Alpine Romance: No Words Necessary

Clark pulled his scarf tighter against the snow flurries carried on the icy wind off the Alpine lake. Hallstatt, Austria, was normally a picturesque tourist delight, but all he'd wanted to do was pass through until the ancient two-door Skoda started shuddering, telling him that, one way or another, he wasn't making it to Linz anytime soon.

Now he just hoped he could find a room and a meal.

A lit sign that read "Pension" on the side of a nearby building glowed through the snow, and he trudged his way through it, seemingly the only person in town. At least the only one dumb enough to be out in the storm. It was not high tourist season, so he hoped his chances at a room were better than his chances at getting the Skoda to go any farther.

He pushed the ornate wooden door and was instantly enveloped by the heat coming from a fireplace inside the lobby. Shutting the door quickly behind him, he rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room.

It was one of the typical European small-business restaurant and lodging houses that always looked so great on travel booking sites and somehow managed to actually surpass the expectation. Stone fireplace, neatly laid tables with red and white checkered tablecloths, curtains at each window with candles on all the tables and decor that was quintessential Alpine charm.

His eyes found the front desk as footsteps descended from the stairs. He caught sight of a woman taking off cleaning gloves and hurrying to the desk.

"Gruss gott," she said, looking up.

"Guten abend. Ah, sprechen-sie English?" he asked, taking in the woman's beautiful face — blue eyes framed by deep dark chocolate-colored hair and skin that seemed to glow from within — even as the corners other mouth turned to a frown.

"Nein," she said.

"Ah..." Clark didn't speak German beyond a few travelers' words, and he search for a second before remembering. "Ein zimmer, bitte. For one. Ein."

She rewarded him with a smile and nodded, grabbing a key off the wall and motioning him over.

"Passport?" she said, and he handed the document over while she showed him a rate card with reasonable prices, and he nodded, pulling out his wallet.

She shook her head and made a show of moving one hand over the other that he took to mean payment was on checkout. So far, so good. He thought.

He couldn't help checking her out as she wrote down his details, delighting in the slight furrow in her brow and the pinkish hue to her cheeks as she handed him back the passport. The apron she wore obscured any look at her figure, but then she took the key and motioned for him to follow, turning around and giving him a view of her from the rear.

She wore tight black jeans that perfectly accentuated her butt as she took the first stair, and on top of that was a red T-shirt that hugged her slim figure. He smiled wistfully and followed her upstairs, wishing he spoke German.

When she showed him the room, it was as expected — thick timbered walls and dual dual-pane windows shielded the space from the winter cold. There was one chair in a corner next to a small table, a door to the bathroom, and a double bed that took up the majority of the space.

"Sehr gut," he said, giving a thumbs-up, nodding and smiling to try to convey the message.

She laughed, said something he didn't catch in reply, and smiled as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Did Clark imagine it, or were those eyes saying something she couldn't speak to him? They'd lingered a moment longer than was customary, hadn't they?

No, I'm giving myself way too much credit here. She's just friendly, he thought.

"Umm, is it possible..." he faltered. "Dinner? Supper? Food? Wiener schnitzel?" He motioned a fork and knife.

She giggled and nodded once, then waved for him to follow her.

Back down in the restaurant, she made a grand gesture at the seating area. Each table was empty, so he took one closest to the fireplace, and she brought over a menu.

"Wiener schnitzel?" she asked. "Und...trinken?"

"Yeah. Wiener schnitzel is good, um, ist gut. Und lager."

"Stiegl, ja?" she smiled when he nodded, and started to turn around.

Clark had to give it a shot. "Und ein fur...you," he said smiling and holding up two fingers. She shot him a puzzled look, and he motioned drinking, pointed at himself, then pointed at her, and, remembering he was in Europe, switched to a thumb and forefinger.

"Ah!" she said, getting the picture. "Hmm..." she glanced back to the front desk, where a cleaning bucket sat, thought for a moment, then shrugged.

She returned without the apron on, and with two half-liter glasses of beer with the Stiegl logo emblazoned on them and set them down on the table. It was a booth with well-worn wooden seats, and she slid in opposite him.

"Clark," he said, pointing to himself and smiling.

"Hannah," she said, returning the smile with a goofy grin he read as her wondering why she was going along with it.

He held out a hand, and she took it. He gave a gentle squeeze and shook it, feeling the smoothness of her skin and the electric tingle that came with it.

"Well, prost," he said, holding the beer up and clinking glasses with her before taking a sip, feeling the refreshing brew slide down his throat.

She set her glass down, stood and left, and he found himself wondering if anyone else was in the building. He hadn't heard a peep, and a short time later, she returned with two plates of food.

His wiener schnitzel looked delicious — two fried cuts of meat with lemon next to red cabbage and spaetzle — the German/Austrian version of pasta that he'd come to love in the week he'd been flitting between the two countries.

Her plate had delicious-looking cuts of meat topped with a dark sauce, dumplings and cabbage. As much as he loved Wiener schnitzel, he found himself salivating at her meal.

"Bon appetit," she said, and he smiled, taking a bite. Did her eyes linger too long again?

The yearning to try her food must have been written all over his face, because she cut off a piece of what he assumed was beef and pointed to it with an inviting look. He grinned, took it on his fork, and bit into it, savoring the slightly sour taste as the tender meat melted in his mouth.

"This is delicious!" he said, smiling and nodding like the village idiot so she would understand.

She grinned, nodded and said, "Saurbraten."

He committed it to memory. It would definitely be something he'd order. Shifting his feet under the table, he bumped knees with her and managed to fight the urge to pull away. She looked up at him, flashed a crooked smile, then looked down and took another bite. He felt the fire of her touch even through his pants leg.

They ate the rest of their meals, and even though there was no conversation beyond a few grunts of satisfaction and facial expressions — which routinely had them both laughing — the companionship wasn't lacking.

Clark finished his last bite and put the fork down reluctantly, sad to have the experience come to an end. It had been a long time since he'd shared a meal with such an enchanting woman, and he wondered if the fact that they couldn't really talk to each other made it seem more intimate.

He stood and picked up his plate and empty beer glass. She motioned to take it and he shook his head and reached for hers. She laughed, handed it to him and then folded her arms across her chest, cocking one eyebrow as if to say, "Ok, Clark, where do you think you're going with these?"

He headed toward the back, found a sink and started cleaning the dishes. When he shut the water off, he could hear classical music playing out of an old stereo like he'd had on his dresser in college.

Hannah was just finishing wiping down the table, and Clark strutted up to her, bowed slightly, held out his hand and said, "Waltz?"

Her face clouded, but she seemed to have an, "ah, fuck it" moment, set down the rag she'd been using and took his hand.

The thing was, Clark was no dancer, and he was really reaching with this. He held her right hand aloft with his left, placed his right in the small of her back and held her close, but not too close, and toured her around the tables, bumping into them occasionally, but at least never stepping on her feet. Each awkward bounce off the corner of a table was greeted with a laugh, and on balance, he felt like he was doing ok.

He spun her, and she laughed, then, when she turned back, she put both hands on his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her breath on his neck as they closed the distance.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered into her ear.

She said something back to him that was unintelligible, but it was encouragement enough, and he dropped a hand lower to stroke the top of her ass fleetingly. She responded to his touch, pressing herself tighter against him, and he grinned.

A few more turns, and the song came to an end. She pulled away, and Clark felt the despair of having run out of moves. She stepped back, held up a finger in a "wait here" gesture, then scampered off upstairs.

She returned with a photo album, and motioned him to a couch beside the fireplace.

They sat together, and Clark scooted so their hips were touching as he leaned in to look at the photos. The first ones showed the picturesque Hallstatt — ornate buildings clinging to a coastline with dramatic views of the Alps in the background, boathouses along the shore under the brilliant summer sun, and vacationers dining on outdoor patios with tall glasses of beer.

She flipped a few pages, and the photos were older — slightly off color. She pointed to a picture of a young girl and then pointed at herself.

"Ah, this is you?" he said, taking a closer look at a smiling girl holding a bike, a pair of training wheels discarded in the corner of the frame.

She flipped through page after page, and he felt himself watching her grow up. Boating as a young teen. Skiing. A family trip to what looked like Italy. When she got to a photo of herself clutching a violin, smiling the awkward smile of young teens everywhere, he put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned in, pulling her legs up and folding them on the couch away from him so her side pressed against him.

Other milestones came and went. University. What appeared to be a summer job working at a museum in town. Winter job operating a chairlift. Snowball fights. He stroked her hair as the fire began to die down, the logs popping occasionally as sparks flew.

Finally, they came to the end of the album — a photo of her and what were obviously her parents, pretty recently. Then she shut the album and gave him an questioning look.

It took him a second, but he remembered his iPhone.

Holy shit! Google Translate app! He thought. He pulled it out, but his heart sank when he saw there was no service, knowing the app required an Internet connection.

"Wifi?" he asked.

She sighed and shook her head.

He opened the photo album, showing her photos of his trip. A selfie he'd taken at the airport in Tampa Bay, setting off on a solo vacation he'd decided he needed to take. Two months between jobs at age 27. What better way to spend it? He flashed through the photos: The Hofbrau House in Munich. The Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. The Cathedral in Cologne. Salzburg Castle. The opera house in Vienna. All the same tourist shots every American snapped in each city.

She laughed at some of the goofier photos even as he cringed inside. No one was supposed to see them all, but she seemed accepting, even with the ones where he was so obviously an American on vacation that it pained him to see so many of them. He'd have to purge his Instagram account when he got an Internet connection again.

And then he got to the most recent photo, him standing next to the Skoda he'd borrowed from a friend of a friend in the States, one foot up on the bumper like he was Captain Morgan or something.

He pointed at the car. "Kaput," he said, then pointed toward the front door and shrugged his shoulders.

Then he had an idea. He opened the camera app and flipped to front camera.

He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his, their cheeks touching, and they both smiled, looking decent despite the goofy distortion of the wide-angle lens up close.

Snapping off a few photos, he held up a finger. One more. Right before hitting the button again, he turned and kissed her on the cheek.

The photo showed utter shock on her face — wide eyes and mouth partly open. He registered all that as she laughed and buried her face in his chest, clutching his shirt with her hand.

He allowed himself a chuckle, and ran his hand through her hair, gently coaxing her face up to look at him.

Her eyes were two pools of blue that reminded him of the pictures of the lake in her album. He gazed into them intently, willing her to understand the depth of feeling he was surprised to be having for her.

She gazed back intently, and they sat there for a moment, frozen in time. His right arm around her shoulder. Her right hand still clutching his shirt in a fist near his left shoulder. The flickering of the firelight reflected in her eyes as he brought his left hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb before gently gripping her chin, guiding her face closer to his.

Their lips met with the pent-up energy of two people who can only adequately express themselves through physical passion. He kissed her gently, feeling the wetness of her lips against his as they interlocked perfectly. She pulled back slightly, only to resume the kiss, and he hesitantly opened his mouth a fraction at a time, elated when she kept pace with him.

He flicked his tongue against her not-quite-parted lips, and she opened her mouth fully, letting him explore, meeting his tongue with hers as she moved her arm around him and stroked the back of his neck.

Disengaging for a second, he nibbled her lower lip when they met again, and she leaned into him, their foreheads meeting before she angled to kiss him harder, deeper, more passionately.

She leaned into him, and he felt her breasts pressing against his side, and his cock throbbing with intensity as it quickly grew and strained against his pants. He ran his hand down her side a few times, lightly stroking her, letting his thumb graze the side of her nearest breast as he sank deeper into her embrace.

Finally, unable to stand having any distance between them, he pulled her into his lap, turning her torso so her legs unfolded on the sofa and he felt the weight of her on him, a reassuring weight that he never wanted to leave.

She wriggled her ass against his crotch as he leaned in to kiss her again, and he brought his right hand up to her left breast, stroking it lightly with the back of his fingers before gently cupping it.

Pulling her mouth away from his, she gasped and shot her eyes to the ceiling, exposing the silky softness other neck, a milky white in the half light of the fire, and he nuzzled it before giving her a few kisses on it, flicking his tongue into the crevice of her collarbone as he fondled her breast and she clutched at his back, digging her fingertips into the meat of his shoulders.

"Holy fuck," he said breathlessly as she ground her ass against his crotch, hitting him so exquisitely perfectly that he thought he just might come if she kept it up.

She pulled her head back and shot him a devilish smile, her eyes alight, and ran her tongue over her upper lip in an expression that was as universal as it was welcoming. No translation needed.

He ran his hands to the base of her red T-shirt, found the hem and started to work upward as he kissed her neck again.

"Nein, nein," she said softly, and his heart sank.

"This is no good?" he asked, hoping he was at least getting his point across.

She shook her head, then circled it to indicate the whole room.

"Nicht hier," she said, and that was close enough to English for him to understand.

Loosening his grip on her, he allowed her to rotate off of him, and he took her hand as she set off toward the stairs. He grabbed the candle off the last table on the way, carrying it up to the room she'd shown him to earlier.

They entered the room and she shut the door behind him as he set the candle on the small table, lighting it with a match from the book next to it with the pension's logo.

He turned to see her looking out the window, and he came up behind her, enveloping her in his arms as he took in the scene outside and she placed a hand on his, squeezing slightly.

The storm had died down, and even though clouds could still be seen glowing silver in the moonlight, they were intermittent enough for the landscape to appear as the storm had left it — pristine white snow covering the steeply sloped roofs of the village and the dark waters beyond glimmering in the moonlight.

Clark leaned down and kissed Hannah's neck again, pressing himself against her and feeling the welcome sensation as she ground her ass against his crotch. He slowly spun her around, kissing her lips again with all the same passion they'd shared downstairs, feeling her tongue flit into his mouth and dart out again as he backed her toward the bed.

She stopped when her calves bumped against the bedframe, and he went for her shirt again. This time, there was no resistance as she raised her arms and allowed him to pull it over her head.

Her breasts were held by a black bra that was plain with just a little bit of lace around the top of the breasts, but pressed what he'd guess were C cups together with a tantalizing amount of cleavage that glowed pale in the moonlight streaming in from the window.

Hannah pulled his head down to them, and he reached behind for the clasp of the bra as he sank his face between them, kissing first left, then right, then left again, running his tongue along them as he finally felt the bra catch release.

The straps fell forward and the bra was lost to history as he eased her back onto the bed, taking in the dusty pink nipples hardening in her excitement.

She laid on the bed, gazing into his eyes as he hovered over her, straddling her and leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth.

He flicked his tongue across it, feeling it go rock hard as he sucked on it, and he pressed her breasts together with his hands to smother his face as she let out a moan of pleasure and thrust her hips against him.

Stroking her side with one hand, he continued to tease a breast with his other as he started kissing his way down over her stomach. She grabbed his head with both hands, gripping his hair and pulling him back for a deep kiss.

Submitting to her lead, he rolled off her as she pivoted herself atop him, roughly pulling at his shirt. He was out of it in less than a second, and watched her as she stared at him lustily, her hair framing those gorgeous eyes that were so dark in the light as to appear black, her breasts hanging enticingly in his field of view as she shimmied downward, dragging one hand down his chest, letting her fingernails gently scratch him the whole way.

She fumbled with his belt, then pulled at his pants, taking them and his boxers to the floor as he forced his shoes and socks off with his feet.

His cock stood proud between them, and she took it in her hand lightly, stroking up and down and driving him mad as her face hovered over it.

Finally, she opened her mouth and took the head inside, and he nearly exploded with the warm wet sensation as she closed her lips around it.

She worked her tongue up and down as she bobbed her head in time with the stroking of her hand, and he threw his head back and let out a moan of pure pleasure.

Her free hand found one of his, and she pulled it to her breast for him to fondle as she went down on him.

Starting to lose control and not wanting it to end so soon, he slowly sat up and gripped the sides of her head, easing her off him and into another deep kiss as he rolled her onto her back.