Chapter 3: Chapter 3
A few hours later, Erik was back home, in the garage, working out. He felt better than he had in ages. Sated. Satisfied. A deep, muscular contentment hummed through him, a pleasant fatigue layered over a simmering, ready energy. He realized, with a clarity that was almost startling, there was much more to draw from that well. The morning had unlocked something, a direct line to a part of himself that had been grinding its gears in frustration. Now it was purring.
He was midway through a set of heavy shrugs, the weight bar bending across his broad shoulders, when the side door creaked open. Martin shuffled in, looking like he’d been dragged behind a bus. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale under the garage’s fluorescent glare. He didn’t say a word, just walked over to a clear spot on the concrete floor and sank down against the wall, legs splayed out, head thunking back against the drywall with a soft thud.
Erik racked the weights, the clang echoing in the cavernous space. He wiped his face with a towel that already smelled of old sweat and fresh effort. “Tough day?”
Martin let out a long, shaky breath. “Three back-to-back client meltdowns. Project timelines moved up. Budgets slashed. The usual corporate hellscape.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Just needed a minute to… decompress. Turn the brain off.”
He was quiet for a beat, staring at the ceiling. Then, without looking at Erik, he asked, “Is he okay? What happened?” The concern was raw, immediate, cutting through his own exhaustion.
Erik leaned against the workbench, the cool metal seeping through his damp tank top. “Yeah. He’s more than okay.” A slow smile spread across his face, unbidden. “I went to him... but I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. But he made it easy. In a weird way he… took over. But also didn't.”
He relayed it in his straightforward way: the panic, the admission, the command to undress. The kiss, the blowjob, the shocking, messy skill of it. He left out the shower and the soiled briefs in the hamper; some things were his alone.
As he spoke, Martin’s expression shifted. The weariness peeled back, replaced first by sharp attention, then by a dawning, pleased surprise. By the time Erik finished, Martin was shaking his head, a genuine grin cracking his stressed features. “Wow. Okay. That’s… that’s really good, Erik. Really good. He clicked with you. Faster than I thought he would.”
“ That boy keeps me happy and drained,” Martin continued, the grin turning wry, “but it is a lot for one man to keep him gassed up.”
“Is that why he sees Wayne?” Erik asked.
Martin’s eyes snapped to him, alert. “You know about Wayne?”
“Saw him pick Derrick up today. Big bastard. Looked to me like he could take a lot of the load you’re carrying. He’s bigger than me!” Erik said with a chuckle, flexing an arm unconsciously.
Martin relaxed again, nodding. “Yeah. He was a real find. Married. Sexually unsatisfied and… well… I guess you know what Derrick can give to a person like that.”
“I am learning,” Erik replied, the words feeling heavy with new understanding.
Martin gave it a pause, studying Erik’s face. His next question came with careful curiosity, edged with caution. “And do you want that to continue? Or should I be worried Debbie will find out about all this?”
Erik didn’t hesitate. “Oh, I absolutely want it to continue. I haven’t felt this good in ages. The kid has talent, that’s for sure.” He scratched his stubbled jaw, his brow furrowing. “But tell me, what’s with him not being allowed to cum? I caught the poor guy jerking it in the shower and he acted like he’d been caught stealing.”
Martin started to laugh before Erik had even finished, a rich, genuine sound that filled the garage.
“What?” Erik asked, mildly annoyed.
“What you have to understand,” Martin said, his laughter fading into a knowing smile, “is that Derrick is in control, always. He wanted that rule. He wants me to enforce it so he can play the put-upon slut, the used boy. You’ll see, if you stick with him, how he gets what he wants. We are but his slaves.”
Erik frowned, trying to recalibrate his thinking. The morning replayed in his head—the initial fear, the shy smile, the explicit command, the eager submission. It had all felt so real. “And you don’t mind being his slave?”
Martin’s smile was utterly sincere. “I fucking love it. Don’t have to second-guess anything. Don’t have to wine and dine and make promises to get some action. Derrick is the best at what he does. But he needs it to look like he is the one being told what to do. It’s his kink.”
“Huh,” Erik grunted, rolling the concept around in his mind. It was a twist. A flip of the script he’d assumed was written in stone. “I might need some time to get my head around that. But this morning was just awesome.” He shifted his weight, a practical concern rising. “But what now? I don’t want to step on your time with him. Or Wayne’s.”
“Don’t worry,” Martin said, pushing himself up from the floor. “There is plenty of him to go around. I think he could fuck all day and love every minute.” He paused, a lewd, playful glint in his eye. “And we don’t necessarily have to go one at a time.”
“Oh, okay,” Erik said, feeling a blush warm his neck. He was starting to understand. The dimensions of the world were expanding, shifting.
“Tell you what,” Martin said, brushing dust off his slacks. “Why don’t you come with me to pick him up from work and we can see how he feels about it.”
Erik looked down at himself. He was drenched in sweat, his grey tank top stuck to his torso, his gym shorts clinging. “I was almost done with my workout. Okay, why not. Let me just shower first and—”
“No, don’t bother,” Martin interrupted, holding up a hand. A sly grin spread on his face. “The stinkier you are, the more he’ll love it. Trust me.”
Erik looked at his clothes. “And these skimpy shorts and the vest?”
“He wouldn’t be mad at it,” Martin conceded, “but maybe some sweats? Looser. Lets things… breathe. And hint.”
Erik shrugged. “Alright.” Without another thought, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts and peeled them down, stepping out of them. He did the same with his tank top, pulling it over his head. He stood naked in the middle of the garage, the cool air on his skin, utterly unselfconscious. He was used to locker rooms, to the shared, unseeing male space of physical labor.
He didn’t register the way Martin’s eyes lingered—not only with desire, but with a frank, appreciative assessment. The powerful legs, the dense thatch of hair, the heavy hang of him still softening from the heat of his workout. Martin saw the raw material Derrick would enjoy, and started to wonder if he might want his own taste.
Erik rummaged in a clean laundry basket on a shelf, pulling out a pair of old grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. He dressed quickly, the soft cotton settling over his flushed skin.
“Good?” he asked, running a hand through his damp hair.
“Perfect,” Martin said, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go get our boy.”
They walked out into the late afternoon light, the garage door rattling shut behind them. Erik’s truck keys were in his hand, but Martin gestured to his own sensible sedan. “We’ll take mine. Less conspicuous.”
Erik nodded, sliding into the passenger seat. The car smelled of Martin’s citrus-scented air freshener and, faintly beneath it, of Derrick’s vanilla library scent. As Martin backed out of the driveway, Erik felt a low, thrilling current run through him. He was going to collect Derrick. With Martin. After the conversation they’d just had. The possibilities hummed in the quiet car, unspoken, a new tension weaving itself into the familiar streets leading toward the library.
Martin drove with a focused calm, the earlier stress visibly shed from his shoulders. He turned down a side street Erik didn’t recognize, then into a narrow, shadowed alley behind the library’s brick bulk.
“We pull in here,” Martin said, his voice low and practical. He guided the sedan into a dark recess between a dumpster and a high fence, killing the engine and the headlights. The world sank into a deep, grey twilight, the only sound the distant hum of city traffic. “It’s quiet. Unbothered. He’ll come out the side door just there. No one else ever uses it.”
Erik nodded, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The intimacy of the enclosed space, the secrecy of it, sent a fresh thrill through him. He could smell his own dried sweat on his shirt, mixed with the car’s citrus scent.
“He’ll be out in a few minutes,” Martin said, shifting in his seat to look at Erik. His eyes glinted in the shadows. “So. Wanna up the stakes a bit? Really drive the kid wild when he gets in?”
Erik’s pulse jumped. “Yeah,” he said, the word coming out rough. “What’ve you got in mind?”
Martin leaned across the bench seat, closing the small gap between them. His face was inches from Erik’s. He smelled of crisp cologne and office coffee. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, warm against Erik’s cheek. “Then start kissing me, old man.”
Erik froze. He’d never once looked at Martin that way. Martin was his stepson, a sharp-dressed guy who dealt with spreadsheets, a facilitator. But he'd only known him as an adult and, in the dark alley, Erik saw the clean-shaven line of his jaw, the surprising fullness of his plush lips, the charming, knowing curve of his smile. He thought of Derrick’s wide, excited eyes, of wanting to give him everything. He decided to be game.
He leaned in slowly, his movement deliberate. He remembered the kisses with Derrick, how he’d had to take charge. He aimed to replicate that, to be the one guiding this. Their lips met, a tentative, dry press.
But Martin took control instantly. His mouth opened against Erik’s, his tongue pushing forward with an assertive, practiced sweep. He claimed Erik’s mouth, the kiss becoming deep and wet, far beyond anything Erik had initiated. Surprise flashed through Erik, then a competitive spark.
He tried to wrestle the control back, groaning into Martin’s mouth, pressing forward with his own tongue. It became a quiet, fierce contest there in the front seat, a battle of pressure and retreat, of shared breath and shifting dominance. Erik’s hand came up to cup the back of Martin’s neck, his fingers digging into the short-cropped hair. Martin’s grip tightened on Erik’s bicep.
They were locked in that state, a silent struggle of hunger and surprise, when the passenger door suddenly opened. A burst of cool alley air and the overhead dome light flooded the car. Giggles and sharp, delighted gasps cut through the heavy silence.
Derrick didn’t say a word. He just clambered into the front seat, his movements quick and purposeful. He crawled right over Erik, pushing his soft body between the two men on the front bench seat, demanding attention with his very presence. The familiar scent of library dust and vanilla enveloped them.
“Oh, hey buddy,” Martin said, his voice only slightly strained. He smoothed his shirt down. “We didn’t see you there.”
Derrick sat squished between them, trying to look offended. His lower lip was pushed out in a pout, but his eyes were shining with barely-contained glee. He looked from Martin to Erik and back again, thrilled and overwhelmed, not knowing which way to turn.
Martin and Erik shared a glance over Derrick’s head. A silent agreement passed between them. In unison, they leaned down. Erik pressed his lips to the right side of Derrick’s neck, Martin to the left. They kissed the soft skin slowly, wetly, using plenty of tongue.
Derrick gasped, his faux-anger dissolving instantly. He moaned, a high, sweet sound, and began to squirm between them, his body wriggling with pleasure. He turned his head towards Martin, his breath coming in short little pants.
“I have a present for Daddy,” he whispered, the whisper clearly meant for Erik to hear. His eyes were wide with fake innocence. “I hope he’ll like it.”
Martin grinned, a wide, knowing smile. He kissed Derrick’s earlobe. “I’m sure he will.”
Derrick scrambled then, kneeling up on the bench seat so he was facing Martin, his back to Erik. He fumbled with his khakis, undoing the button and fly, and pushed them down just below the soft, pale curve of his ass. Martin reached over, his hands gentle but firm, and pulled Derrick’s cheeks apart.
Erik stared. Nestled between Derrick’s cheeks was a flat, shining jewel—a deep, cobalt blue stone set in a sleek stainless steel base. It glinted in the dome light. Erik was confused, his mind lagging behind the visual.
“Go on,” Martin urged, his voice thick. “Uncork your present.”
Erik chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He reached out, his thick fingers gripping the cool metal of the jewel. He gave it a gentle, experimental tug.
Derrick cried out, a loud, needy moan that echoed in the car. His back arched, pushing his ass back towards Erik’s hand. “Daddy…”
Meanwhile, Derrick’s hands were busy, fumbling with the button on Martin’s trousers. Erik kept a gentle, steady pressure on the plug, watching as Derrick worked to free Martin’s cock.
With a final, firm pull, Erik drew the plug free. Derrick’s hole, beautifully stretched and glistening, remained open for a second before beginning to pulse. A viscous, milky mess of cum started to leak out, tracing a slow path down his perineum.
“Fuck,” Erik breathed, his eyes half-lidded. The smell hit him—the intimate, musky scent of sex and spend, sharper than his own sweat, utterly debauched. It was profoundly arousing.
He heard the wet, rhythmic sounds of Derrick taking Martin into his mouth. Without hesitation, Erik dipped his head. He licked a long, firm stripe over Derrick’s gaping hole, swallowing the warm, salty spill of another man’s cum. He revelled in the filthy taste, the submissive act, the overwhelming reality of it.
The car filled with the sounds of their shared depravity: Derrick’s enthusiastic sucking, Martin’s low groans, the wet, obscene noises of Erik’s tongue working against Derrick’s skin. Derrick could barely keep still, whimpering and rocking between the two sensations, overcome.
As Martin’s breathing grew ragged, Derrick moved with a frantic, practiced grace. He pulled off Martin’s cock with a slick pop, turned his body, and lowered himself onto Martin in one smooth motion. At the same time, he leaned forward, his mouth finding Erik’s.
He kissed Erik deeply, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Erik could taste Martin on Derrick’s tongue—a clean, skin-and-salt flavor. In return, Derrick moaned, tasting the lingering spend from his own body in Erik’s mouth. The three of them were connected in a raw, perfect circuit.
Martin came quickly, his hips jerking upward, a harsh groan stifled against Derrick’s shoulder. He slumped back, breathing heavily. “We should get going,” he muttered, though he made no move to push Derrick off.
Derrick climbed off Martin, a string of saliva and semen connecting them for a second. He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah.” But his eyes were on Erik, dark and hungry. He wasn’t done.
He knelt back on the seat, facing Erik. His hands went to the drawstring of Erik’s sweatpants. He undid the knot, pulled the waistband open, and freed Erik’s cock, which was thick, hard, and leaking steadily against his stomach. Derrick bit his lip, looking from Erik’s face to his erection.
Without a word, he positioned himself, guiding Erik with one hand. Then he lowered his body, sinking slowly onto Erik’s length, his cum-filled hole offering a slick, warm, impossibly tight sheath. Erik threw his head back against the headrest, a guttural sound ripped from his throat as Derrick took him all the way in.
Derrick settled his weight fully, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he accommodated Erik’s girth. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, then opened, dark and intent. He leaned forward, his nose wrinkling as he inhaled deeply. A new, primal awareness lit his face.
He was registering the sharp, salty scent of Erik’s dried sweat, a potent musk that cut through the other smells in the car. Without a word, Derrick lifted Erik’s heavy arm, pushing the sleeve of his t-shirt up. He buried his nose deep into the damp, hairy pit, inhaling like a man starved for oxygen.
Erik groaned at the intimate invasion, the sensation of Derrick’s hot breath and nuzzling nose against that sensitive skin sending a fresh jolt through him. It was profoundly animal, this blatant seeking of his scent. Derrick mumbled something indecipherable into his armpit, a sound of pure satisfaction.
Then Derrick shifted, finding a better purchase on Erik’s lap, adjusting his angle. The movement made Erik hiss; Derrick’s hole clenched tightly around him, a slick, muscular grip that threatened to undo him immediately. “Jesus, kid,” Erik rasped, his hands flying to Derrick’s hips to steady them both.
“Seatbelt,” Martin murmured from the driver’s seat, his voice rough but practical. He’d already started the car, the engine purring to life.
Derrick, still impaled, reached across clumsily. He snagged the seatbelt, stretched it over both their laps, and clicked it into place. The belt pinned him down onto Erik, holding him firm. “There,” Derrick whispered, a sly, delirious smile on his face.
Martin put the car in gear and pulled out of the alley. The first bump in the road jolted them, sending a shockwave through their connected bodies. Derrick gasped, his fingers digging into Erik’s shoulders. He let his body go completely limp, a dead weight surrendering to the vehicle’s motion.
Every crack in the pavement, every gentle rise and fall of the street, became part of their rhythm. Derrick bounced lightly in Erik’s lap, each descent a sweet, frictioned squeeze. Erik could only hold on, his knuckles white on Derrick’s hips, his jaw clenched tight against the overwhelming build of pressure. The world outside the windows blurred into streaks of streetlight and shadow.
Martin drove with focused calm, stealing glances at the pair tangled together in his passenger seat. The only sounds were the hum of the engine, the soft slap of skin, and Erik’s increasingly ragged breaths. Derrick was silent, his head lolling back, utterly lost to the sensation, letting the city’s infrastructure fuck him on Erik’s cock.
Erik knew he wouldn’t last. The tension coiled, unbearably tight, at the base of his spine. “Fuck, Derrick, I’m gonna—” he choked out, the warning torn from him.
Derrick just moaned, a low, encouraging sound, and clenched down hard as they hit a pothole. That was all it took. Erik’s vision sparked white at the edges as he came, a deep, pulsing release that emptied him into the warm, willing body clutching his. He shook with the force of it, his grip on Derrick’s hips the only thing anchoring him to the world.
He was still shuddering through the final waves when Martin turned into their driveway. The car rolled to a stop inside the garage, the engine cutting off to leave a ringing silence. Derrick was glassy-eyed, boneless and spent against Erik’s chest. Erik felt soft, drained, a profound contentment leaching into his muscles. Martin leaned back in his seat, exhaling a long, satisfied sigh, a similar peace on his face.
For a minute, no one moved. The seatbelt was the only thing holding Derrick upright. Erik finally fumbled for the release. The click echoed in the quiet garage. “Come on,” he grunted, his voice thick. He eased Derrick off him, a wet, intimate separation.
He helped the wobbly boy out of the car, Martin coming around to support his other side. They moved through the dim house like a single, six-legged creature, guided by the low light from the upstairs hallway. Erik led them not to their shared bedroom, but to the ensuite attached to the master bedroom.
He pushed the door open to the spacious, tile-lined room Debbie had designed. The big walk-in shower with its rainfall head and built-in bench awaited. “In you go,” Erik said, his voice still rough.
They shed their damp, stained clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. The shower came to life with a hiss, steam quickly billowing to fill the glass enclosure. The three of them shuffled in under the hot spray, a tangle of limbs and tired smiles.
It was not sensual, not anymore. It was a shared cleanup. Erik soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed Derrick’s back while Martin shampooed his own short hair. Derrick, leaning against the tiles, giggled sleepily as Martin rinsed and then conditioned Erik’s thick, sweaty hair for him. They passed the body wash around, scrubbing away the evidence of the alley and the car. The mood was one of easy, exhausted camaraderie.
Halfway through, a familiar pressure built in Erik’s bladder. “Ah, fuck. Hold on,” he muttered, turning to step out of the shower stream. “I need to pee.”
A small hand clamped around his wrist. Derrick, his hair plastered to his forehead, looked up at him with suddenly bright, insistent eyes. He didn’t speak. He simply dropped to his knees on the shower floor, the water cascading over his shoulders. He opened his mouth, tilting his head back, his tongue darting out to catch a droplet.
Understanding crashed over Erik. He hesitated for only a second. The demand in Derrick’s eyes, the sheer filth of the request, sent a thrill through his spent body. “You’re unbelievable,” he breathed, but he was already shifting his stance.
He gave in. The yellow stream arced out, hitting Derrick’s outstretched tongue first, then splashing across his cheeks and chin. Derrick’s eyes slid shut in ecstasy, a low groan vibrating in his throat as he swallowed eagerly.
Then Martin was there, moving in close to Erik. He wrapped an arm around Erik’s waist, pressing his side to Erik’s. “Move over a bit, share the wealth,” Martin murmured, his own stream joining Erik’s, creating twin torrents that mingled on Derrick’s face.
Derrick almost screamed then, a muffled sound of sheer delight as the warm fluid covered him, pooled in his open mouth, and flowed down his throat. He drank it greedily, his body shaking with what seemed like pure joy.
When they were done, they rinsed off again, the water washing everything clean. The three of them were laughing now, a loose, absurd hilarity taking hold. “Look at you,” Martin chuckled, rubbing a towel over Derrick’s spiky hair. “Glorious mess.”
Derrick beamed, swaying on his feet. Then Martin’s expression shifted, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face. He glanced at his watch. “Shit. Won’t Debbie be home soon?”
Erik toweled himself off, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. “Girls’ night out,” he said, his voice a low growl of pure satisfaction. He looked from Martin to the glowing, water-slicked Derrick. “Which means… boys’ night in.”
Derrick couldn’t have looked more gleeful if he’d won the lottery. He grabbed a hand of each man, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled them, laughing and naked, out of the bathroom and toward the stairs. “Up, up, up!” he chirped, leading them to the boy's shared bedroom.
In the soft light of the sprawling suite, Martin seemed to reassume a familiar role. His easy smile took on a subtle edge of command. “Derrick, sofa. That end.” He pointed to one corner of the large sectional. “Erik, you take the other end.”
Derrick complied instantly, perching on the very edge of the cushion, his eyes wide and anticipatory. Erik sank into the opposite corner, his body responding to the implicit order, his half-hard cock already stirring again against his thigh.
Martin stood before them for a moment, a conductor surveying his orchestra. “You,” he said firmly to Derrick, “stay there. Don’t move.” He then sank gracefully to his knees on the plush rug, right between Erik’s spread legs.
Without preamble, he took Erik into his mouth. It was competent, steady work—thorough and without flourish. Erik let his head fall back against the sofa cushions with a heavy sigh. “Well, fuck,” he moaned, the words rumbling deep in his chest. “This is turning out to be quite a day.”
He watched Derrick watch them. The boy was a live wire of need, his hands fluttering toward his own erection only to be stopped by a sharp glance from Martin. Derrick whined softly, but obeyed, his fingers instead finding his own nipples. He pinched and twisted them, his back arching off the sofa, his breathing quick and shallow as he denied himself the touch he craved most.
Martin worked Erik back to full hardness with a dogged persistence. It was adequate, pleasurable, but it lacked the hungry, noisy artistry Derrick possessed. After what felt like an age of this, Erik took pity. He laid his head back against the sofa cushion, looking across at Derrick.
“Come here,” he said, his voice softer now. He beckoned Derrick over.
Derrick scrambled across the cushions, moving with desperate speed. Erik guided him to straddle his face, lowering Derrick onto his mouth. Erik, his cock still in Martin's mouth, didn’t need instruction. He shifted forward, using his big hands to spread Derrick’s cheeks, exposing him fully to Erik's tongue. Then he leaned in, burying his own tongue, delving as deep as he could.
Derrick gasped, his body tensing, then began to move, gently rocking up and down on the rigid point of pleasure. The sounds he made were high and broken, lost in the muffled, wet noise of the two men working below him.
But as good as Martin’s mouth felt on him, Erik craved the heat of Derrick now. The feeling of him being pleasured, the memory of that tight, perfect fit from the car, was too much. He decided to reorganize things.
He moved suddenly, his hands firm on Derrick’s hips. He lifted the boy off Martin’s face and turned him, bending him smoothly over the high back of the sofa. Derrick squeaked in surprise, then moaned as his position was changed.
Erik’s eyes scanned the coffee table. There, as if waiting, was a familiar bottle of lube. He snatched it up, slicked himself generously, and gave Derrick a quick, preparing coat. Then, without ceremony, he gripped Derrick’s hips and buried himself inside him in one firm, deep thrust.
Derrick squealed, a sharp, perfect sound of pleasure-pain that echoed in the quiet room. His hands clenched the sofa fabric, his body accepting the sudden fullness.
Martin was on his feet instantly. He moved to the back of the sofa, facing Erik over the expanse of Derrick’s bowed back. He leaned down, and Derrick, understanding, turned his head, opening his mouth for Martin. As Erik began to move, setting a slow, powerful rhythm, Martin fed his cock into Derrick’s waiting mouth.
Erik watched Martin’s face, saw his eyes flutter closed as Derrick took him deep. They were connected now, a circuit completed through the pliant, eager body between them. Erik reached a hand over Derrick’s back, tangling his fingers in Martin’s hair, pulling him closer.
Their mouths met over Derrick’s shoulder in a deep, frantic kiss. It was salt and heat and shared purpose. The rhythm built, a three-part harmony of thrusts and sucks and gripping hands. Erik felt his release gathering again, a tighter, slower coil than in the car.
He broke the kiss to gasp for air, his forehead resting against Martin’s. “Gonna… fuck…”
Martin just nodded, his own breath coming in harsh grunts. He was close, too. They moved in time, their pace increasing until the room was filled with the sound of skin, of choked cries, of absolute surrender.
Erik came first, his thrusts becoming erratic, then stopping completely as he pushed deep and held there, pouring himself out. The feel of his orgasm triggered Martin’s; Erik saw it in the clench of his jaw, felt it in the way Martin’s hips stuttered against Derrick’s face.
They stayed like that, locked in place, until the last shudder passed through them. Then, slowly, they both pulled back, softening, separating from Derrick. The boy slumped over the sofa back, spent and glazed, but a slow, dazed smile spread across his flushed face.