The Colombian Guest
When my parents announced that Rodrigo, the son of a family friend from Colombia, would be staying with us in Lima for a few days, I was initially annoyed. I had planned a weekend of freedom, but the moment I saw him at the airport, my irritation vanished. Rodrigo was breathtaking—tall, with honey-colored eyes and a mischievous smile that sent a jolt of electricity through me. Even through his tight jeans, it was impossible not to notice his impressive physique.
The tension between us grew during dinner. I could barely speak, my voice trembling as I stole glances at him. He was twenty-four, studying administration just like me, and possessed a natural charisma that filled the room. When my mother asked me to show him to the guest room, my heart hammered against my ribs. As we walked, the scent of him—a heady, addictive mix of cologne and warm skin—made my head spin.
The next morning, my parents left for their trip, leaving us alone in the house. Rodrigo was in the kitchen, wearing only loose boxers and a tight green shirt. The sight of him was almost too much to bear. We spent a few hours browsing for apartments on my laptop, our shoulders brushing, the air thick with unspoken desire. I finally dared to tell him how wonderful he smelled, and the slight blush on his cheeks told me the feeling was mutual.
The breaking point came when Rodrigo went to shower. He called out to me, claiming his towel had fallen and asking if I could bring him another. I seized the opportunity, intentionally picking a smaller towel. When I entered the bathroom, the door was ajar. I saw his sculpted back and broad shoulders, and as he turned, I was breathless. He was magnificent, his body honed and powerful.
“You’ve been staring at me since the moment we met,” Rodrigo whispered, his voice deep and knowing. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “And I’ve been wondering about you.” He pulled me into a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring mine with a hunger that mirrored my own. We stripped away our clothes in a feverish haze, our skin sliding together as he led me to my bedroom.
As he pushed me onto the bed, I confessed it was my first time. He smirked, a dominant glint in his eyes. “Then I’ll make sure you’re molded exactly to my liking.” He positioned me on my knees, lubricating us with saliva before slowly, firmly pushing into me. The initial shock of pain was quickly eclipsed by an intense, searing pleasure. He moved with a rhythmic, powerful force, filling me completely.
I groaned, my head thrown back as he gripped my hips, driving deeper with every thrust. The friction was exquisite, sending waves of adrenaline through my entire body. As we reached the peak of our passion, I begged him to leave everything inside me. With a final, guttural cry, he surged forward, filling me with his warmth just as I reached my own explosive release.
We collapsed together, breathless and drenched in sweat. As we lay entwined, the silence of the house surrounding us, I knew that my life had changed forever. I didn’t care about the apartment search anymore; I only wanted him to stay.