I woke up later, chilly and disoriented.  At some point, the generator must have given out, because the space heater on the floor was no longer working.  I looked at my watch… only a couple of hours had passed.  After throwing on my clothes, I stumbled into the main room.  The fireplace was still going strong, and Nicolas was lying on the couch.  Burnt orange shadows glided across the ceiling and slid down the wall, dancing over his face and then back up, hiding in the darkness.  I could faintly hear the snow hitting the cabin, and so I looked through the window near the front door.  It was warm and deeply bright inside, but outside it was empty, cold and blue – the moon drenching the mountain cliffs and nearly overtaken by the blizzard.   It was snowing buckets now, and it was hard to say when it would end.  I quietly turned and crept up to him, hoping that he was asleep, and he was.  He had taken off his shirt and hung it next to his jacket, and now was snuggled deep under the blanket.  Still, I could see enough.  His face was completely relaxed and almost beatific, and for a long while I felt as if I were not supposed to be there, as if I were violating his space…. But he continued to sleep, and so I continued to watch.   He was almost painfully beautiful, the shadows cast by his long lashes nearly touching his cheekbones, his thick eyebrows furrowed slightly as if to spite the knowing smile that played across his lips… those serious, honest, fleshy lips.

Eventually I went back to bed, wide awake but intoxicated.  I knew I wouldn’t be finding sleep tonight, so I closed my eyes and listened to the snow.  It was blowing, quiet and furiously, and the gentle rhythmic wind rocked against the bedroom window, lulling me into a merciful state of peace and pure existence.  Maybe I did fall asleep for awhile, but something pulled me back… and when I opened my eyes I was startled by a shadow in the room. 

“Sono spiacente, signora…”, I heard a voice whisper. 

Instinctively checking to make sure I was covered up (I was), I sat up slightly.  Nicolas was standing on the other end of the small room, in the doorway.  There was just a little moonlight streaming in, and I couldn’t see his face.

“Is something wrong?”, I asked, not remembering in my sleepy state that he wouldn’t understand me.

“Generatore… is no rotto.  No…electricity?”, he said, and his searching tone told me that he wasn’t having any more luck with my translator guide than I did.  He crept a bit closer, probably afraid of what my reaction to having a man in my room might be.  When I didn’t protest, he timidly crossed the room and sat at the foot of my bed.  In the moonlight, I could see that he wearing only his pants.  His chest was covered in dark, straight hair, and my breath quickened just a little at seeing this part of his body, but he didn’t seem to notice my reaction. 

“The generator is broken… yes, I noticed that earlier.  You were asleep.”, I said, mostly to myself, not really feeling any concern about it.  Just one more thing that could go wrong, that did go wrong.  Amazing how your worries dissipate when you’ve got a gorgeous, sexy, half-naked man sitting on your bed.

I could see his face in the pale light as well, and he showed no sign of confusion at what I said.  He was staring at me again with those heavy-lidded eyes, rubbing his hands together.  What a cute nervous habit, I thought, and was silently praying for some way to convince him to rub them on me instead, when he spoke.  It was barely above a whisper, but I understood exactly what he said.

“Donna bella…”, then he paused as if he was afraid to say more.  “Donna molta bella.”.

I was almost afraid to ask, for fear that I had misheard him.  “You think I’m… beautiful?  Donna bella?”.

He didn’t respond, but only gave me a shy half-smile, still rubbing his hands.  “Perdonilo…you are donna bella.”.  They were such uncomplicated, chimerical words.  Yet, hearing them come from his lips with that sexy accent worked me over like nothing else could. 

Believe it or not, I still didn’t know what I should do at that point.  Would it be too forward to touch him?  Maybe he was only being blandly flirtatious and didn’t mean it as a proposition at all, and I would look like a wanton fool for making a move.  He left no lingering doubt in my mind when he gently grasped my hand and kissed it, then pulled me a bit closer to him, caressing my arm with his warm lips.   I was shocked at his sudden boldness, but had no desire to analyze it.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, he embraced me snugly – my quilt barely covering me – and hungrily kissed me.  He was aggressive and feverish, as if he couldn’t get me close enough to him, his mouth finding mine time and again after roaming across my throat and upper chest.  When he kissed just under my left ear, I nearly squealed in delight and he jerked away for a moment, surprised that his touch elicited such a reaction.  Once he realized he’d found a very special spot on my neck that left me trembling and wet (one of several spots, anyway), he chuckled softly and teased me mercilessly, flicking and dragging his tongue over it.  I felt myself go limp in his arms, and still he held me up, using me as his personal erotic conquest. 

After torturing me for several minutes, he gently pushed me down onto the bed.  My eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness, and now he was taking me in lasciviously, locking my gaze as he crawled on top of me.  He was still wearing his pants, and the quilt was between us, but as he leveled his full weight onto me I could feel his burgeoning excitement… it pressed uncomfortably on my thigh, begging for release.  His mouth ravaged mine while his hands had a mission of their own, pulling my hair tenderly and rhythmically while caressing the side of my face.  Every so often, Nicolas would nuzzle my ear and whisper things I wish I understood, but didn’t have to, his hot breath playing on my skin.

“Il vostro corpo bello…”, he said hoarsely, licking my earlobe daintily, “Sexy, sexy…”.  His touch was so hot that my body was instinctively writhing under him, in need of satiation.  Once he had warmed up to me, he was unstoppable.

Suddenly, Nicolas sat upright and pulled off my quilt, exposing my chest.  I had chosen to sleep nude, and was momentarily flustered by my vulnerability.  He gazed at my chest, his mouth slightly agape as he rubbed and stroked my breasts, taking care not to squeeze them.  His attentive nature left my nipples stiff and aching.  After playing for what seemed like hours, he bent over and gingerly licked them, his warm wet tongue shocking against the shivery air.  He was a cruel but focused lover… worshipping one and only one part of my body at a time, leaving the rest crying out for attention.  He seemed to be getting harder and hotter by the second, but he restrained himself.  The primal stroking against my thigh was the only indication of his need.  After giving my tits an unbelievable tongue bath and leaving me weak, he worked his way down to my stomach and found yet another hot spot… this one was far more powerful and caused me to nearly jerk upright in bed.  I was outside of my body, hearing my shallow breath and seeing his reaction… he was delighted to evoke this kind of response and could barely contain himself as he pressed on, not giving up until I was clawing at his shoulders and thrashing my head.  He sensed that he hadn’t fulfilled me just yet, but was dangerously close.

After lifting himself onto his knees and gazing at me mischievously, he pulled the quilt down further.  “Baci… kiss, kiss”, he whispered salaciously as he stroked my inner thighs and coaxed them apart.  I couldn’t believe this was happening to me!  This unbelievably erotic, tantalizing man who just hours ago was too shy to even look me in the eye was now begging to devour me… I surmised that it was all a dream, but intended to take it in with all my attention.  Those lips… damn.  He was licking them slightly, his trembling hands brushing against my smooth skin.  I wonder what Nicolas thought as he looked down at me?  I was relieved that I hadn’t cancelled my bikini wax before I left, and for just a second I wondered if Lady Luck was a bitch after all.

Without another word, he scooted down to the end of the bed and kneeled on the floor, his lanky body leaning over the mattress and between my legs.  He looked up at me with an expression of anticipation and greed, and nuzzled upward… gently at first, then more insistently.  It was such a delicious sensation, to feel his hands pressed under my thighs, spreading my legs up and outward, his mouth intending to take on as much of me as he could.  He silently worked on me, and he didn’t seem to mind when my hands reflexively found his head and rubbed it, pressing him on but not wanting it to end.  Nicolas knew exactly what he was doing to me, and exactly how long he was going to do it… when he had finished I was left sweaty and feverish, but he was strangely composed and was just getting started.

He climbed back onto the bed and, resting on his knees, began to unbuckle his pants.  With barely any strength, I raised myself up on my elbows, and he seemed amused by my attention.  “Guardilo … look, look”, he smirked playfully as his hands moved more slowly, leaving me in anticipation.  “Is pistola di amore, OK?”.  He laughed at his cheesy joke, his gaze never leaving mine.  I tried to hurry him along by reaching for his pants, but he gently pushed my hands away…he was tormenting me and loving every second of it.  Finally he stood up and shrugged off his pants and boxers to reveal a delicious, edible work of art… his pelvic muscles cut nicely on either side, carving a downward path to a thatch of black hair.  Nicolas was fully aroused, and was just a little longer than average, but rather thick and curved slightly upward.

Before he had a chance to react, I crawled towards him.  Leaning over the bed, on my knees, I cradled his balls in my hands and started to lick him… first pressing his cock  flat against his stomach and working him over with the tip of my tongue, teasing his underside while watching him in the throes of ecstasy.  He leaned his head back, his shoulders tensed slightly, gently stroking my hair.  I released him and took his whole length in my mouth, gingerly at first but becoming more insistent with every stroke.  With my tongue swirling and flicking over his head and my fingertips tickling his sac, he looked down at me in wide-eyed surprise.  I’m certain Nicolas had no idea I would be anything more than a willing but unskilled American woman hungry for attention, but I was quickly showing him that I knew how to give as well as receive.  As I worked on him, taking him in and relishing every second, I pressed against the base of his cock with my thumb.  Forced to endure wave after wave of sublime pleasure with no release, he was in luscious agony for several minutes before I was about to let him go… but before he was released, I heard him say something.  He sounded languid at first, then more insistent.