The drive back from the mountain town was quiet, broken only by the crunch of tires on snow and the soft murmur of the radio. Sophie was at the wheel, loose strands of hair slipping from beneath her hat, a faint blush from the cold brightening her cheeks. The blue sweater she wore matched her eyes, and to Professor Miller—seated in the passenger seat, watching her—it made her look impossibly real.
The car crawled along slowly; there was no need to rush. The road was empty.
Her seatbelt pressed across her chest, drawing David's eyes to her small, firm breasts. He couldn't look away. She was incredible—the faint down above her lip, only visible in the mountain sunlight, the slight curve of her nose, the concentrated expression as she studied the road.
He set his hand on her thigh, stroking it through the rough denim. At once, he noticed how her knuckles whitened on the wheel. She was fighting to maintain composure, but he knew her too well. That single touch was already driving her mad. What a remarkable woman, Miller thought with awe.
Sophie parted her lips, her breathing deepened, her thighs tensed. David, never looking away from her, slid his hand higher. His fingers brushed the heat at her core, even through the fabric. Sophie gasped, her body jerking, the wheel twitching in her grip—
And the world vanished.
The snowy mountains, the dark winter sky, the road—everything dissolved. In their place stretched spring: a boundless green steppe rolling to the horizon, tall grass swaying in the warm wind, a sky so bright it hurt the eyes. The car continued to crawl forward, only now along a dirt road winding through fields bursting with flowers. The scent of grass and blossoms flooded the cabin. This wasn't a vision. They were here, in another world. It had happened again.
Sophie's hands gripped the wheel, her eyes wide, her breath unsteady.
"David…" she whispered. "This… this is real."
For two minutes they drove in silence, stunned, while the dirt road drummed beneath the tires and the steppe breathed with life—alien, frightening, and achingly beautiful. David stared at Sophie's profile, illuminated by that strange, too-bright light, and felt their bond, their passion, tearing reality apart again.
Snapping out of her shock, Sophie slammed the brakes. The car jolted to a halt. Instantly the world around them shuddered like a mirage. The green steppe vanished, replaced by the familiar snowbound road and encircling mountains. Cold air seeped back into the cabin.
Without a word, Sophie pulled to the shoulder, set the handbrake, her movements steady but taut with tension. Then, still silent, she stripped off her sweater, then her bra, baring her breasts, and leaned back against the seat with her eyes closed.
David stared, entranced. Her nipples tightened in the cold and in arousal. He tugged at her seatbelt so that it pressed harder against her chest, gently squeezing. He slid the belt back and forth, stimulating her nipples as her breathing turned ragged, her lips parting, her body quivering. Sophie joined the game, slipping the lower strap between her legs, still in her jeans. David guided the belt, so now it teased her in two places at once.
Her moans, faint at first, grew louder, richer, filling the cabin like music.
And then reality itself began to flicker.
Spring—the green steppe, the warm wind, the blazing sky.Winter—the snow, the mountains, the freezing air.Spring. Winter. Spring. Winter.
The world quivered like a mirage, switching with each moan, with each movement of the belt. Sophie arched, her eyes still closed, her fingers clutching the seat. David felt his mind teeter on the brink of madness.
Spring. Winter. Spring. Winter.
The seasons spun in a delirious whirl, collapsing in on themselves, and he felt himself unraveling—lost in her cries, in their connection, in the force of passion tearing reality apart.