It was worth it. It was more than worth the inconvenience. Having her in his life.

Even so, Peter was afraid to drive the Monkeemobile. In fact, he was afraid to do almost everything, so he let Mike or one of the others do the driving, which wasn't difficult, since Mike drove most of the time anyway, unless one of them went somewhere alone. He was so paranoid of Leslie seeing him that it essentially ruled his life. He was always watching out for Leslie whenever any of them went somewhere together, ever ready to scooch down in the seat so she wouldn't see him in the car. He had decided he would pretend to pick something up from the floorboard so the others wouldn't think he'd lost his mind. They already thought he was a bit eccentric as it was.

He had to remain ever vigilant. He had to be even more careful about the beach, as she might see him hanging around Davy, Micky or Mike, and then want to get to know them. It had happened before. But it wasn't going to happen this time.

Peter always called before going to see Leslie, but he lived in fear the boyfriend would show up when Peter was already there, or that the boyfriend would be at her house when he got there. What would happen then? Peter didn't relish the thought of having the shit beaten out of him.

Leslie wasn't sure exactly why she hadn't told Peter that Michael was a musician. Maybe she'd gotten into the habit of not being open and honest? Perhaps she was afraid of losing Peter-afraid Peter would think he wasn't good enough to be her friend, knowing her boyfriend was so talented musically-was in a band that was in great demand, at least locally.

She still didn't know exactly where Peter lived—didn't even know if he had a car. Didn't know his last name even. She was hesitant about asking him, as she had a feeling he wasn't proud of his lot in life at the moment. He never brought it up. She didn't know what kind of place he lived in. House? Apartment? If he had any roommates? Most bachelors lived very simply, and certainly not fashionably, so she assumed he was embarrassed to have her see his place. It might be run down. He might have a junker of a car too, although she'd never seen him driving around the neighborhood. Maybe he took the bus wherever he needed to go. So many questions remained unanswered.

She'd finally gotten Michael to admit he hadn't wanted her to meet his roommates because he was afraid of her being attracted to them, but Peter… he was not budging about telling her anything about his private life, much less even explaining why.

Leslie no sooner drove into the shelter's parking lot than Mrs. Marston and Veronica were upon her. It had been almost a week since she'd been here. She felt guilty, as if she'd deserted them. Mrs. Marston could tell almost immediately that Leslie was having man troubles. She didn't even need to be told.

"How are Michael and Peter? And have you told Michael about Peter yet?" she asked at her soonest opportunity, eyes wide, eager to hear more of Leslie's ongoing saga. It was her lifeline to life outside the shelter. An ongoing soap opera, only one she had a personal investment in. She cared a lot for Leslie. Almost as if the girl were a second daughter.

"They're both fine, and no… I haven't told Michael yet. And even more strangely, Peter hasn't even told me where he lives yet. I know almost nothing about the guy!"

"Isn't it difficult, making sure they don't connect?"

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Is it ever! I have to plan which days I'll see each one, and just hope Michael doesn't ask if we can change the schedule. Hasn't happened yet… but when it does, I'll have to make up an excuse, and I hate the idea of lying to him."

"And I wonder why Peter is being so mysterious," Mrs. Marston said almost to herself.

"That's a good question. Either he's embarrassed by something, or he has something to hide. But I can't imagine the latter, because he's always so open. So innocent-seeming. Wait until you meet him Mrs. Marston! He's one of the most down to earth, honest…." She struggled for words to describe Peter…"considerate people I've ever met."

Mrs. Marston didn't like the vibes she was getting. She feared something unpleasant—or worse, might happen. If Michael and Peter were to run into each other at the wrong time… it could end up badly—even tragically. Even if it hurt Michael—and she knew it would—she felt Leslie should tell Michael about Peter. But she couldn't tell Leslie how to run her life, now could she?

She finally got to meet Michael the next day. On a whim, Leslie had asked him to go to the shelter with her, unsure of what his reaction might be. He'd surprised her by agreeing immediately, without wavering. He explained they'd taken a day off from practicing when he'd called her. Of course he didn't know it, but Peter tried to call Leslie after he and Leslie had already left. No one picked up the line...

Mrs. Marston's quick evaluation of him revealed how naturally dignified Michael was, how mature, the moment he stepped out of the Monkeemobile. She'd already known he was tall, dark and handsome from Leslie's description, but she wasn't prepared for how imposing he was. His presence was almost overwhelming at first. When he arrived, you knew it! He didn't give the impression he was one someone could easily pull something over on. That worried her. His intelligent eyes were everywhere—taking in every little detail around him.

But Mrs. Marston could certainly see why Leslie was so attracted to him. He oozed masculinity in a steady flow. Everything he did was slow and calculated. Everything he said was measured in a slow Southern drawl. He was intelligent and almost frighteningly articulate.

He wore a knitted wool hat that gave him character—let the world know he wasn't mainstream in a confident, deliberate way. On first presentation, he was a bit standoffish and cool as he sized you up. He wasn't exactly brusque, but decidedly discriminating and cautious.

What earned him major points was how proper and polite he was to Mrs. Marston and Veronica, even though he kept an emotional distance. He was guarding himself—Mrs. Marston could now see what Leslie had spoken of. He was a whole lot of man, and that tough exterior of his wouldn't be easy to break through. Yet Leslie had… Mrs. Marston mentally had to congratulate Leslie on having excellent taste.

But she could also see deeper than this. A glimpse of the man underneath. She saw a potentially passionate man who was enclosed by a mental concrete wall. He'd been hurt, alright, and she hoped Leslie realized they weren't surface wounds. They ran deep. His reserved, almost suspicious nature stated it louder than words.

Just as Mrs. Marston was mulling over how hardened he must be, Michael leaned over and rubbed Breezy's fur and murmured sweetly to her. A smile spread over her face. Ah-there it was! She could now see there was a softer side of him. And of course there was! Leslie had good taste. Under the hard shell, the man was really very gentle. He made her think of a clam who sometimes peeked out at the world when things looked safe.

Mrs. Marston admonished herself-of course Leslie wouldn't be interested unless there was tenderness to the man! She knew Leslie well enough to know she wouldn't waste her time with a tough, unfeeling ruffian.

Veronica was meek by nature, but when she saw Michael, she became positively timid. He appeared unforgiving and tough to her, and no wonder. Michael wasn't for the faint of heart.

But Michael seemed to know the effect he had on some people. He transformed then, right before Mrs. Marston's eyes. Shrewdly discovering how much Veronica liked animals, he used it to his advantage. Before an hour had elapsed, he and Veronica were out on the grounds, throwing a stick for Breezy, their laughter carrying to Mrs. Marston and Leslie, all traces of Veronica's fear of him having vanished. Mrs. Marston was astonished at Veronica's abrupt turnaround.

"I think she's in love with both of them!" cried Mrs. Marston, gesturing toward Michael and Breezy, through girlish laughter. She sliced Leslie a sideways glance. She saw that Leslie's brows were furrowed in thought.

"He doesn't laugh often, or even smile that often," said Leslie as she watched the two with her dog.

"Oh, I bet he smiles for you," Mrs. Marston teased.

"Well… yes, he does. But he's still pretty stingy with them. I think it's a habit."

"Yes, a self-protective habit," agreed Mrs. Marston. She knew about Leslie kissing Michael, and she wondered how much longer it would be before something more happened. She would know, even if Leslie didn't tell her. And Leslie was very much aware of that. Just try keeping anything from the ever heedful Mrs. Marston!

When they left, Mrs. Marston and Veronica stared after them, watching Michael open the car door for Leslie, waving at them with his ever present poise, winking teasingly at Veronica, and making her blush, then sliding into the driver's seat and rumbling off in his sexy car in a slightly dramatic cloud of dust. Except for the absence of a horse, in some obscure way, he reminded Mrs. Marston of the Lone Ranger. He certainly wore the mask, even though it didn't exist physically, but metaphorically.

"The man I'm going to marry someday…" said Veronica a little later, "will be just like Michael."' Mrs. Marston was stunned. Veronica had never said anything like that before about any man.

"I thought he scared you at first."

"Yeah, he did, kinda. But really... he's a sweetheart." Mrs. Marston had the feeling Veronica had summed the tall man up very well.

As if this weren't ground shaking enough, when Leslie brought Peter over the next week, Mrs. Marston was frankly staggered. Leslie had just not prepared her properly! Not for either one of them! But at the same time, she saw that she could never have been truly prepared.

Peter bedazzled her instantly. He was so much the complete opposite of Michael—everything from his hair to his demeanor. Yet every bit as appealing. Where Michael was tall, Peter was average in height. Where Mike was dark, with nearly black hair and deep brown eyes, Peter had delightfully blond hair with lighter streaks that caught the sunbeams with amazing brilliance. This was even more dramatic under the trees where shafts of sunlight would filter through and and splash over his hair. His eyes were hazel—changing their hue from minute to minute, and emotion to emotion.

But the most striking differences were in temperament. While Mike was naturally quiet and appeared almost brooding, Peter was forever smiling-exuding happiness and spreading it to everyone and everything around him. And his dimple! It rated right up there with some of the most adorable things Mrs. Marston had ever seen. He also had his pockets stuffed with candy bars that he gave to Veronica to keep for herself or distribute them as she saw fit.

Peter's personality was completely open—no dark corners, no shield. Everything was right out there for the world to see. Simple, pure, charming and… innocent? Is that the word she searched for?

Michael was all maturity—Peter was all about fun and laughter. He practically bounced when he walked. He constantly threw his head to the side to keep his abundant hair from obstructing his vision. Too cute. And that body—just about flawless.

No wonder Leslie was so taken by them both! If Mrs. Marston were 25 years younger, and she were lucky enough to have them both enamored with her, she knew she'd be in the exact same boat.

While others at the shelter had regarded Michael with slight apprehension when they'd met him, Peter had instantly won everyone's heart. The best way to put it, mused Mrs. Marston, was that Peter simply spread and shared his sunshine.

Veronica had no moments of uncertainty with Peter. It was immediately as if he'd been her friend all her life. When Veronica was showing Peter the ducks and geese by the pond, Mrs. Marston and Leslie could hear them talking faintly. Veronica was telling Peter all the names she'd given the fowl, and Peter showed rapt interest, pointing to each duck or goose and repeating the names back to Veronica without a single error.

"I'm speechless," Mrs. Marston said simply. There was really nothing else to say—there just weren't any words.

"I know," said Leslie. "Now you understand why I… have to have them both in my life."

Shrewd Mrs. Marston didn't miss the way Peter looked at Leslie either...when he thought no one was looking...

For the first time since they'd become a band, the money was rolling in steadily. People flocked to wherever they were playing. Club owners were having to wait many weeks in advance to get a chance to feature the Monkees. Their gig pay was reflected in that. The boys could scarcely believe their fortune. All their hard practicing was finally coming to fruition.

"I'm gonna get a scooter. They're groovy chick magnets," announced Davy.

"I've got my eye on some far out cymbals I saw the other day—you'd oughta see 'em, guys. Man, you're gonna dig 'em," this came from Micky.

Peter and Mike were silent. Peter was thinking about what he might get for Leslie, racking his mind for something she'd really like.

"Man, you guys better be careful," drawled Mike. "Just 'cause we've got the dough now, doesn't necessarily mean things are gonna stay like this."

"What'd you spend your cut on?" Micky wanted to know.

"I put it in savings, just like you guys shoulda done." Mike threw them both a demeaning look that almost made them wither; Micky felt small, even though he was only an inch shorter than Mike. Davy felt even shorter than he was. They both shut up for the moment, having been put in their place by Mike, a common occurrence. Mike had smoothly slipped into the role of leader very early on.

When Mr. Babbitt knocked on the door, Mike silently handed him the rent, a smug look on his face. Mr. Babbitt looked a bit taken aback. "On time this month, huh?" he asked. This didn't happen often. In fact, he didn't recall it ever happening.

"Am I at the right place?" Mr. Babbitt stood back as if to view the address.

"Very funny. We're finally getting successful. At least around town, we are," explained Mike.

"I read about in the newspaper. You're getting some good promotion. Might even have to get you a manager before long," said Mr. Babbitt.

"Uh… I don't think we need to start worrying about that yet. We're managing ourselves pretty well."

"Well, as long as you have the rent, I'm not complaining," and Mr. Babbitt was gone.

Michael's eyes roved over her just as naturally as you please when she opened the door for him. He still refused to just walk in-not feeling comfortable about it quite yet. He could forget to breathe while looking at her. In fact, he'd rather look at her than breathe. Pink tank top, white hip huggers, fair hair loose around her shoulders and hanging down her back, a few dainty bracelets around her wrist, her signature cologne that he'd know anywhere. She looked so enticing… He yanked his eyes away, but not fast enough for Leslie to catch the hunger in them.

Now his eyes were unreadable. Able to change in a split second. He must be one damn good poker player.

"You look ravishing tonight," he said, a spark of humor coloring his words as he kissed the back of her hand gallantly, causing her to giggle. He half-noticed the fact that the lamp was already turned down low. Most of his attention was on her.

He was wearing a blue turtleneck and black jeans. And those sexy boots that always made her heart race. The click of his heels... She couldn't take her eyes off him. He was perfectly, beautifully groomed. There was a thickness in the air—an energy that had Leslie fidgeting. Made her feel high strung. Trying to hide it from Michael, trying to act casual, was becoming difficult. She was afraid he'd know she was restless, and, more importantly, why.

All was quiet.

"Touch me," he whispered. The silence once more engulfed them. She walked over and shut the front door, as they had been so wrapped up in staring at each other that they'd left it standing open.

She returned to him, stood in front of him, and her hand reached out slowly… ever so slowly. When it finally made contact with his upper arm, they both twitched with the shock of it. She ran her fingers slowly all the way down to his wrist. Not much pressure—just enough to caress. He took a deep breath. She watched his chest rise and fall.

"Hug me," he whispered next. This familiar game they'd played in the past hadn't been utilized lately. That was because they hadn't been coming inside her house. Tonight it evoked a new, deeper meaning. She hesitated, looking into his eyes for guidance. "It's okay." He practically purred those two words.

She went into his arms just as slowly as she'd reached out to touch him. Little by little. She saw the whisper of a tremble in him. The tension was almost unbearable. The hug instantly set her on fire. It happened so fast that it nearly knocked her off her feet. It was a close, needy hug. Yes, he needed her—she felt it. Not just physically, but in deeper ways as well.

He bent his head and she felt his warm breath as his lips began to kiss right below her ear, his respiration coming quickly, and she thought she was going to faint dead away. Her desire had risen, and spilled right over the top. He continued to kiss her neck. Every touch of his lips made her tingle dramatically all over, right down to her fingers and toes. She was unfamiliar with this brand of desire. Never knew it existed until Michael.

"Michael…" she said softly, and so breathlessly that her voice almost didn't come out. But it did, and he heard it. And responded.

"I need you," he said simply. A man of few words, but when he said something, he made it count. He led her to the couch, her legs quaking the whole way. She seemed to have lost the ability to navigate. Luckily the couch was only a few feet away.

They sat down. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm good. Don't split for even a second... it'll be a drag."

"Why?"

"Because I want you here, beside me."

What he didn't say was that it had been far too long since they'd been alone. Going to the park, the movies, the homeless shelter, and of course, the beach at night were fine... but it was about time she stopped avoiding being alone with him. And that's just what she'd been doing. He was no fool. But one thing was for sure-he wasn't going to put the pressure on. She'd had that entirely too much with other guys. She needed to find out that she didn't have to be used by a guy, or be frightened by one either.

They sat there, side by side, and he slowly, deliberately put his arm on the back of the couch, and around her. She felt herself shaking inside, and prayed it didn't show on the outside.

"Tell me about your day," he was trying to put her at ease. Bless him for that, she thought.

"Breezy and I went to the park, then I went to get groceries. Real exciting," she knew it wasn't especially entertaining, but it was the truth.

"How did practice go?"

"Fair. Micky and Davy weren't in synch, and Peter messed up here and there... pretty unusual for him. He's had his head up his butt lately, but he's a good guy."

Leslie tried to picture the guys in her head. She knew Davy was short, because Michael had told her so. He was also the woman charmer, but she didn't know anything else about any of them. It would have been easy enough to stroll over to the Pad and watch until she saw one or more of them going in and out when they weren't at practice, but Michael had specifically said he wasn't ready for her to meet them. So she'd made up her mind she wouldn't try to sneak a peek. It didn't stop her from dying inside from the curiosity though.

After a while, Leslie nestled up to Michael's side while laughing at a joke of his that was even funnier because he told it with that deadpan look on his face. She'd used it as an excuse to get closer, yes. And she felt him tense up with the contact. His arm around her tightened reflexively; gettng her in closer was what he was aching for. Might as well go for it... the worst she could do was say no...

"Want to sit on my lap again?" He wasn't going to say "Like the night we kissed passionately," because that would be sure to embarrass her to no end. She still got embarrassed, but climbed onto his lap nevertheless, burying her face in his chest. He allowed it, his hand rubbing her upper back lightly. She'd lift her head when she was ready.

They talked quietly, Michael relaxing and enjoying the feel of her against him, careful not to reveal how incredibly aroused he was. He didn't want her to sense his urgency. He hadn't stroked himself today on purpose. He wanted to save it for her, if by chance something happened, although he had no doubt he'd be good for more than once. Funny, Davy was always commenting on how once he got started, he could have four or more orgasms within a couple of hours. Mike didn't doubt it. He had a feeling girls flocked to Davy not only for his looks, but also his expertise in the bedroom. He ought to be good at it. God knows, he'd had enough practice!

But when Micky and Peter claimed the same thing, Mike had his doubts. They were young, yes, but young men tended to exaggerate too. One thing Mike knew for sure is that if anyone could make him have multiple orgasms, it would be Leslie. He wasn't getting his hopes up though; Leslie had proved to be unpredictible.

He decided to do a little mild teasing to see what her reaction might be. He took her hand and held it for a few minutes, then casually placed it on his upper thigh. Not too high, but just enough to hint at intimacy.

She didn't pull away, but he felt her vaccilation. Or rather, sensed it. In the end, her hand remained there. Next, he caressed the base of her thumb with his own thumb. Even fluttered his fingers in her palm a bit.

"Your hands have their own... personality," she said.

"How so?

"Well, they feel good... the way you... rub with your fingers. It... affects me in a strange way."

She hadn't meant it to sound bold, but it excited him just the same. She was flirting, and he knew without being told that she was receptive to him.

"Warm in your belly? Tingly?" his voice was low and the sound of it enthralled her.

"Yes," this came out in a breathless whisper.

"I'd like to rub your lips in the same way... with my lips." He waited for a response. This subtle mutual flirting was undoing him. The tenuous sexual overtones were arousing him more than if she'd blatantly come on to him. This coy act, the evasive bashful looks she was throwing him were driving him to distraction.

Her head had been off his chest for no more than two minutes before he placed his hand on her cheek lightly, easily catching her lips with his own. That was all it took. She was his. Their arms wrapped around each other, they gave in to the demanding need that had been pushed back with gargantuan effort for much too long.

His lips slightly apart, he wanted in deeper, wanted to taste her. Opening his mouth a bit more, he barely dipped into her mouth with his tongue, teasing, tantalizing her. Tormenting her. She thought she'd die with the sweetness of it. He urged her to open her mouth with a fervor he was having difficulty controlling.

Leslie had never been this wet in her life. Yet every time she tried to regain control, he gently encouraged her to accept the feelings and just go with them. He didn't have to say a word-his body language conveyed it all.

Little by little, his tongue had gained complete entry, and now rubbed along the side of hers. His tongue continued to explore, he nibbled her lips, he made subtle moaning sounds that made her feel frantic with need.

Her hands were rubbing his chest now. Damn that turtleneck sweater! How was she going to get to his chest? She wanted a repeat of the last time they'd kissed.

Michael chuckled softly, smoothly lifting the turtleneck over his head. Underneath he wore a button down shirt. "It's a little cool outside tonight... and a little warmer in here," his voice was barely more than a whisper. He laid back on the couch then, and she followed him.

Now she busied herself unbuttoning one button at a time as they continued to kiss. When she had three undone, he gasped between kisses, "Touch my chest." The passion level rose so high Leslie thought the both of them would go up in smoke. Her hand crept inside his shirt, the feel of the hair on his chest familiar and reminding her of the last time they'd done this. She got all the buttons undone, opened his shirt and then lowered her head to his chest, licking as he squirmed underneath her. When her tongue touched his nipple he almost went through the ceiling. She teased it with the tip of her tongue until it was hard as a pebble, then sucked it into her mouth. His gasp and arched back told her he had been craving this since the last time...just as she'd been doing.

She spent quite a while licking and sucking his nipples, until he was virtually in a frenzy. His hips were rocking involuntarily against her lower stomach. If his crotch had been just a little lower, level with hers, he'd be dry humping her. My God, he was fucking her with their clothes on! She somehow never dreamed she'd see Michael in this vulnerable state. It was amazingly arousing.

His hands were creeping up her tank top in the back. Oh my God. She held her breath, reality really setting in now. When he discovered no bra strap, she felt his desire level go up yet another notch. His hands now slid around to the front, lifting her off his chest by a few inches so he could slip his hands over her breasts. Right before he did, however, he asked her softly if she wanted it.

"Can I do the same to you?" his voice stroked her.

She couldn't talk-so she just nodded her head slightly. When his hands came around to the front, she raised herself just a little higher on her elbows, straining, praying for that first touch. He didn't have much room to maneuver, so he rolled her over onto her back and pushed her tank top up to her collarbone, latching onto her nipple all in one movement.

"Ohhhhh...Michael!" She expected him to caress her breasts first, but he'd gone right for the gold. His tongue worked as hers had-licking as he sucked. The feeling was overpowering, and she felt it everywhere. After the licking stopped, he sucked steadily, self-assured yet so very gentle. Her nipples were very sensitive, and this kind of stimulation made her feel as if she'd go mad if he stopped, even for a second. She found herself arching her back as he had, clutching the back of his neck, begging much as he had, her pleas coming out in soft whimpers.

He readied her thoroughly. He sucked both breasts for even longer than she had to him. Toward the end, her moaning became noticeably louder, and suddenly she was gripping his shoulders with both hands, realizing she was building to climax. She began to tremble, a sure sign it was going to happen.

Frankly, he was amazed. He, of course, realized what was happening. He kept up his steady suckling until he felt her go over the edge and begin crying out, rocking her hips into him. If their bodies had been better lined up, and she'd rubbed herself against him, he probably would have erupted right along with her. Her orgasm was mind blowing. She cried out his name over and over. It was long and drawn out, the intensity astounding.

When she finally went still, she felt the heat rising up into her head. What must he be thinking? His huge smile gave her the answer.

"Man, you're really far out," he said tenderly. "I've never seen a woman who could do that before." He caressed her as he talked. "That was one of the grooviest things I've ever experienced."

She still didn't say a word, half embarrassed and half proud. But more embarrassed than anything.

"Michael... let's go... into my room." For some reason she couldn't get herself to say bedroom. Somehow it sounded so carnal.

She held her blouse to her chest, even though he'd already seen her. Into the bedroom she went, Michael following eagerly behind. She shut the door most of the way, leaving a crack so the living room lamp would afford some illumination, but not a lot. She adjusted it until it was perfect to her eyes-just light enough so they could see each other dimly.

"Are you sure?" came his voice softly from the bed. He was sitting on the edge of it.

"Oh my God, yes..." she came into his arms then. He pushed her away from him a few minutes later, after some serious kissing. She looked at him in wide eyed confusion. "Have to get undressed, I reckon," he emphasized his Southern drawl and made her laugh nervously.

She quickly shed her shoes, pants and underwear, lying down on the bed, under the sheet. She watched him free himself of his boots and jeans, then his underwear. That's when she couldn't hold back a small exclamation. Half gasp and half gulp.

Fully erect, and standing straight up to his belly button was the most beautiful sight she thought she'd ever see. Truly magnificent. He'd heard her strangled cry, and sought her face to see what the muted outburst was about. Then he spied where her eyes were, and smiled gently.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle." He was used to this kind of reaction from women- he'd had lots of compliments. But it was special with Leslie-he was especially pleased she liked what she saw. Either that, or she was afraid of his size. It was hard to tell-the gasp could have been horror or delight. It was hard to tell what her expression was in the dim light, but he thought it was a little of both.

Then he was in bed beside her, pulling the sheet back so he had full access to her. She didn't protest. In fact, she eagerly came to him, wanting, needing to be closer. Michael began kissing and nibbling her neck again. His seduction had to start over somewhat, because of the brief break they'd had when they'd walked to the bedroom. He knew how women's minds worked. Everything had to fall into place exactly right, or the experience would be less than satisfactory. He wanted tonight to be perfect in every way.

The seduction could go faster now, as she was already very aroused. Just a bit of a boost was needed. So he relied on her reactions as to how fast to proceed. He kissed her passionately, then kneaded her breasts in his hands, kissed them again and again, then started to slide his body down lower. When he reached her belly button area, she tensed a bit. He rubbed his chest on her a bit, knowing she liked the feel of the hair. Then he rubbed his sideburns on her belly too. She moaned, and he knew that was a green light.

He placed his hand on her thigh, halfway up from her knee. Didn't move it-just let it rest there. When she relaxed to it, he moved it a couple inches higher. And on that way until he reached her sex. It had taken nearly ten minutes. But he wanted her willing, desperate for him, even crying out for him.

By now she was panting, and he knew she was more than ready-his slow moves having teased her to the point of her excitement when they'd been on the couch. When his hand cupped her between her legs, he felt her wetness. Lord, she was saturated! No way could a woman fake that-he felt ecstatic that he'd been able to have that effect on her. He was positively thrilled. He felt like the most desirable man on earth at that moment. But other women weren't important-being desirable to Leslie was all that mattered.

When he parted her lips, she moaned long and low. "Michael..." He loved it when she said his name in that tone of voice. He slipped a finger in slowly. She was so tight. And slick. He stroked in and out several times, until she was practically thrashing. Then he lowered his head and his tongue came out to lick greedily. Her cry was so loud it could almost be classified as a scream.

This was the ideal scenario-this is precisely what he'd wanted to happen tonight. Her wanting him as much as he wanted her. His tongue slipped inside, stroking in and out, then thrusting more vigorously, then sliding up to her clit. His tongue went to serious work now, sucking at the same time. He spread her legs more, mainly because he liked to see it-Leslie giving herself to him-it excited him so. She was already climbing the ladder to orgasm, and her legs spread even further apart on their own accord as she got closer to the summit. He sucked and licked faster, her hips bucking up at his face. She made soft wailing noises with every breath, until she reached her climax, and then she really let out some cries. The orgasm lasted a long time, and she had a lot of aftershocks before it was completely over, hips still rising from the bed, into his mouth. She'd called out his name again. Many times.

When it was over, he crawled up her body, not able to wait any longer. He'd reached the end of his endurance. He had to feel himself inside of her.

Her arms were open and welcoming to him. He found her opening and slipped in carefully and slowly, even though the suspense, the anticipation, was killing him. He knew he was big-she was tight, and he didn't want, at all costs, to hurt her. It took a while, but with gentle, shallow stroking, nature took it's course, and he was soon buried all the way inside her.

Her legs came up to his upper thighs, and locked there.

"Oh my God, Michael, it feels so good!"

"That's why I went so slow, Leslie. I'd... never hurt you." It was costing him dearly to hold back, but he wanted to at least be able to pleasure her a bit more in this way, in addition to the oral.

They moved together fluidly and easily. Mike knew he wouldn't last long, but he'd make it up to her the second time around. He gradually moved faster and faster, until the sounds of her wetness were clearly audible. It served to excite both of them even more.

"So good... it's amazing," she said. "Oh Michael, I want you to stay inside me... all night."

A few more good, hearty thrusts, and he came. He moaned softly and grunted a bit, but in general, he was fairly quiet. No problem-she'd change that in time. She was going to teach him to be as uninhibited in bed as possible...

Peter had seen them earlier. He'd come over without calling-something he'd never done before. He supposed he was so excited about a day off that he'd momentarily forgotten she had a boyfriend.

He'd come when it was nearly dusk. The door had been standing ajar, so he had stayed back, at a distance, watching. He saw the shape of a man inside, then he remembered her boyfriend. He'd seen them staring at each other like they were lovesick, but he hadn't gotten much more than a glimpse before she'd turned and closed the door. He hadn't gotten a good look at the man, but something about him seemed familiar. Through the picture window, he saw Leslie caress the man's arm, and then they'd embraced. It looked sensual even from here. Jealousy had ripped through Peter's gut so suddenly and strongly that it alarmed him. He couldn't have watched any longer even if he'd wanted to. Breathing with an effort, choking back a sob, he quickly, blindly, headed back for the Pad...