Deanna had been restlessly pacing, wondering if she should stay here or follow them. She decided to stay put. There was nothing she could do. She didn't know why Peter had taken off like that, but Davy was perfectly capable of getting to the bottom of it. He knew Peter well, and he didn't need her tagging along. All she knew was Peter had been extremely aroused, and she herself had been breathless with lust when he'd just up and left in a fleeting rush. Not exactly a compliment for anyone to covet. Perhaps he feared Davy would get jealous.

When she stepped outside and saw them returning, arms draped around each other's shoulders and smiling, relief flooded her. Their smiles were genuine, so she knew things were cool, at least for the moment. Davy whisked her into the tent, and a minute later Peter came in and grabbed his pajamas, smiling briefly and leaving, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. It was very early for pajamas, as it was still mostly light out, but Deanna figured Peter must have a good reason. Maybe, after visiting, he was planning to retire to the other tent for the night?

Davy pulled her down on the sleeping bag. "While Peter's busy, I need to explain what happened," he said.

"That would be nice, because it was weird the way he left."

"Well . . . you see, he had a . . . a mishap," Davy realized how odd that must sound.

Deanna stared at him, no comprehension in her eyes. "What kind of mishap?"

Davy knew he shouldn't be bashful about this subject with her, but it was a little uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Well, he got . . . too excited and . . . got past the point of no return."

Davy had tried to think of another way of putting it, but saying Peter "blew his wad" didn't sound at all proper. And definitely not romantic.

Deanna's eyes went wide with sudden understanding. "You mean he . . . came?"

Davy nodded. "Yeah, he came. It kind of caught him by surprise, and he flipped out over it, and that's why he ran. He didn't know what to do." He sure hoped Deanna would have mercy on Peter, and not think less of him. "It happens to guys sometimes, especially when they haven't been with many girls," Davy remembered his promise to Peter to add that part to his explanation. "He was turned on to the max—because of you."

"Oh, poor Peter!" she said quietly. "I wondered why he was . . . moving around like that. Almost thrashing. And that's why he's washing up for so long."

"How did you know that?"

"I can hear the water splashing. He's rinsing out his pants too."

Davy couldn't hear anything. All he could hear was the surf and the tortoise, who was busy scratching at the side of the tent again. It seemed though, that women could concentrate on several things at once, and men became adrift if they tried to focus on more than one thing at a time.

"I feel so clueless," she said. "Like I need to get out more. You'd think I would have realized what was happening." She cast her eyes downward shyly. "It's not as if I'm a virgin or anything."

"Perfectly understandable," Davy was quick to reassure her. "I imagine it would be hard to absorb if you haven't had that happen with a guy before." Actually, he was surprised it hadn't happened to her before. She was one hell of a desirable woman. The kind wet dreams are made of. She had both he and Peter completely smitten. She still didn't realize the enormity of it though. She was so . . . wholesome, so uninformed. He kind of liked it though.

Deanna didn't know if she should feel complimented or not by what Davy had said about Peter being so turned on by her, but it certainly sounded as if she should. It was funny, sad and sweet all at the same time.

What did you think of it?" she asked, suddenly curious to hear Davy's point of view.

"Truthfully? I thought it was flamin' hot."

Deanna laughed quietly, so Peter wouldn't hear. "I do too, now that I know what actually happened."

Davy let out a big sigh. "I'm glad you aren't upset, because Peter's really embarrassed."

"I noticed his hips, um, grinding, but I didn't know it got that far. I won't act as if I know," she said.

"Oh, he knows I'm telling you."

"Oh . . . he does? How should I act then?" Deanna didn't have glimmer of a clue on how to manage this.

"Just act natural, as if nothing happened."

"Got it," said Deanna just as Peter came into the tent, in his pajamas.

"Hi guys," he said, his face giving nothing away. That signature wide smile of his. So fresh, cheeks rosy, innocuous. Davy was impressed. This guy had a hidden talent. He was a very effective actor. He was hiding his embarrassment exceedingly well.

They sat and talked for a while, Peter's eyes flicking toward Deanna, then looking away. That was the only indication that he was perturbed. He surprised her when, half an hour later, he turned to her.

I'm sorry about what happened earlier," he said, not excluding Davy, but rather including him with a shy smile. Deanna knew he was feeling clumsy at the very least.

"I had an idea, but I wasn't sure . . . how far it had gone," she said, crossing her fingers that he wouldn't be offended. "But Davy explained. Don't worry about it," she added quickly, looking everywhere but into Peter's eyes, and trying to appear casual, knowing she was failing.

Peter felt his shaft thickening and lengthening. He wanted her, in a monumental way. He was still feeling strangely about Davy too, because on their walk back to the tent, Davy had been warm, up against his side, and he'd gotten that old, familiar tingle he'd felt so many times in the past. Having a beautiful girl around wasn't making a difference either. He was still hopelessly attracted to his friend.

Deanna was experiencing a quickening in her belly as they sat there Indian style, close together, yet not touching, all three of them mulling over the earlier incident, but not discussing it. The warmth of their masculinity was everywhere. It surrounded her, enfolded her. Warm, dark desire knifed through her. It was almost more than she could withstand. She was the center of attention, and while it was intoxicating, she knew it was also potentially treacherous. Men were so naturally competitive, and that knowledge gnawed at her, even though these two were close friends. This same concern had nagged at her before.

She could so easily become an incentive for them to be aggressive with each other. She had never had brothers, so she wasn't sure what exactly might set a guy off. She didn't have much experience with guys except for the ones she'd dated . . . and slept with. And those had been typical-not very communicative. Derrick was her only male friend. The entire male gender was still an enigma to her.

Edging closer to her, Davy began to practice his seduction skills. Before long, he was kissing Deanna, and revving things up in front of Peter. Since when had he become kinky? Or had it been there all along? This whole thing was making him question whether he knew himself at all. Why did Peter's presence turn him on when he made moves on Deanna? He had noticed that Deanna had taken it up a notch with teasing Peter, and it hadn't made him jealous. It had only amped him up more. There was definitely something wrong with that. It was of particular interest to him, and it disturbed him.

He had seen how she had swung her hips a little more than necessary, and flaunted her feminine assets. She bent over frequently, putting her cleavage on display, placing her hand on Peter's forearm in passing. Deanna was actually flirting with his band mate and friend, and it didn't spark any insecurities in him. But poor Peter was not sure how he should react. Davy knew what from the bewildered look in Peter's eyes.

After hearing the scratching, Peter got up and brought the tortoise in, putting him in the corner with a blanket over him as he'd done last night. The animal settled right in.

"The tortoise gets tucked in, but we don't," Davy teased, having given Deanna a little break from kissing, as the intensity threatened to overwhelm him. Besides that, he wanted Peter engaged, not just watching on.

"I'll be happy to tuck you in. Get into your pajamas," suggested Peter.

None of them had anticipated Peter saying that. Davy was thrown off kilter. But he didn't know if it was innocence talking, as in really go get into your pajamas, literally, or if Peter was playing along. With Peter, you often didn't know.

"But I sleep naked sometimes." Now, what on earth had made him say that? It was true—he did sometimes sleep naked when it was warm. He knew Peter did too. He had to admit to himself that this statement exposed an obvious objective.

We might indeed have to make the choice for her, or present her with options. Let her decide exactly what she wants. She's too loyal. I know she's turned on by Peter. But she wouldn't want to hurt me. I don't think she'd go past kissing Peter unless I stay actively involved. That means, the three of us, together.

He and Peter would have to work together. He wanted to give this to Deanna, not himself. As a present, and just maybe a permanent one. She and Peter were very attracted to each other, that much was a cinch. And even though Davy was skeptical about taking it anywhere, he knew he and Peter were creating sparks too. Making Deanna happy was most important, aside from the fact that it excited him—the thought of her and Peter together. He wanted to satisfy her completely. Peter couldn't be more perfect for the job. Peter would keep his mouth shut—especially when they got home, and his undying faithfulness to Davy would seal the deal. He was a staunch, steadfast friend that Davy trusted to the ends of the earth. All the other planets too.

It just felt right.

What was wrong with her? To have such thoughts? She would give just about anything to read Davy and Peter's minds. What alarmed her most of all was that she was behaving more like her friend Cassie than herself. The difference though, was she wasn't doing it solely for the pleasure. She had feelings for Peter. She was falling fast for him. It had only been a matter of days that he'd been here, and she had seen almost right away what Davy saw in him.

And now Davy was proposing they sleep naked? She knew the implication. He wanted them all naked under the blanket. The same blanket.

"I do too," said Peter, referring to Davy's earlier statement about sleeping naked. Once again, he was either simply stating a fact, or he was going along with the game, following Davy's lead, like he so often did.

"Okay, so we'll get undressed, and you tuck us in," Davy said, and then immediately felt remorse. That had sounded so childish, like they were a bunch of ten year olds. There had to be a more mature way of dealing with this. But he couldn't very well just come out and say, "Let's take this farther . . ."

Or could he?

It wouldn't be wise. Women didn't generally like things such as this to be discussed so frankly. Why they preferred open communication about everything else, yet not this, was beyond his scope of understanding. He supposed though, that discussing it could ruin the romantic aspect of it for Deanna. She wasn't a robot. She didn't take it lightly either. She was a female human being, with the unique feelings that go along with being female. She would want things to just kind of happen. Peter, he surmised, needed more specifics.

Davy certainly wasn't going to give them play by play instructions. It would kill any chance of anything being even close to impromptu. And he knew that it would be the fastest avenue to at least disinterested indifference, if not outright resentment on Deanna's part. He'd have to remedy this fast.

"Pete, can you please go stoke the fire? I think it needs it," Davy requested.

The second Peter was gone, Deanna grabbed Davy before he could say a word. "Let's do it," she said earnestly.

Did he hear her right?

"Really?" he asked, not absolutely, indisputably certain what she meant, but very hopeful nonetheless.

"Let's dispose of our clothes while he stokes the fire," she said hurriedly. "Yes or no?"

Hell yes! He wanted to shout, but instead, began taking his clothes off from underneath the blanket. Peter was adding a couple of logs, so that gave them sufficient time. Davy was about to burst from anticipation, but hid it behind his rather accomplished air of dignity and sophistication. Lord knows, he'd practiced it enough, and it was coming in handy here.

When Peter re-entered the tent, Davy and Deanna were under the blanket, so he had no idea about their state of undress.

"The fire oughta be good for a little while," he said as he sat down on the sleeping bag. There was some illumination inside the tent from the moon and also the flashlights they always set up at night. It was the equivalent of a night light, but somehow—or maybe it was her imagination, or her expectant state of mind . . . there seemed to be a glow that was positively romantic.

Peter's eyes shifted from green to light brown and back again, and as she stared into them, enchanted, she saw the many flecks of gold, bronze and even gray highlighting his irises. Davy saw it too—although not the detail Deanna picked up on, but rather how generally delectable Peter looked, how sexy.

When Peter slipped under the blanket, expecting only some kissing, he quickly ascertained a startling, yet very pleasant and titillating fact. Deanna was naked. Nothing but bare skin met him when she welcomed him with a hug. Her bare breasts against his chest, her sweet scent. He quivered noticeably. Davy was right up against her back, and when the blanket slipped down as it invariably did, he saw that his friend was also stark naked.

As fascinated and delighted with Deanna as he was, Peter found himself trying to get a glimpse of Davy's body when the blanket permitted it. When arising in the morning at the Pad, the guys had always pulled on their underwear before getting out of bed, or as they got out of bed, so Peter didn't get much opportunity to feast his eyes on Davy. Except his butt, and that was appealing enough in and of itself. On the few occasions he'd seen Davy get out of the shower, he'd managed to forestall himself from gawking, but it had been quite a struggle to avert his gaze. He'd had to force himself.

Okay, so he wasn't going to fool himself—it had been an almost insurmountable task not to look, but he had nevertheless turned away because his greatest fear was that Davy would decide he'd rather share a room with one of the other guys, because he would feel uncomfortable with Peter's eyes on him.

It felt so glorious to be near both of them, although he would have preferred to be between Deanna and Davy. This still was far and away the best experience Peter had ever had in the intimacy category. It rated above even hot pizza, ice cream, lounging around drinking his favorite beer. Funny that all these activities usually included Davy. His all-time favorite though, was wearing his footie pajamas under a blanket on the couch at the Pad, with Davy right beside him.

This experience though, with Deanna . . . even this included Davy.

A dream come true, it was. Being British, that was the way Davy might have worded it, and Peter smiled, imagining Davy's voice saying just that. Davy worked hard to sound like an American, as it was, for some reason, important to him, but his expressions backslid often. Peter didn't want his friend to ever lose that accent and those endearing expressions from his homeland. It was part of his charm.

He wondered if Davy was as interested in his body as he was in Davy's. Oftentimes, he didn't think so, but he also knew Davy might just relent with a little persuasion. Davy wasn't outwardly, obviously, giving things away, but on occasion Peter suspected that Davy was curious, and maybe, just maybe, it surpassed that. After all, Davy had admitted that he'd thought his feelings had been caused by their music. But Davy was proud. Naturally so. Denial—he bet his friend was in denial.

Peter wanted to grab for Deanna's luscious, naked body, but he checked himself sharply. You didn't treat a lady like that, no matter how much you might want her. His mother had installed that in him, and he was glad for that. At least he knew something, no matter how small, about women.

"Someone here still has their pajamas on," Davy's voice had dropped to that silken quality that Deanna loved.

"Oh, sorry about that," and Peter slipped out from under the blanket and stood up, peeling his pajamas off, right in front of them. Peter was like that, very comfortable with his body. Davy knew this, but he wondered what Deanna thought.

Deanna couldn't stop staring as she watched this hot, Adonis-like guy casually take all his clothes off without a care. Peter's cock was fully erect, and the sight of that alone made Deanna's breath hitch in her throat. Magnificent was the only word that came to mind. He was hung like none other she'd ever seen.

Peter slipped back under the blanket and waited to see what came next.

"Get in close, Pete," urged Davy. The three of them embraced, and Peter felt the tendons in Davy's forearms bulging. Those same tendons he'd examined visually so often when Davy wasn't aware of it. After the hug was completed, Peter had not hung onto her, thinking she might think he was being overbearing or perhaps demanding, assuming.

But Deanna opened her arms again, and he melted into them again. She grasped the hair at his nape and pulled him to her lips. At least he knew where he stood—she wanted to kiss him. Eagerly, almost too eagerly, his mouth joined with hers, in a sucking kiss that seemed to have a positive effect on her.

For the first time, her tongue played with his lower lip, then dipped inside to lick his tongue. He almost hit the ceiling, it was so amorous. As the kiss got more involved, he sucked at her tongue, almost desperate to get closer. She was steadily peeling his inhibitions away.

Her hands, woven in his silky hair, began to caress the back of his neck. His hair fell down over his forehead and brushed against her face. She moaned with the intensity of the kiss, now sucking his tongue in return. Peter didn't think he'd ever return to earth, nor did he want to. Who knew a kiss could practically be an orgasm in the mouth?

The scuff of his beard was tantalizing. The hair on his chest brushed her nipples until they were fully extended and puckered. Pre-come escaped his erection, which was pressed against her belly. He didn't kiss with Davy's experience, but when she responded keenly and wholeheartedly, he instinctively answered her with incredible enthusiasm, which made up for it. He was a diamond in the rough, and she would love having the privilege of smoothing him out and polishing him.

He swirled his tongue against hers now, evaluating, testing. His reward was more moans, and her body molded right against his for a perfect fit.

Peter was the perfect blend of wholesome cleanliness, and boiling hot, horny sexiness. Wow. She wanted to devour all of him as he was devouring her mouth.

Yes . . . yes. Davy was kissing the back of her neck—nuzzling, nipping, his breathing raspy and strained. She knew he was terribly aroused, because he realized Peter was finally letting go, surrendering to Deanna's charms. Davy could feel it. Right through Deanna's body. Deanna knew the entire story just by his ambiance.

It was sultry, it was powerful. She could hardly process it. But she did know one thing without a single doubt.

She wanted more.

She broke the kiss and skimmed her hands over the heated flesh of Peter's chest. The roughness of the hair there was such a contrast to Davy's smooth chest. His breath hitched and held for a second as time seemed to pause. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed the stubble on his cheek, working her way over to his lips once more.

He was ready, so astoundingly ready. She'd never been kissed so lavishly in her life. Everything in him was zeroed in on that kiss. That never-ending, succulent, lingering kiss. His mouth moved slowly, yet she felt all the passion that was harnessed, and she felt how difficult it was for him to contain himself. And she appreciated him all the more.

One of his hands rested on her upper back, the sensitive skin of his forearm inevitably coming in contact with the side of her breast, soft and yielding, causing him to pant as it granted him access in such a subtle way.

As another fabulous kiss finally concluded, Davy's hands closed under Deanna's arms, lifting her very slowly, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, sliding her up so that soon her breasts were directly in front of Peter's face. Not only in front, but actually touching and rubbing up against his face as she breathed in and out.

All over his face. Davy knew Peter would never have the courage to do it himself, so he'd made it easy for him. He knew Peter well, as Peter had never made a move on him in the years they'd lived at the Pad, even feeling the way he did, so he knew Peter would be just as unpresuming with Deanna.

Peter nuzzled. Just a bit. He couldn't help it—they were right there. Inviting him, tantalizing him in the most phenomenal way. It was remarkable, wondrous, that he should be this fortunate. He didn't realize Davy had manipulated her into the right position, but that was good, because he thought Deanna was offering herself to him so unabashedly. And that fueled his courage and desire. Desire that was already flooding him.

With Peter's face nestling into her breasts, Deanna felt a new rush of wetness between her legs. She fisted his hair, coaxing him, pleading with him silently, to use his mouth on her. Her passion was overflowing, out of control. She wouldn't have been this brazen on her own. Davy had saved the day, been their guide, coaxing them in his muted, understated way.

Peter opened his eyes for the first time since her breasts had assaulted him, to see her light pink nipples, stiff and prominent, jutting out, and his mouth watered. They were calling his name.

Peter recalled seeing Davy on the couch with a girl once, when the couple had thought there was no one in the room. True, Peter had sneaked up on them, bending over as if to examine some record albums in the corner of the room, in the event that they might look up and see him. He had witnessed Davy's head underneath the girl's blouse, so he knew it must be something girls enjoyed.

His own brief sexual escapades had been rushed and unfeeling. Like animals, the few girls he'd been with had ridden his cock, but little else. He had had no time to explore, investigate, learn. They had been horny, and that had been the extent of it. The act had been completed quickly, both because Peter hadn't yet learned control, and because the girls had wanted quick satisfaction. They hadn't been out for a relationship or even tender feelings. And, sadly, he hadn't known how to bring them to ecstasy.

Those club girls had been nearly savage, practically raping him, if it were possible to rape a guy who always seemed to have an unceasing hard-on. Musicians turned them on, and Peter had gained scant experience with them, but enough to know he didn't ever want a girl like that. He needed more. And he also had sinking feeling that they were thinking of Davy, imagining he was Davy, because the guys were in the same band. He'd had to play second-fiddle. In essence, his very limited sex life had been a disaster.

So he was leery of a repeat of those episodes that were a release, but not much more. He had always seemed to be in Davy's shadow. Not that he minded, because he felt Davy deserved the spotlight. Davy was perfect in Peter's eyes. The Brit also knew how to play to the crowd, making him even more magnetic, whereas Peter, with his shyness, didn't quite have that talent down. Davy had gotten Peter some girls that way. Teasing them as he did, without even trying, and then turning them loose on Peter while he disappeared.

Peter was pretty sure Davy had done it on purpose. Davy knew Peter needed action and know-how in the worst way. But what those incidents had lacked was what sex should really be all about in Peter's mind—the tender feelings. It always came back to that.

So here he was—smothered in Deanna's breasts and not sure what to do. Well, it seemed pretty clear-cut, but still . . . what if he made a wrong move? He wanted to be a part of them, this beautiful couple who so generously were including him, and it encouraged him that Davy wanted that too, or he wouldn't be inspiring it. He just had a fear of being a flop, a failure.

"Kiss them . . ." Davy's voice was smooth and even. "It's alright."

Okay, so Davy was letting him know it wouldn't be breaking the rules, or inappropriate. How he hated being in the dark about women!

His lips sought her flesh, finding it so inviting that he was glad he'd come earlier, making a premature ejaculation not as likely this time. Her breasts were full, yet not overly large. Not saggy at all, but enticingly uplifted, just as nice as he'd seen in magazines.

His tongue snaked out and caught the edge of her nipple, causing her to shudder, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer for more-more exposure to his mouth.

He could do that, although he wasn't sure of the exact method—what she would like. You learn by trying, and if you don't try, you don't learn, Mike had once said, and since Mike's words were always full of wisdom, Peter decided to try his best. His best to make her feel good, to make her want him.

Some things just come naturally, and he followed his instincts. He licked her nipple fully this time, and her gasp and quickened breath told him it felt just as sinfully good to her as it did to him. But then, how could it possibly feel as good for her? He was dying with the pleasure.

He took a deep breath of what he hoped was grit, and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

"Oh . . ." she was now pulling hard and steadily on his hair, and he knew this had to be a good sign. So he sucked. It had quite a different effect than he had expected. She nearly came unglued. Her sighs, her moans, her wriggling told him she was either in pain or ecstasy. He guessed it to be the latter. It had to be the latter, or she'd be pulling away, and she was far, far from doing that.

He heard Davy's rough breath and knew his friend was enjoying the spectacle. So Peter settled into a steady suckling, hardly able to keep from rocking his hips a little as he did so.

The feel of his lips, his tongue and the inside of his mouth on her nipple made bolts of pleasure rip right through Deanna. Davy's rock hard erection against her butt, Peter's mouth stimulating her nipples—it was all too much. Too much for the average mortal, and too much for her.

After what seemed like forever, Davy rolled her over and climbed down between her legs. He made certain as he did so, that Peter had a good view. He knew the guy didn't know much, so every bit of information Peter could glean from watching would be pivotal in Peter's eventual success with Deanna.

Peter's eyes went back and forth from Davy's hard-on to Deanna's lovely nether regions. Davy's fingers were on her now, and he was concentrating on one spot. That must be the spot that Peter had heard drove women wild.

Davy massaged it lightly for a short time, then moved on to inserting his finger. Peter was not aware of another thing—all his concentration was on what Davy was doing. Peter could see Davy's finger was very moist when he pulled it out, it gleamed in the moonlight, and that sent Peter into overdrive with excitement. When guys talked about a girl being "wet," this is what they meant. Davy slipped his finger all the way in, and Deanna's hips raised, her knees falling apart with the most wonderful kind of surrender. Now, two fingers disappeared. Deanna's chest volleyed up and down as Davy's fingers curled upward, and Peter realized then that there was a spot in there, like the one on the outside, that made Deanna jerk and get red hot.

Davy thrust his fingers in and out, now more vigorously, and Peter watched on, intrigued, as Deanna began to pant and whimper. That was when Davy, with perfect timing, parted her petals and swooped down on her. Peter had to concentrate on not shooting his load as Davy lifted the hood and exposed the little, very sensitive nub there. It was erect, like a tiny penis. He made sure Peter was watching, and was close enough to see, but he was subtle about it. It was barely visible, but Peter saw what Davy homed in on.

What Davy did next ripped the breath from Peter's lungs. Davy lowered his head and took her sex into his mouth. Peter struggled to breathe past the constriction in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Stay here and watch? It was evident that was what Davy wanted. And how could he have torn himself away, anyway?

He watched as Davy sucked and licked, moaning deep in his throat, Deanna still whimpering, but that soon turned into indecipherable pleas. The sounds, the heady smells, the sight a foot away from him. It was all almost too much for Peter to bear.

Then Deanna was exploding in what Peter figured must be an orgasm. He'd never brought a girl to one, so he didn't know, but it was pretty hard to miss. She squealed and wriggled so much that Peter wondered how Davy managed to stay with her. It lasted an eternity, and while Peter was incredibly embarrassed, it also seemed like he would bust his pants open, his cock was that hard, throbbing that much.

Davy brought her down gently, gradually, Peter noting everything he did, and after resting for a few moments, Davy dragged himself up her body and Peter saw his cock, moist from pre-come, disappearing into Deanna's body. Right in front of his eyes. It was like the best porn movie Peter had ever seen. But this included love, caring, sweetness, along with the sex. Nothing could be better.

Peter continued to watch as Davy began to move. Very slowly at first, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts. Stimulating every part of her body his mouth could reach as he fucked her. Everything was done at leisure, even though Peter knew Davy's need was urgent. He knew this because Davy was breaking out into a sweat, and gasping for breath.

Peter also noted how tender Davy was. Peter didn't see him that way often because Davy was naturally aggressive and outgoing. This was a different side of Davy, and it was fascinating. A side Peter hadn't seen, and wanted to see more of.

Davy picked up the pace. Now he was pulling almost all the way out between thrusts, then sinking all the way back in, his hips beginning to jerk spasmodically, occasionally out of rhythm because of his overwhelming desire. Faster, Davy grunting now, and finally, Peter sensed when Davy's need became acute, because his hips began to piston in and out of her, faster still, the intensity escalating to a fever pitch until Davy cried out, almost startling Peter, and judging by his frantic movements, Peter knew he'd reached climax.

It was stunningly beautiful, and it made Peter ache. His face was flushed—he could feel it. His heart thudded like thunder in his chest, he shook and trembled.

Deanna was crushing Davy to her, making as much noise as he was. After many more thrusts that became less and less fervent, Davy hat last collapsed on Deanna, still caressing her, kissing her shoulder, murmuring sweetly to her. That murmuring was just as sexy as the rest of it.

But what now? As the couple wound down, suddenly, in a heartbeat, Peter felt like an outsider. He didn't know what to do, how to act. Lots of questions began to enter his mind, despite his insistently throbbing dick.

What was he? Just a pawn, an instrument to bring them more pleasure because of his presence?

Was Davy just giving him a show? And letting Peter kiss her just for thrills? Where did he come in on all this? Were they just playing with him? Peter suddenly felt almost sick. If this was a game they were playing, it meant they had done it only for the high it gave them to make love in front of him. At the same time though, he knew that no, Davy wasn't like that. Surely he wouldn't be that cruel, would he? Peter really could not bring himself to believe that.

Even so, he wondered if this was to be his destiny. To always be second-best or worse because he lacked the sophistication, the graciousness that Davy possessed so naturally. That little bit of swagger, that touch of cockiness, the confidence that Peter had never quite been able to master. Never too much, never too little. Davy always knew just what dose to administer. He was fine-tuned in courtliness and finesse. And yes, that little bit of occasional sassy attitude thrown in haphazardly made the women lose their heads; their common sense no longer existed. And Peter envied him.

He wasn't dynamic like Davy.

Peter remembered the few girls he'd been to bed with. Three to be exact. He had ended up feeling used, like something temporary until they found what they really wanted. It was like they'd just utilized him to get off. He was a throw-away. There hadn't been a connection, and therefore, he'd never learned how to satisfy a woman, how to conduct himself to make her feel special in a way so that she might want to someday fall in love with him.

Crushed and miserable, he felt left out . . .