Looking at the couple in front of me that clearly are having an argument, I can't help but thank god I'm not in a relationship.

Though I was bored a few minutes ago and was contemplating going back to my hotel and maybe book a flight somewhere else. Maybe some place with snow for a change.

I've been in a small city somewhere in Brazil for three weeks. And for the first two weeks, I had a blast. Going to different beaches. Reading the books on my to-read-list. And ogling the fine Brazilian men—maybe more than just ogling. But this city is quaint and I've seen all there is to see. Tried every bar, new food, and heard new music. But now I'm getting bored and want to visit a new place.

Checking the watch behind the barman, I see it's around four in the afternoon. That explains the few patrons. The couple is still arguing; the woman gesturing and her lips not stopping for even one second, while the man listens intently. A couple of seats next to me is an older man with a scowl on his face as he watches the tv mounted behind the bar. Moving my gaze toward the tv, I notice it's displaying the weather forecast . It's hot as hell, I can tell you that much. No need for a weather forecast.

I grab the menu that's printed on a crumpled piece of paper, and fold it in half. Last night, this beach bar was hustling and bustling with locals. Dancing, singing and having the time of their lives. I'm not sure what I can do to pass the time until the party starts. Brazilians start their parties very late and they don't end until the sun has come up.

As I fold the piece in half again, I consider mailing Leo a postcard. He's my cousin from my dad's side and I'm closest to him out of my cousins. Even closer to him than my younger brother, Mateo. WiFi here has been hard to come by, which is perfect for me. I like to go places that are practically off the grid. This way, I have an excuse as to why I don't reach out to my parents. A while back, I stayed for three months with monks in a monastery in Thailand. It was a great opportunity to meditate, think, and reflect on my past choices. And what I want to do with my future.

Safe to say, I still have no clue.

I'm happy just the way my life is currently going. And I don't mind continuing just like that.

My father wants me to work for his company. He owns a real estate and developing company. He's been pestering me for ages to come work for him or he'll freeze my trust fund. So out of frustration I told him I'll start working for him when I reach thirty.

I made him that promise a few years ago. And I should've started working for him this year, as I'm thirty years old. But I'm very happy with my life, not having a traditional job and traveling wherever I want.

I know I'm privileged that I have rich parents and I trust found that funded my travels in the beginning. The luxury that I don't have to work a full-time unfulfilling job. So why not use my privileges to live that life I want to?

But contrary to what my father says, I'm not jobless. Not entirely. My job is traveling. I post pretty pictures I take on social media and get money for it. It's the easiest job in the world. And I love doing it. The money I spent from my trust fund when I first started traveling—which is when I became legal—I returned it from my job. I'm not sure if my father knows that. I don't think he does. Which is why he's been on my case to work. Preferably for him.

Folding a corner, I shake my head to myself.

My father and I used to be best friends. But over the last few years, I evade him whenever I'm back home in Miami. He's always telling me, "you need a real job." And, "you need to start thinking of your future," or, "you need to settle down and start a job. And family."

He's traditional like that. Who says I even want a family? A career?

I continue to fold the piece of paper, my mind wandering where I can go next. Some place where I can stay for a few months without getting bored. To buy myself more times before I actually have to keep my promise to my dad and actually start to work for him.

Why did I agree that I'd even work for him on my 30th birthday? I was probably high when I promised him that.

That reminds me, I haven't smoked weed in a few weeks. They surely sell weed somewhere in this small town.

The sound of a beer bottle being put down and a person occupying the seat directly next to me pulls me out of my thoughts.

The entire bar and he chooses to sit next to me?

I look down at my creation. It's a dragon. Somewhat, at least.

Diego, the bartender I've come to know really well over the past few weeks, and on a physical level two nights ago, looks down at my beer with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if I want another one. It's still halfway full but I bet it's disgustingly warm now. But I don't feel like drinking for now so I raise my brows, telling him no. He continues working on wiping glasses and stacking them up.

"You look like you're having fun." A voice next to me says in English.

We're in a semi remote town in Brazil. What makes him think I'm not Brazilian and speak English? Being Italian, I have dark hair, tan skin but green-blue eyes. I look like your typical Brazilian. If I do say so myself. I'd like to think I look like Adriana Lima, but I'm not an idiot.

I drop the origami masterpiece to the counter and glance at him.

"Eu não falo Inglês." I lie, telling him I don't speak English.

"Eu falo de português." He answers back without missing a beat. He said he can, in fact, speak Portuguese.

"Eu não falo português." I tell him I don't speak Portuguese...In Portuguese.

"Você tem certeza?" He quirks a brow, asking if I'm sure about that.

"Mhmm." Take a hint dude. I don't feel like talking.

The weather forecast is still going on, the subtitles saying there is a big chance of heavy rain tomorrow.

Hmm, maybe it's a sign to go some place else.

"Well, that's a shame." The man beside me says in English. "I was looking forward to having a conversation with you. You seemed like the only approachable person here."

I swivel in my seat, fully intending to tell him to fuck off in both English and Portuguese, but the words die on my tongue as I meet his sapphire blue eyes. They're the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen for eyes. But they're not the creepy kind of light blue eyes. No, they're the shade of still ocean water that you can look at for hours and get lost in. His hair is dirty blond and its messy state makes me believe he was swimming and the sea water made the strands messy but still wavy. His cheekbones are sharp and his lips are pink and almost too big for a man.

Damn, his face looks like a marble statue. His skin is smooth and tan. His features are all symmetrical.

I wonder if he's a model. My mind immediately goes to Izzy. She would love to have him model some of her clothes.

My eyes go lower, to his chest in particular. His dress shirt is wide open, and his abs are just as chiseled as his face. He's wearing khaki shorts and flip-flops.

When I meet his eyes again, he has one brow quirked up and a corner of his mouth tilted up. I quirk an eyebrow right back at him.

Yes, I was checking him out, but so was he.

"Are you done checking me out, darling?" I don't know why I didn't notice his Australian accent at first. But it's more prominent in the last sentence. When I don't answer him, he asks in Portuguese, "[You really don't speak English?]"

I'm too enthralled with his blue eyes to answer him. Every single one of my family members has brown eyes. Except for me.

He leans forward, a look of determination on his face.

"Okay, so no Portuguese and no English." He hums. "Espanol?"

My eyes narrow at him. I can speak Spanish, but I don't answer him. Wanting to know what language he suggests next.

"Française?"

I rest my chin on my closed palm, raising my beer glass to my lips to take a sip but I grimace and spit the liquid back in the cup as it's lukewarm and disgusting. Diego comes out of nowhere and slides a new, cold, glass in front of me. I smile at him before turning my attention back to the handsome man next to me.

"Deutsch?" He looks in front of him and I get a view of his ear piercing. It's small but it makes him ten times hotter. "Hindi? Mandarin?"

After naming each language, he waits a few seconds for me to answer. I speak a little German and a few phrases in Hindi, but Mandarin is still a work in progress for me.

He must really be desperate to converse with me if he's about to name every language on earth.

"Russian maybe? You kind of look Russian." His eyes do a quick sweep over my face. I get that a lot. That I look Russian. I guess my black hair and blue-green eyes make me appear Russian? Fuck if I know.

I press my lips to prevent the smile from appearing. I remain mute, intrigued to know all the languages he can speak. I do love a man that's bilingual. Well, in his case, I think he's a polyglot.

He takes another long pull of his beer and signals Diego for another. Then he takes a hand through his blonde strands. I take another healthy drag of my beer as my eyes remain on him.

Can he really speak all these languages? If yes, that would be hella sexy. And it would make him even hotter than he is.

"Arabic?" His eyes meet mine again. "I'm not very good, but I can try for you." A small smile appears.

I tilt my head but I stay silent, seeing when he'll give up.

"Japanese?" He throws his hands in the air.

Deciding to end his misery, I open my mouth and tell him. "English, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, and a little French and German."

He looks at me, wide eyed and mouth agape, for what feels like a minute. Then he throws his head back and lets out a burst of laughter, all hearty and rumble.

"Are you for real?" He shakes his head. "I just named every language there is and turns out you can speak six of them."

He definitely did not name every language there is, but sure, the most spoken languages.

I shrug, "I wanted to see what languages you can speak."

"I was ready to learn a new language just for you."

A snort leaves my lips.

"So, now that we've established that I speak more languages than you," I laugh at his dig but I would've said the same damn thing. "What are you doing in this small village? I'm not even sure it exists on a map."

Shrugging, I answer, "I wanted to escape." And that's the truth. But I don't tell what I'm escaping from. I'm not even sure I know.

He nods as he glances around. "I guess this place is the perfect place for that." Before I can ask him the same question, he has another one lined up. "So, where is home for you?"

Isn't that a deep question?

Shrugging again, I say, "Everywhere and anywhere."

"I take it you're an orphan."

I chuckle at his horrible joke. "No, I'm not. Sometimes I wish I was though. I don't like people constantly nagging on me. Which is why I'm currently here."

"Totally understand." He nods. "I have two older sisters who treat me like their kid."

The fact he's the youngest makes him so cute.

"I have a younger brother myself," I reply. "But I sure as hell don't treat him like a kid. More like my enemy." I smile. Mateo, my brother, is annoying 99 percent of the time, but I love him dearly.

He finishes his second beer and when Diego appears to supply him with another one, my companion shakes his head. I swear Diego has a sixth sense or something when someone's finished their drink. Even with his back turned to us.

He rotates his body so his knees are facing me. "So, how did you learn six languages? College?"

I snort. I don't regret not going to college. "Nope, self taught."

"Impressive." He purses his lips. "I took a few courses in college but I learned to speak it because I travel frequently."

"Same. The traveling part."

"You've been here long?"

"A few weeks." I take a sip of my beer before pushing it back before Diego can appear to hand me another one. He does, but only to take our empty glasses. I narrow my eyes at the back of his head.

"Did you frequent this bar?" He asks.

I turn my face to him and nod.

"I've been here for two weeks." He tilts his head. "But I've never noticed you here before." His eyes slowly rake over my face, then body. "And you're hard to miss."

I swivel in my stool, our knees knocking, but neither of us moves an inch.

"Oh, yeah? And here I thought I blended in effortlessly with the locals."

"You could never blend in." His gaze is focused solely on me and I return his stare.

"Are we flirting now?" I grin.

"We're definitely flirting." His smile reveals pearly white teeth.

"Well, if I had to ask," my finger glides over the bar top. "Your flirting game isn't that good."

His smile drops and his hands reach between my legs to the stool and he drags it closer to him. My knees almost touching his groin. A surprised breath escapes my lips, and he smirks.

He rests a hand on my knee, his fingers digging into my skin as his eyes narrow and he swallows roughly. His Adam's apple bobbing. Who knew a man's throat is sexy? His gaze travels down my body. Slowly. Lingering on my hardened nipples, I'm sure he can see through the fabric of my white dress. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he releases a low groan.

Digging his fingers deeper into my skin, he gives me a cocky smile and asks, "How about now?"

"You call that flirting?" I clear my throat when my voice comes out scratchy. "You should save that for the bedroom."

"Only for the bedroom?" He questions, his eyes full of mirth.

"That was the savory answer." A corner of my lips lift.

He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across my face. "And what would the unsavory answer be?"

I let the question hang in the air between us for a moment. The atmosphere is getting thicker and thicker with a delicious charge. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, his thumb moving across my knee just barely. I love his audacity.

"Maybe you'll find out." I tilt my head.

Usually, I prefer subtle flirting. Prolonged. It's a form of foreplay for me. But I'm not opposed to his bold flirting.

He chuckles, squeezing my knee before releasing it. "I'm glad I decided to talk to you."

"I have to be honest," I start. "Me too. I was bored out of my mind before you came along."

"Now who's flirting?" He laughs.

"Is it working?" I fire his question back at him.

"Oh, sugar," He hums. "If I were to give you the unsavory answer, you'd see for yourself whether or not it's working."

My eyes lower to his groin.

"Eyes up here, love."

I give him a smirk and cross my legs, my knee touching his knee and making his legs widen further apart. This position makes him appear more manly.

"Do these pet names usually work out for you?"

If he wasn't so hot, I would've left already.

"Yes." He answers confidently.

Laughing, I decide to change the subject for now.

"So, what do you do for work?"

"I'm a philanthropist." He sits up taller.

"Why do you do exactly?" I ask before he can ask me what I do for a living. My answer pales in comparison to his.

"Our company makes sure people have clean water, a roof over their head, and education." He shrugs. "It's why I travel so much."

I give a low whistle. "Please don't ask me what my job is."

"I won't."

Our eyes go to a group of friends that take a table in front of us. They're all girls, dressed in booty shorts and bikini tops.

All the women here are so hot and I'm getting jealous of how firm and sculpted their butts are. I have a pretty nice figure, and I love my body. But when looking at them, I wish my butt was bigger.

Sighing, I glance at the man beside me and see his gaze is already on me.

"Did you participate in the football game they held here last week?" He asks.

I frown, "Football? I thought they played soccer here."

His eyes widen and he scoffs. "You Americans. It's football." He emphasizes the word. "You play it with your foot, hence the name football. American football is soccer to us Australians and the rest of the world."

"I take it you're a big ... soccer fan." I try to hide my grin but it slips through.

"You're annoying." He pinches my waist, making me giggle.

"Stop it." I laugh and push his hand away. "It's soccer."

"Whatever." He makes a pfft gesture with his hand. "Anyway, did you?"

"No, I didn't," I bite my lips before the real answer slips away, that I was with Diego. "I was preoccupied."

"Ah, bummer." Because of his Australian accent, it sound like he said 'bama.' "I think they're having another competition in a few days, we should team up. I'm a great attacker."

Soccer–excuse me, football–being a big part of their culture, you see it everywhere you go. So even though I wasn't here for the game he's talking about, I have played a few games since I've been here. Mostly just on the street with kids playing after school.

We continue our conversation about different things. Like our favorite food, the best place we've been to and what we do in our free time.

The bar around us has been slowly filling up with more people. The group of friends with great butts that arrived a few hours ago have been laughing and smoking and having a blast. The volume of the music is now louder, and the type of music has changed from mellow to more MBP. We've ordered food a while back, and some more beer.

"I'm telling you, I'm not joking." He throws his head back and laughs. I slap his chest. His firm chest. His warm chest. "Stop laughing at me. Why would I lie?"

"I'm sorry." He chuckles and messes his hair. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's not my fault they took the word 'duck' literally." I was telling him about a bizarre story that had happened to me. Once I was in Peru and stayed in a sketchy hotel. They didn't speak English and my Spanish at the time wasn't great. So I told them I wanted 'duck' for dinner. They took it literally and brought me a live fucking duck.

"Is that why you speak so many languages?" He's still chuckling. "So it doesn't happen to you again."

"Basically." I prop a fry in my mouth, his gaze dropping to my lips.

I dart my eyes to the bar. The couple that was arguing the entire day have now made up, as they're dancing to a samba song. Their bare feet digging in the sand as they grind against each other.

A man with an old Polaroid camera is walking up to people and taking instant pictures of them. A lot of them accept the offer and give big grins to the camera.

The same man walks up to us and asks whether we'd like a picture together. I glance at my companion and he shrugs.

He makes a peace sign and I raise my beer in toast.

The picture is somewhat grainy and I let the man next to me keep it, arguing that I don't have pockets.

Darting my eyes around the bar again as he offers to pay the cameraman, I see a group of friends next to us is playing truth or dare and I watch as one of the dares is to lick the ear of the person sitting next to her. The guy getting his ear licked, has his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. My own lips dart upwards. I love being here. Brazilians know how to have fun. They find joy in the simplest things.

I snap my eyes back to the hottie sitting next to me when he pulls my stool closer to him by the stool rungs. "Truth or dare?" he asks me in Portuguese, his voice deeper than when he speaks in English.

He must have seen me looking at the group playing that game and my intrigue in their dares. "Truth."

He rests his hand on the back of my chair, his elbow touching my shoulder. His thick thighs envelop my legs, my knees almost touching his private area.

"Have you ever gone skinny dipping?" He asks lowly, but I still hear him through all the ruckus and music.

"Of course." I smile. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." He says, his blue eyes on mine.

"What's the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you during sex?"

His eyebrows raise. not expecting my question.

"Who says I'm not a virgin?" He fires back.

"Are you?"

His eyes rake over my body before he shakes his head. "No, I'm not."

"Then answer the question."

He thinks about his answer for a moment, his eyes staying on me.

"Moaning the wrong name." He answers.

I stare at him. "That's it?"

"Yes?" A frown grazes his face. "It was with the girl I was seeing at the time." He elaborates.

"Okay, that is embarrassing." I cringe.

"What's the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you during sex?" He inquires.

"I didn't say truth." I shake my head.

"Truth or dare." He tilts his head.

"Dare." I smirk.

"I dare you to tell me the most embarrassing shit that's happened to you during sex." He raises his brows. "Three embarrassing things."

"Really?" I deadpan.

"Mhmm." He takes a swig of his soda.

I think about it for a second. I've had my fair share of awkward things happening when being intimate with someone. Especially when I first started having sex, as I didn't know what I was doing.

"Queefing." I start. "I used to get embarrassed by it. Not anymore."

"Then it doesn't count."

"Yes, it does!" I gape. "It used to be embarrassing, so it totally does."

"Fine." He relents. "Two more."

"I was blowing a guy with a Prince Albert piercing. I was teasing him by gently pulling on the piercing with my teeth." He leans closer to me, his own teeth sinking into his plump lip. "But he jerked and it made me pull on the piercing too roughly. He bled and had to go to the hospital."

"Ouch." He cups his crotch. "That's..." he shudders.

"Yeah, I was mortified."

"Okay, next one."

"My mother walked in on my getting head."

He grimaces. "Oof. I don't think I'd be able to show my face to my mum again if she saw me getting a blow job."

"Yeah, it was when I was younger, so at the time it was a nightmare. But now I don't care."

My mother was well aware I'm sexually active. But her actually walking in on me when I was around twenty was horrifying.

"Truth or dare." I say so I don't remember the moment and cringe again.

"Truth."

"What's the biggest age difference you've ever had with a partner?"

He squints his eyes, thinking. "Probably five? You?"

"Man, that's not how the game goes." I laugh.

"Okay, truth or dare?"

"Truth." I say.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

I didn't realize we're playing the dirty version of truth or dare, but I prefer this version to the classic one.

"Whatever position where I'm in control."

He nods. "Dare." He says before I have the chance to ask him.

"I want you to drop this ice cube in your pants." Putting my fingers in his almost empty soda, I grab the biggest ice cube and hold it out to him.

He stays still.

"Come on, it'll cool you down."

Eventually, he hooks his thumb in the waistband of his shorts and pulls them away from his stomach. I trace the trail of hair that runs from his navel to what's hidden behind his shorts with my eyes before I drop the cube and snap my eyes up to see his reaction.

He hisses and his jaw flexes. His thigh muscles flexing. He fixes his postures and gapes.

"Fuck." He looks at me and shakes his head. "You play dirty."

"You started this game."

"Truth or dare." He forces out. A wet spot now on the front of his pants where the ice cube is quickly melting because of his body heat.

"Dare."

"Give me your best orgasm face."

I drop my hand to his thigh and dig my nails into his skin. Sitting up, I breathe shallowly. My eyebrows furrow and my lips form an O.

"Oh," I breathe out, seeing him swallow as he leans closer to me.

I bite my lower lip, my nails digging deeper into his thigh, and throw my head back, releasing a loud groan.

Breathing hard, I drop my face forward again and look at him with hooded eyes. Then I release a sigh and slide my hand down his leg, seeing the indents my nails made.

"Wow," he's breathing hard. "That was more than just a face. But I like the performance."

"Thank you." I give a little bow. "Truth or dare?"

"Hmm." He looks down at the wet spot on his shorts, shakes his head then says, "truth."

"What's your name?"

His eyebrows raise, realizing we haven't exchanged names.

"Nicholas." He tells me. "Nick for short."

"Well, hello Nick." I give him my hand. "Nice to meet you."

He shakes my hand. "Like wise ..."

"Dare." I say, a corner of my lips turning.

He rolls his eyes and says, "I dare you to dance to this song until it ends."

Getting off the chair, I stand between his legs and listen to the song for a few seconds. It's 'Ai se eu te pego' by Michel Telo.

A few people are dancing and moving to the song, so I won't be the only one dancing.

So I start to slowly move to the beat of the music. He leans his elbows back on the bar top with an amused look on his face as I grab my hair and pull it to one side.

I mouth the lyrics of the song, moving my hips from side to side. But my long and flowy dress hides the way my hips are moving. So I drag my palms across his shoulders, down his abdomen, feeling it contract under my fingertips, then grab his hand and put them on my hips.

His fingers dig into my skin and he pulls me closer.

Our noses almost touch as I sensually move with the slow beat of the song. I rest my arms on his shoulders, my eyes on him and my hips still moving.

His hands move to my waist as he pulls me even closer to him, our chests now touching.

It's harder to move now but I don't care. I tease his hair at the back of his head, his eyes fluttering. He gets bold and lowers his palms to my ass, giving me a rough squeeze.

I smile at him, wrapping my arms around his neck,

His chest moves up and down quickly, his palms moving over the mounds of my ass, squeezing now and then. I love his boldness. Love that he's not shy or afraid to touch me. My stomach tightens at the way he squeezes my mounds.

Making him stand up, I rotate in his arms so my back is to his front. I see other people dancing and grinding together. Two girls are standing on their chairs as they sing along with the song.

Arching my back, I hear him groan in my ear. His palm splayed across my stomach. We sway together into the next song.

I notice he has a good rhythm. He's letting me take the lead, following the movement of my hips with his.

His palm that's on my stomach travels upwards. Touching the underside of my breast.

"Wanna continue playing the game?" He whispers in my ear, our cheeks touching each other.

Moving my face so I can glance at him makes the distance between our lips very minimal. I feel his breath hitching, his arms tightening around my body.

"It was my turn." I snake an arm back and around his neck. "So truth or dare?"

"Truth." He grips my hips, pulling me tighter against him.

"How do you plan on fucking me later?"

"Fuck." He hisses, taken off guard. He surprises me by roughly grabbing my cheeks and rotating my face so I'm facing him. He touches our noses together. "Darling, why ruin the surprise?"

"I want to know if you'll be worth my while."

"Oh, I will be." He jerks his hips, his hardness digging into me.

The song changes to 'Balada' by Gusttavo Lima. It's an upbeat song and the entire bar erupts in cheers and they start singing and dancing. When the 'Tchê tchê tchê' part of the song begins, all the girls bend their knees and shake their asses to the beat.

And I also begin twerking. Against Nicholas.

His hands remain on my hips, my ass digging into his groin as I move my ass up and down with the beat.

The atmosphere in the bar changes and everyone is either dancing, singing or cheering us on.

I glance back at Nick, his cheeks red and his jaw taught.

With my hands on my knees, I sensually move my hips. One of his hands glides over my back before resting on my shoulder.

I glance around me. A lot of the women are grinding their asses against a man's crotch. I make eye contact with one girl and she winks at me.

"You're such a tease."

I face sideways so he can see my grin. As the volume is turned up even louder, he reclaims both sides of my hips again and pushes me to him with each beat of the 'Tchê.'

His dick digs into my ass cheeks with each shove and I feel myself getting hotter and hotter.

He roughly pulls me back against him, just how he would if he was fucking me.

I guess that answers my question. He can probably read my thoughts as he grabs a chunk of my hair and pulls me so I'm standing up straight again.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare." I say, willing him to make a specific request we both want.

"Let's go to my hotel room."

I nod and face him. He grabs my hand and starts walking towards the bar.

He tells Diego in Portuguese to add everything we've ordered to his tab. He gives him a nod and goes back to work.

He must have frequented this bar enough for Diego to trust he'll actually pay later on. It's really strange I haven't seen him before, as I've been here a lot as well.

We're both walking quickly. He glances at me, his eyes raking over my body. I can tell he's tense, squeezing my hand tightly.

I follow his lead and after a few minutes of walking, he takes a left. I keep silent as we enter the familiar hotel.

His room is thankfully on the ground floor and he fumbles with the key a few times before succeeding. He lets me walk in first and shuts the door.

Spinning, I push him against the closed door and our lips finally meet.   

***

Author's note: 

First chapter whohoo!!!

What do you think of it? 

What do you think will happen later on in the book? And what would you like to see happen? Who would you like to see more of in this book? 

I also want to say that if you see a typo or a sentence that doesn't make sense, please leave a comment saying so. Even though I edit a chapter before publishing, I'm not a professional writer/editor, so mistake will happen. 

Love, 

Hope