Peter, Prue Ch. 03

Then the images shifted.

He was on top now, and the tip of his cock found the very wet entrance to her vagina - pushing it open, sliding in. The heat, the tightness - she'd been like a glove. Somehow she seemed to massage his cock, sending ripples down the stem - and down his spine. He'd never felt anything like it.

Groaning, Peter came.

A first wave of pearly white sperm shot up like a little fountain; a second and third pulsed and streamed over his jerking hand. He groaned and panted, feeling the last ejaculate tear at his over-sensitive tubes.

"God...," he murmured.

Then he heard a throat clearing.

Moving his head around, he saw Prue. She was naked and her hand covered her mouth. She uttered a muffled cry.

Then she turned and ran back to the bedroom.

***

Julia sat curled up in a corner of her living room.

One by one the candles lost their light, spluttering and sending up ghostly spirals of smoke - they spread a pungent scent of sadness.

She was alone.

Gascoyne had stood in silence over her as she held his gaze with moist, wide-open eyes. He looked old, older even, his face pale, his eyes vague and his shoulders sagging.

"I know," he'd said. "I am an old fool."

Julia had reached up for him, her hand stopping halfway - lost in indecision.

"No, please no," she'd whispered. "I'm so sorry."

It shook him out of his lethargy. His body straightened, his eyes hardened to their old steel.

"Don't give me your pity," he said. "I'll pay for the child, of course, if it's mine. But I don't ever want to see you again."

Then he'd turned around and walked out, leaving her with her candles, her outrageous outfit, and the mascara running down her face.

Darkness gathered as the candles died.

Julia dragged her body up from its crouched position, stretching her limbs. She shivered from emotional exhaustion. An alien sense of vulnerability lingered.

She walked over to the ice bucket on the table that held the bottle of champagne she'd meant to use for celebration, if things had gone her way. She popped the cork, ignoring the festivity of the sound, and filled one of the two flutes.

"To you, stupid," she said, emptying it.

***

"Why did you have to do that?" Prue asked, sitting on the bed, her face blotched and wet with tears.

"I'm sorry, honey," Peter said, for lack of better reasons.

Prue had wrapped the sheet tightly around her naked body. She'd sat like that when he finally followed her back into the bedroom. He'd tried to embrace her, but she'd pushed him away.

"Pervert!" she'd said.

"I'm sorry you saw that," he went on. "You see, a man can't always help himself. I went for a piss, and then... well, I was still very sensitive from our lovemaking. It was so great that even coming twice wasn't enough, obviously. God, you have no idea what you do to me, Prue."

He knew he was winging it, schmoozing like hell. And lying.

Would she believe it? Would he have believed it if things were reverse? He didn't think so. But she looked up and a tiny, sad, fluttering smile touched her lips.

"Really?" she said, dropping the sheet, showing her slim, girly body.

He felt like a heel.