Bianca's words ignited a blush upon Achille's face. "What sorcery has befallen you?" he demanded, his voice laced with disbelief as he continued,
"I shall not share my bed with you, nor shall I engage in such impropriety."
As he gazed at her, his thoughts churned within him. 'She is intoxicated, yet a different creature from the woman I know,' he mused.
With a gentle but firm hand, he disentangled her fingers from his wrist. Yet, before he could fully extricate himself, Bianca lunged forward, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Her warm, yielding body pressed against his, her soft curves fitting snugly into his embrace. Her breath, infused with the scent of wine and something undeniably alluring, fanned his neck.
Achille stiffened, his mind reeling. "This," he thought, "is the predictable outcome of drunken state: clinginess, affection, and an insatiable desire for proximity."
