The world spins in a nauseating blur as Morgan guides me through what seems like an endless corridor. The carpet beneath my feet feels too plush, too unfamiliar. This isn't right.
"Wait... this isn't," I slur, my tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in my mouth. "This isn't my house."
Morgan's arm tightens around my waist, her fingernails digging slightly into my side through my shirt. "Just a little further, Adam. You're doing so well."
A door opens, and suddenly, we're in a room bathed in soft amber light. A massive king-sized bed dominates the space, its pristine white sheets practically glowing.
"This isn't where I live," I manage, the words tumbling out as Morgan guides me toward the bed. "Is it?"
She smiles a strange, tender expression that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "No, honey. It's not."
My legs hit the edge of the mattress, and I collapse onto it, the room spinning violently around me. Morgan sits beside me, her weight creating a dip in the mattress that rolls me slightly toward her. Her hand comes up to stroke my cheek, her touch cool against my alcohol-flushed skin.
"Why'm I here?" I ask, struggling to keep my eyes focused on her face.
"Because I'm taking care of you," she says simply. Her fingers trail from my cheek to my throat, resting lightly against my pulse. "I'll always take care of you, Adam."
Something about her tone cuts through the alcoholic fog in my brain, triggering a distant alarm bell. Her eyes are too intense, too focused, like a predator watching its prey.
"I should call Lana," I mumble, trying unsuccessfully to sit up. "She'll be nervous if I don't go home."
Morgan's smile tightens almost imperceptibly. "Lana isn't deserving of your worry." Her hand slides from my throat to my chest, pushing me gently but firmly back onto the bed. "Besides, you're angry with her, aren't you? For lying about Leo?"
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water, momentarily clearing some of the fog. Leo. Three years. The scene they did together while we were dating. The pain rushes back, fresh and raw.
"Yeah," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Yeah, I am."
Morgan nods, her expression softening into something that might be sympathy on anyone else's face. On hers, it looks practiced, like an actress who's studied the emotion but never quite felt it.
"You need to rest," Morgan whispers, her voice somehow both soothing and commanding. "Let me take care of you tonight."
She stands, the mattress shifting with her absence, and crosses to what must be a minibar in the corner of the room. My vision blurs as I try to follow her movements, the alcohol making everything swim together in a nauseating swirl.
I see her placing her phone sideways on the table. "What're you doing?"
"Filming us." She says simply.
"Why?"
She doesn't answer. She returns, she's holding a crystal wine glass filled with dark red liquid. I notice her drop something small and blue into it.
"Drink this," Morgan says, sitting beside me again. "It'll make you not hurt so much in the morning."
I manage to prop myself up on one elbow, eyeing the glass suspiciously. "What's in it?" I slur, my tongue feeling three sizes too big for my mouth.
Morgan slips off the bed and kneels on the plush carpet, reaching for my feet. She begins unlacing my shoes, sliding them off with gentle movements. Her green eyes look up at me through her lashes, a smile spreading across her face that makes something cold run down my spine despite my drunken state.
"Don't worry about it," she explains, her voice silky smooth. "Just a little hangover prevention."
The room spins violently as I try to focus on her face. In my current state, the offer seems incredibly thoughtful. Who wants a hangover, after all?
"That's really nice, thank you," I mumble, taking the glass from her outstretched hand. The wine tastes bitter, but I'm too drunk to care. I manage a few sips before Morgan's hand guides the glass back to my lips.
"All the way, dear," she encourages, her fingers moving to the button of my jeans. With swift, practiced movements, she begins to undo them, the zipper sliding down with a sound that seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"Okay," I respond, confused by what she's doing but too drunk to properly question it. I drain the glass as instructed, wincing at the strange aftertaste. "Why're you taking my pants off?"
Morgan's lips curve into a smile as she tugs my pants down my legs. "Because I want you to be naked when I fuck you."
While she speaks, I get distracted as I notice one of her nipples peeking through her incredibly loose silver dress, the fabric having shifted during her movements. My eyes fixate on it, a single point of focus in my swirling vision.
Heat rushes to my face, and I feel a stirring between my legs despite my intoxication. The wine glass slips from my fingers, landing softly on the plush carpet. "Morgan, you uhhh..." I stammer, unable to form a coherent thought as she pulls my boxers down, freeing my semi-hard cock.
Morgan looks up at me, her green eyes glittering in the dim light. "What?" she asks, her voice innocent yet predatory.
"Your t-titty," I slur, pointing vaguely at her chest. "It's kind of... showing."
Morgan follows my gaze and laughs, a melodic sound that echoes in my swimming consciousness. She makes no move to adjust the silver fabric that's slipped to reveal her pale breast.
"Do you like this dress, Adam?" she asks, her fingers trailing up my thighs.
I try to focus on the garment, the way it catches the light and flows around her body like liquid mercury. "It's nice. Yeah," I manage, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth.
She's already removed my pants, and my cock lies exposed against my thigh, responding to her proximity despite my intoxication. Something feels wrong about this situation, but the thought slips away like water through my fingers.
"Sit up," Morgan commands softly.
"Why?" I ask, even as my body complies without waiting for my brain's permission. The room tilts violently as I move, and I have to brace myself to keep from falling back.
"Arms up," she continues, her voice gentle but firm.
I obey out of sheer drunken confusion, raising my arms clumsily above my head. Morgan efficiently pulls my shirt off, her movements practiced and precise. The cool air hits my bare skin, sending goosebumps across my chest.
"Do you want me to keep the dress on?" she asks, standing between my spread legs, her hands resting on my bare shoulders.
I stare up at her, trying to process the question through the thick fog in my brain. She looks almost ethereal in the soft lighting, her auburn hair framing her face like a halo of fire.
"Morgan," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper as the room continues to spin. My thoughts feel like they're wading through molasses. "We can't do this. Lana and I need to talk."
She leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. The silver dress glitters as she moves closer, her perfume enveloping me.
"Adam," she whispers, her voice suddenly changing, becoming softer, more familiar. "I am Lana. I'm just playing a role."
I blink hard, trying to focus on her face. The room seems to roll on its axis, and for a moment, in the dim light, with my vision blurring, her features seem to shift. The auburn hair looks almost blonde now, and those green eyes... aren't they supposed to be blue?
"Baby?" I slur, confusion and hope mingling in my alcohol-soaked brain. "Is it really you?"
"Of course it's me," she purrs, pushing me back onto the bed with surprising strength. "Who else would it be?"
"But your hair..." I mumble, reaching up to touch it.
"Just a wig for work," she explains, climbing onto the bed, straddling me. "I missed you so much today."
"Baby, I missed you too," I whisper, relief flooding through me. It's Lana. My Lana. Everything's going to be okay.
She captures my wrists and pins them above my head, her face hovering inches from mine. Those green eyes pierce into me with an intensity I've never seen before. My Lana, always so sweet, so yielding in bed, suddenly commanding and powerful.
My cock hardens instantly, pressing against her through the thin fabric of her dress. Despite my confusion, despite the room spinning around us, my body responds to her dominance with primal enthusiasm.
"You know," she whispers, her lips trailing along my jaw, "I wore this dress during a scene once."
Her words send a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I strain against her grip, but she holds me firmly in place.
"You like that, right?" she breathes against my ear, her voice husky and seductive. "The thought of reclaiming what's yours? Taking back what other men have used?"
A moan escapes my lips as she grinds herself against my hardness.
"Yes," I gasp, arching up to meet her. "God, yes."
"I get you, Adam," she whispers against my mouth, her breath hot and sweet. "I understand what you need better than she ever could."
Before I can process her words, her lips crash against mine with a hunger that takes my breath away. This kiss is different, more demanding, more controlling than I'm used to from Lana. But god, it's so passionate that I can't help but surrender to it, my alcohol-addled brain lighting up with pleasure.
Her silver dress shimmers in the dim light as she positions herself above me, the fabric bunching around her waist. Her breasts spill free from the top of her dress, bouncing hypnotically as she continues to grind against me.
"Please," I beg, not entirely sure what I'm begging for.
She smiles down at me, adjusting herself just enough to guide my cock inside her. The sensation of entering her makes me cry out, she's so wet, so ready, but something feels different, unfamiliar.
"Oh god," I whimper as she takes me completely.
She leans down, her hair tickling my face as she whispers in my ear. "This cock, Adam... isn't even half as big as what I'm used to."
The words should hurt, should make me angry, but in my compromised state, they send a jolt of shameful arousal through me. She slams her hips down, taking me to the hilt, and I groan loudly, my fingers digging into the sheets.
"But," she continues, her voice softening as she rocks against me, the silver dress rustling between us, "it's a cock I could happily spend the rest of my life with."
I try to focus on her face, but it keeps shifting, blurring. Sometimes she's Lana, sometimes Morgan, the features melting together in my vision. The room spins faster as she rides me, the silver dress catching the light with each movement, never fully removed.
"You're mine now," she whispers, picking up her pace. "All mine."
"Lana," I moan, though something in the back of my mind screams that something isn't right.
"Yes, baby," she answers, her fingers digging into my chest. "That's right."
My hips buck upward involuntarily, meeting her thrusts. The pleasure builds despite my confusion, despite the growing darkness at the edges of my vision.
"I'm going to..." I slur, feeling my climax approaching with frightening speed.
"I know," she purrs, her movements growing more frantic, more possessive. She cups my face with both hands, her thumbs caressing my cheeks with surprising tenderness. "I want you to look into my eyes as you cum, Adam. Don't look away. Don't ever look away."
The command cuts through the fog in my brain, and I obey, focusing on those eyes as everything else blurs around me. My body tenses, pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine, ready to explode.
"That's it," she whispers, her gaze holding mine with hypnotic intensity. "Give it all to me."
I erupt inside her, my vision narrowing to just those eyes as the most intense orgasm of my life rips through me. It's transcendent, my entire body convulsing beneath her.
As the pleasure crests, those eyes, those beautiful eyes I thought I knew, seem to shift, crystallizing into a sharp, predatory green that pierces straight through my soul.
Her lips curve into a smile that's both tender and victorious as she watches me come undone. "I lied, baby," she whispers, her voice changing, hardening. "I am Morgan."
The words hit me like a physical blow, but my body is still trembling with aftershocks, betraying me even as my mind recoils in horror. I try to push her off, but my limbs are impossibly heavy, unresponsive.
"What... why..." I slur, darkness creeping further into my vision.
Morgan leans down, her auburn hair falling in a curtain around our faces, creating an intimate tent that shuts out the rest of the world. "Because you're mine," she whispers against my lips. "You've always been mine. You just didn't know it yet."
I struggle to keep my eyes open, to make sense of what's happening, but whatever she put in that wine is dragging me under with inexorable force.
"Sleep now," she murmurs, her voice softening as she strokes my hair. "When you wake up, everything will be normal again."
The last thing I see before unconsciousness claims me is Morgan's face, her expression a mixture of triumph and something looks startlingly like love.