Soon, she thought. Soon he'll be ready for plucking. "Blow, baby, blow."
Trish kept sucking his prick and toying with his nuts, giving him what he wanted. Speedily. Expertly. Until…
"Bingo!" Gabe groaned. "Ready or not, here I come!" And he did.
Trish's eyes grew large as he broke his string and gushed a hot load of jizm into her mouth, but she didn't stop sucking. She felt the pool of juice flood her mouth and splash against her tonsils, and the hot, milky liquid tasted delicious to her. She savored it for a long moment, then proceeded to swallow in great gulps until the last droplet found its way down her throat.
"Good girl!" Gabe said approvingly as he slowly backed his wilting cockshaft out from between her ripe red lips. "You might be a treacherous bitch, but you certainly know how to play a mean whistle."
"I hope I played it well enough to convince you that I wasn't out to pull a double-cross," Trish said as she wiped a droplet of cum from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him. "Did I?"
He reached out and pinched her on the cheek. "Bring one of those bottles over to the table and we'll discuss it, puss. I don't think I'll give you half of the money, but I might get weak enough to kick in with a thousand to keep you going until you find yourself a strip job, or another fish like Bruce Cord to keep you in champagne."
Trish sighed and scrambled to her feet. She crossed over to the ice chest and fisted a bottle of champagne. She carried it over to the table and placed it in front of Gabe. She watched him open the bottle and fill a paper cup. She licked her lips and said, "May I have one, too?"
"Sure. Park it."
She sat down across from him. Gabe poured her a full cup and slid it toward her. Trish sampled the drink. It warmed her, but it didn't ease the tension that crowded her body. Nothing would ease that. Nothing except the destruction of Gabe Penner.
They drank in silence, until Trish broke it by saying, "I could use a cigarette."
Gabe fished a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and tossed them on the table, along with a packet of book matches that advertised Stella Roller's Covered Wagon Bar Cafe. "Help yourself, puss."
Trish lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke deep down into her lungs before she asked, "Couldn't you see your way clear to give me more than a thousand, Gabe?"
"I might, if you come over here and let me suck your tits a little."
Transparent bastard, Trish thought as she stood up and circled the table. With Dooley locked in that damn root cellar and Bruce and the others in town for the day, you know there's no rush about cutting out, and so you 're going to go the whole route before you screw me. Well, I got news for you, prick; the only one who's going to end up screwed is you.
Ice filled her belly as Gabe drew her ass down to his lap. He grinned at her naked breasts, then lowered his face toward the twin hillocks of flesh. Trish waited until he took one of her jutting nipples between his lips. Then, slowly, she reached toward the bottle of champagne, gripped it by the neck and brought it crashing down against the back of his skull. Gabe grunted. Her tit slipped out of his mouth as he leaned to one side and toppled to the floor… and dragged her down with him.
Trish rolled away from Gabe. She jumped to her feet and made a mad scramble for her scattered clothing. She ignored the bra he had ripped from her body and shrugged into the shirt. She buttoned it over her breasts and climbed into her slacks. She shot a hasty glance toward the unconscious Gabe, saw the jagged neck of the broken bottle resting beside him, and hissed, "I ought to cut your goddamned throat for what you did to me today!"
Trish finished dressing and crossed over to the table. She picked up the sack of money without bothering to open it and hugged it to her breasts as though it were a child. She did a brief jig around the room. She was weightless and drunk with joy. Her heart pounded, blood warmed and tits trembled provocatively. She laughed. No more being a loser. No more sweating out three shows per night in cheap dives or taking cocks up her ass from the various Manny Blacks she had known during the adult part of the now nineteen years that were hers. No more off-the-rack dresses, and no more going to bed with an empty stomach. This was it. The end of the ride on the old merry-go-round. She had finally caught the brass ring, valued at half a million dollars.
Happiness faded for a moment as she glanced at Gabe Penner and saw him stir. She wished she could find the guts necessary to wipe his ass off the face of this earth, but she couldn't. Like Gabe, she suddenly discovered that she wasn't made to kill, not even when it concerned a prick who would probably spend the rest of his life searching for her.
She shrugged. Let the bastard hunt all he wanted; he sure as shit wouldn't find her strolling down Fifth Avenue with an ice cream cone in her hand. Not a chance. She knew right where to go to start living like a queen. A place where Gabe Penner would have to swim to reach her. Bermuda.
Joy returned. Impatience came with it. It was time to move on. Away from these stinking boondocks and the funky people who lived here. She laughed and sailed out the door, yelling like a nut as she raced toward the tiny sports car, "Look out, world! Here comes Trish Asher!"
Chapter 15
Eighteen minutes to the second after Trish Asher cut out for parts unknown in Bruce Cord's sports car, Gabe Penner staggered out of the cabin and took off in hot pursuit of her. Elke Lockridge followed him to the county highway through her binoculars. She watched and waited until he managed to thumb a ride toward Lone Pine before she stopped looking and said, "The chase is on, Joseph."
Dooley lowered his own binoculars and grinned. "We must be living right, cupcake. I thought sure Trish and Gabe would end up killing each other." "So did I."
Breath hissed out of Dooley in a long sigh. "Maybe it's better this way. Now they can tangle assholes in some strange city or town, and nobody will ever know why." He gave her a playful slap across the buttocks. "Let's get the hell out of here."
The slap excited Elke. She shook her head at him and said, "I'm not budging until you thank me for rescuing your ass from that root cellar, Joseph." She dropped her binoculars to the ground and twitched her hips at him. "I hate ungrateful men."
"Later, you masochist," Dooley laughed as he gave her another whack across the derriere. "You know I don't like to make it with you on the ground. Let me find a comfortable chair to sit in first, and then I'll show you enough gratitude to make this pretty rump of yours sting for a week."
Elke shook her head. "I'm not after a spanking, Joseph. I want you to screw me."
Dooley started to tell her that there wasn't time. Then he saw her agitated state and changed his mind. His eyes caressed her. His girl was in heat, probably from the scene that had just unfolded before them. She looked hot…and beautiful.
He reached out and tweaked the tip of her nearest breast. "All right, cupcake, you win."
"I usually do," Elke said as she proceeded to disrobe. "I suppose it has something to do with the way I'm built."
Dooley made no answer. He was too busy watching her. Elke was wearing a button-down-the-front dress this morning. The dress was the bright color of a canary flying in the sunlight. She reached up to her breasts and found the first button. He felt his cock start to harden as he watched her fingers crawl over the buttons like lazy worms, then said, "Stop trying to imitate Trish Asher, cupcake; it makes you look cheap."
"How's this, Joseph?"
"Better."
The dress gaped, and Elke pushed it down over her hips, all the way to the ground. She caught the material with the tip of her right shoe and kicked it away from her feet. She wasn't wearing a slip; just a half-bra and panties, and she looked so delicious that for a wild moment Dooley felt like dropping to his knees and putting his tongue to her twinkie, but he didn't.