The dark-haired woman lowers herself again and runs her hands up the inside of my legs, stopping only to lick her lips as she nears my inner thighs.
“What is this?” I plead, trying to stay focussed and not let the growing need between my legs take over.
“You forbade me from touching you, and I will never let another man or woman alive touch you, so this is the best I could come up with.”
“I can’t feel them.”
“No? Then maybe you just need to fantasise. Though I doubt you can imagine their touch as mine.”
“Valdemar—” I begin, but I don’t get to finish as the dark-haired woman’s hand disappears between my legs and the blonde woman continues to touch my breasts. Although the image of them is there, all I can feel is a shadow of their touch, a suggestion of what I could be feeling, and I want to scream.
“This is torture,” I say.
“For you or me?”
“Why would you do this to me?” I almost cry.
“I’m only doing what you asked. I want to indulge you to help you forget, but you told me no touching, so I’m adhering to your wishes.” Valdemar stands, pushes his hands deep into his pockets, and walks towards the stage.
The dark-haired woman’s fingers work me just before her head dips to replace her hand. I grab for her hair, but my hands grapple at thin air.
“Valdemar, please,” I whimper as he climbs the steps to the right of the stage and stalks across the boards, his hands still hidden in his pockets.
“Please what?” he says.
Pleasure kisses me all over but only lightly, too lightly. It’s not enough to satisfy the arousal these women have ignited, and I want more—needmore. It’s like the smell of yourfavourite dessert as the waiter flounces it before your eyes on a shiny silver platter.
“I don’t care what I said. Just touch me. Please,” I beg.
He’s close now, his eyes boring into my naked skin. The women move behind my back as he stands before me.
“Believe me, I wish I could.” His eyes drop to my breasts, then below my waist before rising back to meet my own. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?” I loathe the desperation in my voice, but my need is growing with every second his hands aren’t upon me.
“I need your consent,” he says.
“I give it. Now. I consent. Just touch me,” I plead.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I need you to give consent in the real world, not in this one.”
“You never had my consent before, yet you touched me anyway, so why is this different?” I argue.
“I was relying on your subconscious before, letting you lead the dream, but today you explicitly told me I wasn’t allowed to touch you, so I have to honour that.”
“Like fuck you do. When did you grow a conscience?” I snap.
By the flicker in his eye, I can tell my remark has stung him.
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I am, so please, just make me feel the way you do every night. Please,” I whimper.
“Not until I have your consent, angel.”
And with his last word, the whole room dissolves, taking Valdemar with it.
