She moans my name—Nazareth—broken and desperate, hands scrambling for purchase on my chest as I keep going. Her tits bounce wildly with every thrust, nipples tight and begging.
I release one hand from her waist just long enough to slap her ass hard, the sound cracking through the room, then grip her again and pull her down onto my cock as I drive up, burying myself to the hilt over and over.
I can feel her getting closer, her walls tightening around me like a vise, her moans turning into helpless cries.
“That’s it,” I rasp, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down my temples. “Show me you’re mine by coming on my cock.”
I angle my hips, hitting that spot deep inside her that I’ve learned makes her crazy.
“Nazareth. I’m coming.” Tendons around her throat pulls taut, nails breaking skin as she claws at my chest. “Oh, God, yes. This is better than I imagined.”
I feel the squeeze, feel the throb, her orgasm vibrating her pussy, her cunt wringing my dick hard, and I can’t stop it.
I come. Hard. Violent.
My vision whites out. Overload.Nerves lighting up and blowing out in strobing ecstasy. And I’m thrusting up deep, spilling inside her.
But something’s different.
Something’s wrong.
It's subtle at first—the way wrongness always is in dreams, a detail that doesn't fit, a texture that's slightly off.
Her hair. It's the hair. The gold of it catches the Paris light, and it's right, it's exactly right, but when it falls forward it falls differently. Heavier. Darker at the root.
I blink.
The light shifts.
Her hands on my chest—I look at them. The shape of them. The way they press. Sophia's hands are soft in a way I know by heart. I have memorized them. I could identify them in the dark, and these hands are?—
These hands are not hers.
The cold moves through the dream like a blade.
No.
I look up.
Green eyes. That's what I see first, what I reach for—Green eyes, Sophia has green eyes, this is her, this is?—
They're not green.
They're dark.
“No. No. No.” Horror licks up my spine like flames. The face above me smiles in a way Sophia has never smiled—triumphant, cruel, victorious. Hair falls forward again, and it’s dark all the way through. The light isn’t amber. The smell isn’t vanilla and muffins. It’s copper and bleach and rot andher.
Her mouth opens, purring against my ear. “I always knew your cock would feel this good.”
The world stops.
“Valeria?” My voice is barely a whisper.
A slow smile creeps up her face, victorious, satiated. “You were wonderful, Nazareth. Just like I knew you’d be.”
Horror slams into me like a sledgehammer to the sternum, cracking my ribs, crushing my lungs.
This isn’t Sophia. This isher.
