Noon slipped away when Marisa parted with Jean-Philippe and Zoe to return to the beach. As she approached the section where they had settled, she was once again dominated by the pressure suffocating her. She saw Robert lying alone on the sand, the tanned skin one shade darker than his khaki trunks, the toned abdomen glistening with the strip of hair damp from a recent dip. He concentrated all colors of the day in vivid hues of gold and bronze, and when Marisa scoped the surrounding, the landscape dulled like an old black and white photograph of extinct things—a photograph of absence.

Marisa stood next to Robert and, before she opened her mouth, he said: "Eliana and Marco left to get refreshments." He leaned over one elbow, protecting his eyes from the sun with the back of his hand. "Did you find anything interesting?

"I found this." She showed him a white snail shell. "Zoe picked up a beautiful one with yellow streaks. You should have come with us."

"I don't collect shells. It's bad for the environment."

"Why?"

"Millions of tourists take away a massive amount of shells every year. That increases the erosion on beaches. It also reduces the sheltering options for algae, hermit crabs and sea birds that build nests with shells for camouflaging their eggs against predators. I saw a scientific research about that."

She looked at the shell on the palm of her hand and tossed it on the sand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a spoilsport, Marisa."

"No need to apologize. It's good to know. From now on I won't collect shells anymore."

Marisa proceeded to retrieve a bottle of mineral water in the bag under the trees and, stretching beside Robert, took a sip and passed the bottle on to him. She commented on the waterfall without much enthusiasm, he shook his head in the same note and they fell into silence. Marisa tried to ignore his body laying close to her. It was useless: she pictured him in sharp nudity with the eyes of the dream.

She's the one to remove his clothes, first the shirt, her hands gliding across the chest muscles and the smooth skin—he barely has any hair there. The smell of cologne sweeps her for a stroll in the forest after the rain, it's the scent of sunrays stretching, moss emanating a damp perfume, fallen leaves releasing their soul as they're trampled, the immaterial sweetness exhaled by flowers. A sinuous whiff brings the carnal smell of sweat and desire. She unbuckles his belt, fingers grazing against the jean and, underneath it, the erection that presses against the fabric and makes her wet between her legs.

"You know, sometimes I think of moving to Brazil," he said unexpectedly.

Marisa felt like she had been caught in the act and cleared her throat. Still, her voice sounded stifled.

"Really?"

"I've been there four times with Eliana and we traveled to several states in the northeast. It's a beautiful country. I like the people."

She pulls down his jeans along with his underwear. The hair strip across the abdomen becomes denser on the groin and thins again on his legs. The penis is a regular size but thick, the imprecise shape of violaceous flesh against the belly, salient veins and fine skin that she feels in the dim. A sudden flash encases the two of them in a bell jar of light and the lanterns palpitate, the heart of their luminosity weakens slowly and revives until it embodies an obfuscating fireball. She holds him in one hand, heat burning her palm, and in the other hand the lower temperature of the testicles. At this point, he yanks off her dress.

"We've also been to Rio, of course," Robert stressed. "The capital, Búzios and Cabo Frio.

"You should visit Paraty. It's a gorgeous 16th-century colonial town that used to be an important port during the gold and coffee cycles in Brazil. It's located on a bay with plenty of islands. Have you heard of the German mercenary Hans Staden? His story is famous. At the time he was captured in the area by the Tupinambá cannibal tribe and spent nine months trying to escape."

She tries to guess what Marco and Eliana are up to in the other alcove. Even without the die to play, Marco can be unpredictable. Thus, like a raving athlete, Marisa does everything not to fall behind them. Robert pacifies her, kisses her whole body and she forgets about the other two. The heavy bedspread caresses her nudity just like his smooth hands—doctor's hands, accustomed to delicate work and precision. Along with them, an army of minute insects walks over her body, brightly multicolored, and each color awakens a different mood, each touch weaves a tapestry of sensations.

"And why did they wait nine months?"

"Who?"

"The Indians. Why didn't they eat Hans Staden at once?"

"Oh. The Tupinambá were attacked by the rival tribe of the Tupiniquim, allies of the Portuguese, and forced Staden to fight on their side. They won and Staden became a war trophy. Nine months later, a French ship rescued him."

"Interesting. Paraty. I'll include it in my list. But first I must visit the Amazon to see the pororoca, the longest wave on the planet."

"I've always wanted to go down the Amazon by boat."

The music also walks over her, it enters her ears and reemerges through the pores. Or else the notes travel in the air, drop and tumble across her, some incisive, others soft like cotton balls, one by one giving her chill bumps, sometimes tickling her. And in the meantime his lips, tongue, teeth consume her body. Robert is no longer in a hurry. He upturns every inch, every meander until she's undone and heaving. He straightens himself without warning, puts on a condom and lies on top of her. Robert takes her in one go. All the patience, all the contention he has displayed so far disintegrates in the ravenous motion of his hips. Now he consumes her from within.

"We could do that trip together, Marisa."

Under the intensity of Robert's stare, her pulse faltered for a second.

"Who? You and I?"

"Yeah. You, I, Marco and Eliana."

Marisa blushed. She sat upright, picked up the sunscreen on the corner of the towel and began applying it, avoiding Robert's gaze.

"Here, let me help."

He rose to a seated position too. Squirting the lotion on his palm, he spread it across Marisa's back. At the first touch of his fingers, she quivered and held her breath. Marisa clenched her teeth. She didn't want to feel anything, neither the soft hands that expanded on her nape, flanks, waist, nor the invisible thread of a shiver that went up, down and around in sync with those hands.

In her restlessness, Marisa questioned the meaning of her behavior in the dream. It presented a multifaceted logic that confounded her. Yes, there was the wish to hurt Marco and also another wish she rejected: would it be indeed clarity suddenly igniting in her body and materializing a passion still denied in thought? And why deny it if not even Marco, enraptured by Eliana, seemed to care?

Marisa started babbling to distract herself.

"After our conversation the other night, I'm seriously inclined to study psychology in college."

"You're a natural. You have an analytical flair."

"It's more than that. I want to contribute to people's well-being. The course will provide me with tools to know myself better and deal with my issues. Then I'll be able to help those in need. We can only cure the wounds of others once we've learned to cure our own."

"Go for it. You've found your path."

Robert asked her to apply sunscreen on his back. Marisa acquiesced, touching him with caution not to conjure the final scene of the dream—the one in which, matching his fury, shaken by a violent climax, nails buried on the damask-colored back, Marisa looked into Robert's eyes and saw an angel.

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I'll tell you just this: you don't want to miss the next chapter... :)

As usual, votes are more than welcomed! xoxo