"Do you trust me, darling?" Len whispers in my ear, standing behind with one arm wrapped around my waist hugging me close to his body.

My answer is instinctual, is given in less than a nanosecond, is uttered in a breathy voice, "Implicitly."

I can feel his lips unfold in a smile and the slight hitch in his breath. He gently kisses the sensitive area where my neck and shoulder meet, pausing to inhale the scent of my perfume; knowing he likes it I always dab a bit on this spot. "Close your eyes," he murmurs. Len tightens his arm around my waist when I naturally pitch forward after obeying his request. "Feel steady now?"

I nod.

He lets go. The next thing I notice is a silky material covering my eyes. Maybe a scarf, I guess when Len cinches a loose knot at the back of my head, careful to avoid trapping or pulling the surrounding tresses. The drape of its delicate folds is titillating, seductive. My lips part slightly.

Len's arm now again securely around my waist, my back pressed against his chest, his legs spread a bit wider than mine, he leisurely traces a line across my eyebrow with the tips of his fingers staring at the bridge of my nose; they drift down my cheek as if floating on the water of a gentle pond and across the rim of my ear before sliding down my neck. He says with a quiet tone in his soft southern drawl, "I've noticed you often close your eyes when I touch you, when my mouth teases, sucks," I inhale audibly, he continues, "when I … well darling, you get the picture."

I am now breathing faster. Which I know pleases him.

He places a hand over my heart. It skips a beat then ticks up. I feel his smile again. "Good girl. So I got to thinking, maybe you like the anticipation," his fingers caress my collarbone and the hollow of my throat. "Maybe you get off not knowing where I may wander next." His fingers dip between my breasts and stroke my sternum.

An electric jolt travels up my spine.

"Is that what you like?"

I nod almost imperceptibly trembling from arousal and desire.

"Do you trust me, darling," he repeats in a whisper.

"Yes," I whisper back. "Please," I encourage.

"Good." He kisses the top of my head, moves in front, and leads me by the hand. "Stand here." I hear the quiet sounds of him settling on a sofa or into a chair before he instructs, "Slowly now, I want to see and enjoy every beautiful inch of you." Len's hand squeezes mine before letting go reassuring he is nearby if I stumble, if I need him.

I kick off my boots. My uniform tunic lands on the floor, where I have no idea. Next, I remove pants and my hands move to the hem of my black undershirt.

"Wait, babe," Len calls.

I imagine his reactions. Parted lips. Teeth raking the lower one. Fingers rubbing his chin. That crooked, half smile I adore.

"Panties next," he says.

I oblige. Then playfully lift the undershirt to my navel and widen my stance exposing every intimate area. He inhales sharply. I smile slightly then look away. Having offered a brief glimpse, I let the undershirt fall back into place.

"I am truly a fortunate man. Please go on, don't let me interrupt further."

My smile quirks to the side, turning mischievous. Tracing fingers down one breast I cup it underneath and gently knead. The other hand strokes my inner thigh. I hear rustling on the chair. I tug off the undershirt then cup both breasts, thumb brushing the nipples hard and erect until clearly shrouded by my bra. In my mind's eye I see Len's hands running down the length of his thighs. His back arching. His thighs tensing. His fingers flexing. Tongue licking his lips.

"You're such a tease," he says. It's a throaty, husky tone of voice.

"You want to touch them, don't you? Lap them with your tongue? Nip and nibble?" I ask as my finger encircles a veiled nub.

"Oh God yes," Len replies in rapid speech. His hand rubs the material constraining his growing arousal.

Unhooking the bra I toss it in the direction where I believe he is sitting. I lick my fingertips then stroke them over my nipple and up to my throat.

"Damn it, do you think I'm a Vulcan robot? Your little striptease is likely to kill me."

Following the sound of his voice, I reach out hands until his press against mine. I probe further, tentatively feeling until I find his chest, waist. I fumble for the button on his pants. First my fingers land too far right, then too low skimming his erection. He places his larger hand over mine, holding it against his cock, inhaling slowly and holding his breath. I reach up, targeting his mouth for a quick kiss, My lips miss his, instead my cheek brushes his cheek. Len's other hand guides my chin into position. We kiss. He fondles my breasts during a second kiss. My hand hovers protectively over his warm cock.

Intricate knowledge of anatomy has so, so many practical applications. Len is an indescribably skilled kisser; he knows exactly where to place a chaste kiss for conveying fondness or maximizing seduction. He understands the mouth is a primary and robust erogenous zone.

And he possesses a talented, agile tongue. Once, during an unusually lengthy French kiss I came while sitting on his lap.

"My turn," Len says impatiently, jumping to his feet and placing a hand on the small of my back. He guides us to the bed pushing me down onto its edge. "Scoot in and lean back," he instructs while plumping the pillows. A few minutes later I feel the mattress depress beside me. I wonder if he has shed his clothes. I hear a clink and a thud as if he has laid items on a nearby table.

Sometimes languid, sometimes with speed, at times caressing tenderly, at times rubbing with exquisite pressure, always at random, Len's hands and mouth separately travel my body. The anticipation of what may be next leaves me breathless and writhing, pleading for more. A kiss here, a stroke there. A lick. A nip. Tickling fingers which I shoo away with a squeal of dismay laced with pleasure. Something moist and warm against my breast, it feels wonderful. Breath on my inner thigh. A heady mélange of mouth and tongue sucking and Frenching my nipples while two fingers rub and tweak the sensitive outer ring leaving me breathless.

Anticipation crests when hearing a lengthy squirt from a bottle. I clench my thighs together before eagerly laying them open. Len slowly traces his lubed fingers between my breasts, over my navel and abdomen, down, down, down to my clit which receives a brief, feathery light touch. With ever widening then tightening circles, those marvelous fingers explore every millimeter of my most intimate area then nudge at my opening. One finger slips in and out. In and out. In and out. It is joined by a second.

Folks say Enterprise's CMO always has a comment, is chatty according to a certain half-Vulcan. Len's no different during sex. "You're doing so good darling, you're so warm, so wet my fingers slip right inside."

My fists claw the sheets. I pant. I arch my pelvis higher. I raise on elbows.

His pace remains steady but not enough to bring a climax. "That flush in your cheeks, knowing I put it there turns me on." He adds a third finger. I sigh and whimper simultaneously – a simper. He encourages, "You're so wet my hand is dripping. You're almost ready for me."

"Please," I beg. I clench my pelvis trying to prevent his fingers from pulling out.

"Sometimes I think you want this more than me inside you," he teases.

"No … I … oh … "

"Tell me what you want babe, you know I love hearing it," The thumb of his other hand rubs my clit inside and outside its hood, top to bottom, rolling it between thumb and index finger.

"I … want … need … oh my god … crave this and your cock buried … deep … in me … oh … oh … thrusting … in … out … again … how can you … expect … me … to speak … when … when …" He crooks his fingers, brushing just the right spot; pushing me farther, it feels as if I am now teetering on a high, high ledge, and pitching forward oh so very slowly … ever closer to oblivion, ever closer to free falling; I hold my breath knowing even the tiniest inhalation will send me careening to the ground. I abruptly rise onto knees; gasping I throw my arms around Len's neck, my vagina clenches his fingers as pleasure vibrates through me. In my mind's eye I see his satisfied expression, his knowing smile.

"Now I have to start over," he says in a pretend huff, rubbing circles on my back as I come down and my breathing slows, relishing the anticipation of bring us both back to the brink, cupping my cheek so I know he is teasing. I lose track of how long he cradles me in his arms and murmurs endearments and affections in my ear.

Life with a health care professional is unique, a loving touch can convey body temperature, heartrate, and for one as nuanced as Len, unusual changes in blood pressure. He is also especially mindful of stimulation thresholds which I cross easily flipping pleasure to discomfort and even delicate strokes to raw friction. Trailing kisses across my forehead, watching for my every subtle reaction, he reaches for my sex and tenderly probes. Judging I am again ready for his ministrations Len asks, "Do you mind?"

"I'd like that," I reassure.

I crave close touch, bodies pressed together as we meld into one. Len is tactile and visual. He loves the human form, especially a woman's, the grace of her neck, the contours of her back, the curve of her waist and hips. He craves the feeling of his hands wandering and caressing his lover's body while buried insider her. From behind he can penetrate deeper, on hands and knees I open wider and more easily accommodate his well-endowed length and girth. Len guides me into position so, with my silken blindfold still securely tied, I don't get too close to the edge of the bed and tumble over its side.

His hands roam my hips, slide down and cup my behind, work their way up by abdomen, then move down again. He trails the palm of his hand up my spine, I arch up to meet it. He leans down, chest pressed to my back, hands cupping my breasts, lips kissing my neck and caressing my hair.

"I'm ready Len, promise. And eager. Beyond eager. I need you inside …"

"Aren't you impatient," he chides with a grin I cannot see. Rising, he lines up and leisurely enters. At three-quarters of the way, he pulls back and slides in again. On the fourth entry he thrusts in completely, fully enveloped. I wiggle slightly.

"Angle your hips up an inch, it will be more comfortable," he responds.

Who am I to argue with the directions of a physician? I follow the advice, then sigh. He wraps an arm around my waist. The other hand massages my shoulders.

Len's rhythm increases along with force of his thrusts. I throw my head back. He moans. His fingers find my clit, I long to reach back and stroke his penis as it moves in and out of me. We both begin panting. His hands move to my hips which he holds tightly in place. One, two, three more powerful thrusts and we both climax. He lingers inside me as the pulsing and contraction of muscles ramps down, slows, then halts.

I nestle into the soft bed, laying on my back. He joins me, clasping my hand. I pull off the scarf and turn my head in Len's direction. His pupils are wide, his expression blissful, a small smile graces his lips. He props up on an elbow and gazes down at me, eyes full of love and tenderness. A gentle kiss follows. Then another and another.

We spend hours in each other's arms, talking of the insignificant, touching to convey affection rather than arousal. As I am drifting off to sleep, he nudges my ear with his nose and whispers, "Shall I keep the scarf?"

"Definitely. Do you trust me, darling?"

"Implicitly," he answers with a smile.