It was meant to be a respectable afternoon promenade, the sort of gentle carriage ride society approves of as long as the curtains stay tied back. But the moment the wheels began their soft rumble over the uneven country road, the air shifted. The bottle opened with a quiet pop, bubbles rushing up as if they had been waiting all day for permission to misbehave. The first pour shimmered, pale and trembling, and suddenly every small vibration of the carriage felt like a secret being shared between your thighs.
One sip and the world changed. The citrus snapped bright and daring, a flash of green apple that made your breath hitch, followed by a lick of grapefruit and a tease of orchard blossom. The bubbles darted over your tongue with the same shameless enthusiasm as a gloved hand brushing your knee under the pretense of steadying itself. Clothing stayed perfectly in place. Desire did not.
The carriage jolted again, a little harder this time, enough to press you closer to the warm shape beside you. A fingertip grazed the outside of your skirt. It was nothing, technically. Entirely innocent. Absolutely deniable. Yet the sensation rippled up your spine, meeting the bright acidity of the wine somewhere in the centre of your chest and blooming there, warm and wicked.
You pretended to focus on the landscape. They pretended to admire the bubbles. But the ride grew rougher, the Sauvignon Blanc fizz pushing higher against your lips, kissing you before they ever dared to. The sweetness at the core lingered on your tongue, softer than sin and twice as persuasive. Every small bump of the road became an invitation. Every shared glance felt like an unspoken agreement that the carriage should never slow down.
Serve it to oysters that taste like the sea whispering yes, or to sashimi sliced thin enough to tremble. Or pour it on a night when you want nothing more than a closed door, a soft lamp, and the thrill of knowing hands can wander over fabric far more boldly than they ever could beneath it. And pray society never catches the two of you alone, because they would never believe you behaved.
Region: Entre Deux Mers, Bordeaux, France Grapes: Sauvignon Blanc
