You were warned. They said it would be messy. They said it would leave stains. You grinned anyway—and popped the cork like a secret you were aching to tell.
What tumbled out was pure forbidden pleasure: juicy mandarin skin against damp earth, apricot flesh ripped apart between sticky fingers, and a primal hum of wild herbs buzzing under your tongue. Every sip blurred the line between sweetness and sin, rough textures scratching softly down your throat, the frothy tension rising higher than your better judgement.
You’ll want it with messy tacos, salty cheeses, or absolutely nothing but a dripping grin and a room full of bad ideas.
