I am Gustave Klimdt's pale dark-haired beauty swathed in a patchwork quilt of gold. My breath rises and falls as my lover presses up next to me. Now his fingers push the gilded cloth away and circle my breast and then my belly. His wet lips meet my swollen nipple, his tongue teasing and lapping as I feel the heat burn between my legs. I moan in my sleep, fighting the urge to open my eyes, as I know that when I do the dream will slip out of my grasp.