Even after Brock rolled off her, she lay sighing and writhing.
"Well, you better get to work now, kid," he said, handing her her costume. "The cook will tell you what to do."
"Okay, Brock," she sighed.
As Trish wandered dreamily off to the kitchen, she wondered how much Brock cared about her. She hoped it was a whole lot. She was young, yes, but if she played her cards right she could be married to Brock some day. She'd have the man of her dreams, and she and her mother would never have to worry about money again.
"I've got to have him," Trish sighed to herself, "I've just got to."
CHAPTER THREE
While Trish dizzily made her way to the kitchen in the Tango Club, her mother was hurrying to keep up with business in the bar. It was Pat's first night on the job, and she'd never waited tables before, so she had a lot to learn – and very little time to learn it in.
By midnight, however, she knew she was going to be a success. The other more experienced waitresses nodded at her approvingly, and whenever Brock Spalding made an appearance, he gave her a broad smile. The biggest success of all was Pat's skimpy black costume. The male customers could hardly keep their eyes off her tall dazzling figure.
Shortly after midnight Brock signaled her to come out in the hallway and talk to him. Pat hurried up to where her darkly handsome boss was waiting and said breathlessly, "What is it, Brock? I hope I'm doing everything all right."
"You're doing great, honey," he said, giving her a friendly pat on the butt. "I've been watching you off and on, and you're just fine. I just wanted to ask you to come aver to my place when you get off work."
Pat stared at him. She wasn't sure what his motives were, real affection or plain old-fashioned lust. She wanted so much for Brock to fall in love with her, the way she was falling for him. She decided to take a chance. No matter what his motives, the more time she spent with him, the better. She wanted this man for her husband, not only because he attracted her but because he could guarantee financial security for her and Trish.
"All right, Brock," Pat said, blushing slightly. "I'll be finished around two o'clock."
"I'll be waiting," he said.
After the club closed for the night, Brock had Pat follow him in her car to the luxurious high-rise apartment where he lived. Pat was even more impressed, by his wealth when she discovered that he had the penthouse apartment. It was lavishly furnished and had a spectacular view of the city. Yes, indeed, it would be great to be married to this man!
"Drink, Pat?" Brock said, heading for a built-in bar in his thickly-carpeted living room.
"Yes, thank you," Pat said, lolling on the couch. "I could really use a drink. I'm exhausted."
"Yeah, I imagine your first night was pretty rough," Brock said as he expertly concocted a pitcher of martinis. "But it'll get easier. You're good at the work. I bet you made a bundle in tips tonight."
"I certainly did," Pat said wonderingly. "Oh, Brock, I'm so glad I had the nerve to quit my old job and take this one. Trish and I will be much better off."
She saw a strange expression flit over his face when she mentioned her daughter's name. He recovered quickly, though, and said, "What's your daughter like, Pat? A pretty nice kid?"
"Oh, yes," Pat said, smiling fondly. "She doesn't look at all like me – she takes after her father, blonde hair and blue eyes. But she's a wonderful girl, Brock."
"I can imagine," he muttered.
He brought the pitcher of martinis and a couple of glasses over to the couch, and they sipped their drinks and chatted. But Brock was clearly impatient. He kept moving closer to Pat, till finally their thighs were touching. She could happily have gone on just talking with him, getting to know him better, but she understood that Brock wanted sex.
"You're the best-looking girl at the place," he said. "I'm really turned on to you, Pat."
"Why, thank you, Brock," she said, blushing modestly. "I'm very fond of you, too."
She might not have been so enthusiastic, had she known that just a few hours earlier he'd used the same words to her daughter and then taken the girl's virginity. But Pat didn't even know that Trish was working at the club. She basked in Brock's attention and didn't protest when he leaned over to kiss her.
No, far from protesting, Pat felt instant excitement as his hard hungry mouth forced her lips apart and his slick hot tongue glided into her mouth. It had been far too long since she'd had any sex life at all, and she couldn't help feeling lusty around her handsome employer. She melted against him and allowed him to tongue-kiss her deeply. Already she could feel her pussy moistening and swelling up with need.
Pat was wearing her sensible white cotton blouse and tweed skirt, but they didn't hamper Brock in the least. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, creeping up her skirt to feel her warm silky thighs, sneaking inside her blouse to touch the tightly-packed cones of her bra. Pat didn't mind in the least. She looked forward to a delicious night of love-making with the man of her dreams.
"Let's go in the bedroom," Brock whispered.
Pat nodded shyly. He got up, took her hand, and led her down a long hall to his bedroom. It was as spectacular as the rest of the apartment, with a deep wall-to-wall carpet, a huge picture window overlooking the city, and a king-size bed covered in white fur. Once again Pat thought how wonderful it would be to be his wife.
Brock lounged on the bed and said lazily, "Undress for me, baby. Do it slow. Give me a little show."
Pat blushed again. She was an old-fashioned girl when it came to sex, and she wasn't wed to anything exotic or kinky. But she was so determined to win Brock's love that she was ready to do anything to please him. She stood in the center of the room, where he could see her well, and began to unbutton her blouse.
Brock watched her lazily yet lustily, following her every movement. As she removed her prim white blouse, he focused hotly on her fully-packed and straining little white bra. Pat kicked off her shoes and unzipped her skirt. The skirt fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, wearing just her white lace bra and matching bikini panties. Brock ogled her beautiful tall body.
"Tell me something," he said. "You ever make it with anybody but your old man?"
"Not till you came along," Pat replied, going red with embarrassment.
"And you're thirty-eight years old," Brock said wonderingly. "Jesus, that's really something in this day and age. I mean practically everybody plays around. Didn't you ever want other guys, when you were with your husband?"
"No," Pat answered truthfully. She'd been deeply in love with John the whole thirteen years of their marriage and had never even dreamed of cheating on him.
"Fantastic," Brock said with a chuckle. "He must have been quite a guy."
"He was," Pat said a little sadly. "But the main thing is, Brock, I believe in marriage and in being faithful. If I'm with a certain man, I don't pay any attention to other men."
She hoped Brock would get the point – that she'd make an excellent wife. But he just smiled, as if he found her ideas amusing. She reached around and unhooked her bra. As she slowly drew off the dainty garment, Brock's dark eyes glowed lustily. She dropped the bra to the floor, and her lovely large round breasts wobbled into their natural thrust.
"Great tits," Brock sighed.
Pat reddened, wishing his language could be a little more delicate. But at least he was attracted to her. She began to inch down her panties, slowly and teasingly, and he watched intently. Her round full breasts quivered slightly as she moved, the little rosy-red nipples dancing.
On impulse Pat swung around and presented him with her back. She drew her white lace panties down over the perfect little rounds of her ass and let Brock gawk for a moment. Then she turned to face him again and slipped the panties down over the glossy coal-black fur of her muff. The panties slithered down her legs, and she stepped out of them.