I still can’t believe how my last day at the beach turned out. I was in the Algarve, Portugal, soaking up the last bits of summer on a gorgeous hidden beach I’d found by chance. The spot was perfect—secluded, surrounded by cliffs, and practically empty. There was just one other guy sitting by the rocks a little further down.

I wasn’t really paying him much attention at first. The sun was setting, casting this golden glow over the sand and the waves, and I was content just lying there, topless, letting the sun kiss every inch of my skin. But I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes kept flicking over in my direction, sneaking glances when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. I wrapped a sarong around my waist, grabbed my phone, and decided to walk over. He was tall, tan, with dark, tousled hair, and the second I got close enough to say hi, he broke into a grin that made my heart skip a beat. There was just one problem: He didn’t speak a word of English, and my Portuguese was non-existent.

I tried to explain, using gestures and broken words, that I wanted to know if he’d take a few photos of me with the sunset behind me. He seemed to understand and nodded, so I handed over my phone. I started posing against the rocks, my sarong slipping lower as the sun dipped closer to the horizon, giving everything a soft, golden glow. He was a natural, moving around to capture the angles just right, encouraging me with little hand motions and smiles.

When we were done, I went to check the pictures, and they were stunning—my skin glowing in the fading light, the waves crashing behind me. I looked back at him, and he was staring at me, eyes dark with something I hadn’t seen before.

Then he said something in Portuguese, stepping closer. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need to. He reached out, brushing a hand over my bare shoulder, then down my back, sending shivers through me. I should’ve stopped him. We were out in the open, anyone could have wandered down at any second… but his touch felt electric.

He gestured for us to take a selfie together, and as he leaned in close, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. My breath caught. We took a few quick photos, then his hand slid down, cupping my ass. I gasped, but I didn’t move away. Instead, I leaned into him, and before I knew it, his lips were on mine.

The kiss was deep and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this moment all along. His hands roamed over my body, fingers slipping under my sarong and pulling it loose. I was breathless, my mind spinning as he pushed me gently back against the rock, lifting me just enough to sit on the edge.

“Wait,” I whispered, trying to gather my thoughts. “We shouldn’t…” But the words faded away as he started kissing his way down my neck, his mouth trailing lower and lower. And when his tongue finally found me, I let out a soft moan, fingers tangling in his hair as he went down on me right there, on the open beach.

It was like his tongue knew exactly where to go, exactly how to move. I couldn’t stay quiet if I tried. The thrill of it—the risk of someone hearing or seeing—just made everything sharper, hotter. I bit my lip, fighting the sounds threatening to escape as he drove me higher and higher, until finally, with a strangled cry, I shattered against his mouth.

I was still trembling when he stood up, his own arousal straining against his shorts. He glanced around, then took my hand and led me a little further behind the rocks, out of sight from the main beach. He didn’t have to say a word—I knew what he wanted.

I sank down to my knees, looking up at him as I slowly pulled down his shorts. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and I couldn’t help the rush of excitement that coursed through me. I wrapped my lips around the head, tasting him, and he groaned softly, fingers tangling in my hair as I took him deeper.

It was pure, raw need. I wanted to drive him as wild as he’d just made me. I bobbed my head faster, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue around him, until he was cursing softly in Portuguese, his grip tightening in my hair. I thought he was going to come right there in my mouth, but suddenly he pulled back, breathing hard.

He turned me around, bending me over the rock, my breasts pressing against the cool surface. “Condom?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder. He seemed confused, so I fumbled for my phone, using Google Translate to ask.

When he shook his head, I bit my lip, disappointed but firm. No way was I risking it, no matter how hot it was. He sighed, but then he smiled, and before I knew it, he was kneeling behind me, kissing his way up my thighs. His hands spread me wide, and then he was licking me again, so intensely I thought my knees would buckle.

I came again, harder this time, the taste of salt and sea air on my lips. And when he finally stood, panting, he stroked himself a few times, then came all over my ass and thighs, hot and thick. I shuddered, the sensation overwhelming, and when he was done, he leaned down, kissing my shoulder softly.

We cleaned up in the ocean together, the cool water washing away the evidence but not the memory. He walked me back to the main road, kissed me one last time, and gave me his number through Google Translate.

We met up again the next day, and this time, he brought condoms. But that’s a story for another day.