They were drunk—undeniably, irreversibly drunk—the kind of drunk that made the world spin just enough to blur good judgment, that numbed the sting of heartbreak and let their hands roam without guilt, that made every kiss feel like a confession and every touch like something they'd regret in the morning but crave anyway.
Their kisses turned messier, hungrier.
Isadora's hands fumbled at Rowan's waistband while he kissed down her collarbone, his breath hot, mouth moving with a sort of desperate care—like he'd been holding himself back for years.
When her back hit the wall and she let out a quiet moan, Rowan paused, forehead pressing to hers.
"Let me take you to bed."
Isadora blinked, breathless.
Before she could answer, Rowan hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her with ease. She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck, laughing between kisses.
"You're stronger than you look," she murmured, teasing.
Rowan smirked. "Shut up."
Their mouths found each other again as he carried her toward the bedroom, bumping into the doorframe on the way. They both laughed—tipsy, clumsy, and already half-undressed.
He laid her gently onto the mattress, and Isadora pulled him down with her, kissing him as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world.
Then Rowan broke the kiss and began trailing downward.
From her lips to her jaw.
From her neck to her chest.
His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing across the lace of her bra. She arched into him, fingers sinking into his hair.
"You're so beautiful," he muttered against her skin.
He moved lower—over her stomach, her hips—kissing every inch like a quiet promise. Isadora shivered.
He slid her underwear down, slow and careful, keeping eye contact until her breath caught.
And then—
He kissed her there.
Soft at first.
A slow, reverent press of lips. Then another. And another.
Isadora's hips bucked slightly, her fingers tightening in the sheets. "Rowan—"
He didn't stop.
His tongue moved gently, tasting, teasing, worshipping her. Her moans grew louder, echoing in the quiet room, her body trembling beneath him.
"God, that feels—don't stop," she breathed, her voice cracking with pleasure.
Rowan moaned softly against her, spurred on by the sound of her falling apart.
Her hand found his hair, gripping tighter, guiding him, urging him closer.
He obeyed—slow, steady, until her back arched and her thighs quivered around his shoulders. Her voice broke as she gasped his name again and again.
When she finally came undone, she cried out—raw, honest, unfiltered.
And Rowan didn't stop until her shaking legs begged him to.
He crawled back up beside her, breathless. Their lips met again—slower this time, tender, with the aftertaste of something more than just lust.
But it wasn't over.
Isadora rolled on top of him, straddling his waist, her hair falling forward around her face.
"You're not getting off that easy," she whispered, her voice still husky with breathlessness.
She reached down and unfastened his belt, undoing the button and sliding the zipper down. Rowan's breath caught when her hand brushed against him. She pushed his pants and underwear down just far enough—and for a moment, just looked.
Then Rowan moved.
He suddenly rolled her beneath him, flipping their positions. His body hovered over hers, warm and firm and trembling with restraint. He kicked off the rest of his clothes, and she slipped off what little she had left.
Now they were both completely bare.
Skin to skin.
Rowan leaned in again, kissing her deeply, slowly—his hands moving to cradle her face, like she might shatter if he touched her too roughly.
Then, one hand slid between them.
He found her heat, and his fingers moved gently—just enough to make her breath hitch and her legs shift restlessly beneath him.
She moaned softly, her body reacting before her voice did.
"R-Rowan…"
He looked down at her, eyes full of something far more serious than lust.
Then—
"P-put it in… Rowan, please…"
The plea in her voice made his heart ache.
But he didn't rush.
"Not yet," he whispered, brushing hair from her cheek before kissing her again. His fingers were still exploring her gently, coaxing her body to ease the tension.
"Just relax, okay?"
She nodded weakly, moaning into his mouth as his fingers found just the right rhythm.
Minutes passed like that—just kissing, touching, breathing each other in.
Then Rowan aligned himself against her, one hand resting on her waist.
"Hey," he said, voice barely a breath, "tell me if it hurts. I'll stop."
She reached up and cupped his face.
"I want this," she whispered.
With care, Rowan began to press into her.
Isadora gasped, her nails digging into his back. Her legs tightened around him instinctively.
It hurt.
A sharp stretch, unfamiliar and real—but she didn't ask him to stop.
Rowan paused immediately when he felt her body tense.
"Hey," he whispered, kissing her temple. "We don't have to—"
"No. Don't stop." Her voice trembled. "I just need… a second."
He held still, completely still, brushing soft kisses over her face, her shoulder, her collarbone.
"You're doing so good," he murmured. "I've got you."
And he waited.
Waited until she breathed out slowly. Until her body started to relax around him.
Only then did he begin to move—slow, shallow strokes at first, keeping his eyes on her face.
Isadora let out a soft whimper—but then her hands slid to his back, pulling him closer.
"It's okay now," she whispered, a shaky smile on her lips. "It feels better."
He kissed her again.
And moved deeper.
She gasped, legs curling around him, her hips rising to meet his.
Every motion made her moan softly—quiet at first, then louder, her voice catching every time he hit just the right spot.
Rowan's breathing was uneven now, his pace slow but desperate to hold on—his hand slipping between their bodies again to bring her more pleasure.
Isadora arched beneath him, her moans sharper now, hips meeting his rhythm.
"R-Rowan… I'm—"
"I know," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. "Me too."
And then it hit her.
Her body tensed, trembled—her voice caught in a cry of his name as she shattered beneath him.
He followed, with a groan that he muffled into her neck, holding her tight, grounding himself in her warmth.
The night was reckless, messy, unforgettable—and when the sun rises, they'll have to decide whether it was a mistake… or the beginning of something they were always meant to find.
——