I dreamed of him tonight. While my lady curled up beside me, her scent warm and redolent of sex, I dreamed of his arms around me, his tongue moist between my breasts. I was moving against him in the dream. It was night, inside his small mountainside cabin. I could even feel the cold air. I moved against him, my hips against his in a vigorous rhythm. I was fast reaching release, my fingers dug into his back, my face buried against his shoulders. He groaned and I pulled away, looking into his eyes, revelling at the need in them, the desire. Laughing softly, my hands brushed his nipples. They hardened beneath my finger tips. He thrust harder. I gasped aloud at the spike of pleasure and pain through my body. When both of us found release, the world spun.
"You were calling out his name," my lady murmured softly. My heart drummed hard. I felt the lovemaking. My abdomen was tender, sore.
"Lisbet," I gathered her in my arms. She gently extracted herself out.
"You need him, you love him," Lisbet said with no accusation in her voice. "You want to go back to him."
In the darkness of the chamber, I saw her eyes. They were solemn. Tear-filled.
"Need. Love. What is the difference?" I said.
Sighing, Lisbet leaned back, drawing me close to her, mouth to mouth. Her kiss was always the softest like rose petals. "Like now. The day will come. But not tonight, not tonight."