"You're awake," Len says in a happy voice when my eyes slit open. I lay on my side facing him. He is standing on the threshold between bedroom and bath, his back casually leaning against the doorframe. Light from the other room silhouettes his naked body.
"Because you woke me up." I lift my head off the pillow. The chronometer shines: 4:45am. "What's so important?" I slump down. My fuzzy brain formulates a response. "Never mind. Just come to bed."
"Righto." The corners of his mouth tick upwards.
"I mean go back to sleep." My eyes close.
His throat clears again. And again. Every thirty seconds for another two minutes.
Damn Spock for teaching Len how to keep time with an internal clock. "What," I growl, reopening my eyes.
"Take a looksy for yourself." He points at his aroused cock. "Impressive, eh?" His smile is more self-satisfied than seductive.
"Seen it before," I reply with a deadpan expression then pull the covers over my head.
Len interprets this as praise. He serenades me, crooning 'Sway' in Dean Martin-like style. When I sit up, my back resting against pillows and the headboard, he tango walks (backwards) to the end of the bed and adds an impromptu dance.
Perhaps dance is too precise and artful a term. A gyrating motion.
After completing the last verse, he taps the tip of his cock with an index finger, his pride on full display. "This isn't just any ole' passing nocturnal penile tumescence …"
Yes, this is how a physician, or rather, this particular physician, talks dirty. Soon he'll lapse into Latin. I have yet to determine if these soliloquies are poetry or random anatomy terms. An erotic story he's translated from Andorian into Latin isn't outside the realm of possibility.
"… but a one hundred percent rock-solid hard on …" he continues.
I moan. Not in a good way.
"… wait, don't go anywhere …"
Like I was planning on getting out of bed at this ungodly hour.
Len returns from the bathroom, stopping in its doorway, and performs the towel rack demonstration in an imitation of a censored statue of David.
"Guess there's no need for that trip to Florence we planned," I murmur in a sarcastic tone before realizing this comment will only encourage him.
Shedding the towel, he circles his thumb and index finger around his cock's shaft and slowly slides them upward, highlighting memorable girth and length. "… and too good to waste on a solo."
Yes, Len is quite the romantic.
In a universe other than the one we inhabit.
His eyes cast downward, the corners of his mouth droop ever so slightly.
No … not the sad puppy look. I swear he practices it with a mirror. And he does have a very satisfying cock …
I swing the blanket away from my body. Wiggle my hips in a circular pattern. Once panties reach my thighs, I curl my legs into my chest and liberate the undergarment. He catches them in midair. Laying on my back with knees spread apart and pressed against the mattress, I say, "You're responsible for the shirt."
"I think not." Len's tone and words send a shiver down my spine. He walks to my side, gait slow, hand stroking his cock. Stops inches outside of my reach. "Yes, on, I think. The feel of damp silk between us, sticking to our skin as we come together …"
My breath hitches. He lies on his side, facing me.
"Oh you like the sound of that do you?" A hand brushes over my abdomen then slips under the hem of my shirt. My breast nestles in his palm. He lowers his head, nose tracing down mine. My lips part, inviting his to linger; I feel those lips smile against mine before they move to my collarbone.
Kisses are important to Len. An act of the highest intimacy. Tonight he's delaying that pleasure.
A hand caresses my breast, its thumb and forefinger rolling the nipple, his mouth plays with the other through the material. The effect is sensuous: calloused fingertips, delicate touch, soft lips, rough tongue, warm, moist fabric adhering to my breast. My fingers run through his hair as he fondles and sucks; his tiny nips elicit a groan from me, enough pressure to alter the sensation without causing discomfort. Len plays a woman's body as a virtuoso musician coaxes music from a treasured instrument.
"What do you want?" I ask between coos and sighs.
"To be inside you." His hand roams, drawing a path from my navel and down, fingers brush my clit and opening, evaluating, gauging. "These morning erections, sensitivity is heighted, I feel … more."
I lift his chin and cup his face. Gaze into his half-lidded eyes, vividly blue and intoxicated with desire. "Then fuck me, Len. Deep and long."
He props on a bent arm, head leaning against his palm, a pose accenting defined pecs and delts. "Damn, I love you."
His inner physician takes over. Len can't stop tending any more than he can stop breathing. He prepares for my comfort. A pillow is placed under my hips. He lies on top of me and wraps one of my legs around his waist; he raises the other over his shoulder. Lube is generously applied. His cock circles my opening, dipping in and out, like toes testing water at a beach, venturing further when he decides I'm ready.
My back arches, angling my hips up, teeth scrape my lips. "Please," I murmur.
One thrust and he's fully inside me. Pulls out and thrusts in again, repeating the pattern. When I feel his cock's first small jerk, I grind my pelvis against him, seeking friction; his hand snakes between us, rubbing and stroking my clit. My leg falls from his shoulder, the bottom of its foot resting on the bed. Len pulls me up and forward, into an embrace, our chests press tightly, my arms encircle his shoulders. Gazing into the other's eyes, we climax and come down together.
He gently lays me down, brushes the hair away from my eyes and kisses me. It's tender. Soft. Unhurried. Sexy. Compresses into one small act the depth, breadth, and width of his feelings for me.
Len starts to pull out. My arms tighten, keeping him in place. "Not yet. Stay with me."
Later, showered, again in bed, towels and robes discarded, he leans against the headboard with legs bent at the knee then pulls me between his thighs. My back rests against his, my legs nest inside his, my head tucks under his chin. His right hand clasps my right knee, thumb on top, fingers underneath and stroking. His other arm drapes across my chest in a protective hug. My left arm lays on top of his, its hand covering his.
His lips nuzzle my neck and ear. "Good morning, Darling."