Chapter7

Celestia's POV

Lysander’s mouth pressed hard against mine, his tongue seeking entry while his hands rose to frame my face, and I met him with equal force, my fingers already twisting into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer.

Both of us were drunk, the room tilting gently around the edges, yet the alcohol only sharpened the heat that had been building between us since the first glass was poured.

My own pulse hammered in my ears, and I could feel his breath coming fast and uneven against my lips, the shared intoxication making every touch feel inevitable and electric.

A part of me registered how far we had already crossed the line, but the thought dissolved as quickly as it formed, replaced by the simple need to taste more of him.

The half-empty bottle had already tipped once during our earlier movement, sending a dark stream of red wine across my shirt. The fabric clung wetly to my skin, the thin material turning translucent and outlining the curve of my breasts and the darker points of my nipples beneath it.

Lysander drew back just enough to look, his gaze dropping and then lingering, the pupils blown wide with hunger that the wine had made impossible to hide.

That look sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I did not pull away when his hand lifted slowly, almost reverently, to touch the soaked cloth just above my collarbone. My breath caught as his fingertips traced the damp line downward, and I felt the slow, deliberate unbuttoning of my shirt, each button giving way until cool air met my bare skin.

I shrugged out of it without protest, the wine still glistening on my chest and stomach, and his eyes followed every inch of newly exposed flesh with a focus that made my heart race faster.

I reached for the bottle again myself, tilting it so that another slow stream of red wine poured across my collarbones and down between my breasts, the liquid warm from the room and startling against my heated skin. It traced paths over my ribs and pooled slightly at my navel, and the sight seemed to undo something in him.

Lysander lowered his head and began to kiss the wine from my body, his mouth moving in slow, open presses that started at my throat and traveled lower. His tongue followed the trails across my breasts, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin until my back arched beneath him, a low sound escaping my throat.

He continued downward, tasting the wine that had run along my stomach, his hands steadying my hips while his lips and teeth marked a path that left me trembling.

The wine made every sensation sharper, and I felt no embarrassment when my hands moved to his hair, urging him on with a boldness I would never have shown sober. My thoughts scattered with each pull of his mouth; all I could register was the wet heat of his tongue and the growing ache between my thighs.

We remained on the couch for a long time, the cushions shifting beneath our weight as his mouth returned to mine in another deep kiss, tongues sliding slowly while his palms cupped my breasts still streaked with wine.

His thumbs circled my nipples, drawing them tighter, and the friction of his clothed body against my bare skin sent fresh heat pooling between my thighs. The bottle rested nearby, and when he reached for it once more a few more drops spilled across my collarbones, prompting him to lick them away with deliberate slowness, his breath warm and uneven.

The room spun gently, the low hum of traffic below the windows blending with the sound of our uneven breathing, and every touch felt amplified by the shared intoxication. I pressed closer, my fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against mine, the thought of stopping no longer even crossing my mind.

Eventually we rose, unsteady on our feet, and moved toward the small table near the window. He guided my body against its edge, the wood cool against the heated skin of my thighs, and leaned in to kiss along my jaw and down my neck while his hands roamed freely.

Another careful pour of wine traced a line from my sternum to my navel, and he followed it with his mouth, sucking lightly at my skin until soft gasps filled the space between us. The table creaked faintly as my hips pressed forward, seeking more contact, and the kisses grew messier, teeth grazing my shoulder while fingers traced the damp paths left by the wine.

The drunken haze made every movement feel dreamlike yet urgent, the air thick with the scent of red wine and rising desire. I could feel the hard press of him against me even through our remaining clothes, and the friction alone drew a quiet moan from my lips.

We finally reached the bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothes, the remaining fabric discarded in a careless trail across the floor. Lysander sank onto his back first, and I followed, straddling his hips while my hands worked at his belt with impatient need.

The alcohol had stripped away every hesitation, leaving only raw need. I ground down against the hard length still confined in his trousers, the friction drawing a shared moan, and my hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles that built tension without rushing toward release.

His palms slid up my thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inner skin, while his mouth found my breasts again, sucking and licking at the wine-streaked nipples until my back arched and my breath came in short gasps. My mind was a haze of want; I could not stop moving against him, chasing the friction even as my thoughts dissolved into pure sensation.

The rhythm on the bed grew more insistent, my hips snapping with unrestrained enthusiasm as the wet sound of our bodies meeting filled the room. Each downward thrust sent sparks through my core, and I leaned forward to kiss him messily, tongues sliding and teeth catching, while my breasts brushed his chest with every movement.

He thrust upward to meet the motion, harder now, the bed creaking beneath our weight, and I urged him on with breathless words, telling him how deep the want ran, how good he felt even through the remaining layers, how the need could not be satisfied.

The wine kept the hunger alive, sharpening every sensation until the first sharp climax tore through me; my body clenched and trembled yet I kept moving, chasing the next wave without pause.

He rolled suddenly, pinning me beneath him on the mattress, and drove forward with long, powerful strokes that made the headboard knock against the wall. My legs wrapped around his back, heels digging in to pull him deeper, while one hand slid between our bodies to circle my clit with firm, relentless pressure.

The second orgasm hit harder, my back arching off the mattress as a cry escaped, yet the intoxication blurred any sense of restraint and I reached for him again almost at once.

The positions shifted once more, me on my hands and knees while he took me from behind, one hand fisted gently in my hair and the other gripping my hip, the angle allowing him to hit the spot that made sobs of pleasure escape into the sheets. Sweat slicked our skin, the scent of wine and sex thick in the air, and every thrust carried the same desperate intensity that the alcohol had released.

When he finally spilled inside me the heat of it triggered another climax, my body shuddering around him with a force that left me trembling. We collapsed together onto the tangled sheets, his arm remaining around my waist as my breathing slowly steadied.

The room continued its gentle spin, and in the quiet that followed the weight of what we had done settled between us like the last traces of wine drying on skin, leaving only the lingering heat of touch.