Braccio,’ she translated and felt electricity spark in the air around them.
’Shoulder,’ he whispered, grazing her skin under the strap of her dress.
’Spalla’ she responded and shuddered with pleasure.
’Neck… Chin.’ He continued exploring the girl’s sensitive spots with wildly beating heart.
’Collo… Mento,’ she moaned.
His thumb skated upwards.
’Lips,’ he gasped and didn’t let her say anything. His mouth was on hers, tasting her honey-flavoured kiss, brushing her warm lips with his. His hands were in her silky long hair then they travelled down her body to pull her as close as he could. She was almost on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck.
They still wanted more. To be closer… Closer. His tongue asked for permission, trying to part the smooth lips, and she invited him inside at once, without protest. She tilted her head to grant him a greater access and raked her fingers through the red locks of the boy, to pull him even closer. Closer… Closer and closer. They didn’t even know each other’s name but the ancient desire blinded them and drove them out of their senses.
And then… And then the bells started to toll in the nearby villages .
She pulled away reluctantly.
’Sorry. I go… Work. Kitchen. Dinner.’ She breathed heavily.
He almost exploded because of the unsatisfied lust but tried to smile.
She stood up and straightened her wet and wrinkled dress. He didn’t move. He couldn’t stand up. He needed time to calm down.
’Tonight? There’s a lake behind the villa. Lake. Lago. Ten o’clock?’ He asked suffering.
’Okay,’ she nodded, moistening her swollen lips with the tip of her tongue, and left.
He watched her as she was heading towards the villa. ’Merlin, I’m going to spend the night with the most beautiful girl in the world,’ he thought happily and washed his face with the cold water of the stream.
End of Chapter 1
Alphonse Mucha was a Czech Art Nouveau painter best known for his images of women.
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