Chapter Nineteen
T hanksgiving day went surprisingly well, so I made a decision to stay for Friday as well.
“Can’t you stay a bit longer?” my father pleaded.
I shook my head.
“Chester and I have classes on Monday and getting back will take us at least two days, with the roads being so full of people returning to their homes.”
“Why not take a plane? I know everything is already booked on commercial flights, but I do have my private jet. You could take it,” dad insisted.
“Ah. I don’t know…” I looked at my lovers imploringly. Chester was mouthing ‘private jet’ with awe, which told me he would never forgive me if I took the experience of using a private jet away from him. Elijah looked embarrassed to have such a fuss made, and Rowan seemed contemplative.
“Let me spoil you a little.” Dad laid a hand on my shoulder and his tone went soft. Ugh, psychological manipulation.
“Are you okay with this, Rowan? We would have to arrange someone to drive your car back…” I asked.
Rowan looked sharply at my dad, who straightened.
“I will ensure my best driver goes behind the wheel. The car will be delivered without a scratch, I promise.”
Reassured, Rowan nodded.
With the decision made, we suddenly had a lot more time to consider. I looked wistfully out of the window, but the rain had been pattering down for hours now and it looked like a storm was coming.
A day inside, in front of a merrily burning fireplace, it was then.
“You mentioned games?” Elijah asked Seth and a minute later all of us, including my father, found ourselves in a competitive tournament. The loser was supposed to sing a song and the winner would be the one to choose what kind of song.
Chester grinned like a loon when we tallied the scores and he came out on top. He puffed his chest with pride and looked towards my father, expecting his strategic prowess would finally garner him the long-awaited approval.
Then he realized my father was at the bottom of the scoring table.
Dad was already glaring at the redhead. He hated singing.
“What do old people like to sing?!” Chester asked Elijah in a whisper that was entirely too loud.
“Old? OLD?” My dad seethed. “I’m still in my prime, you punk!”
Chester waved his hands frantically.
“I didn’t mean anything by that, sir! Just that you are older than us! The oldest! Crap, that doesn’t sound better… Um, how about a shanty? A shanty should be a safe choice, right?!” Chester changed the topic desperately.
My father took a deep breath in and bellowed out a few verses of the Drunken Sailor. Every time he sang the descriptions of the bad things done to the poor sailor he kept meaningful eye contact with the trembling redhead.
Poor Chester.
I decided to cheer my lover up during the stay, even if he was still firmly the Least Liked on my father’s list. He was trying, and that was what counted. It was pretty tragic and a bit hilarious that Chester’s every attempt to endear himself to my father only made things worse.
The day was full of good food, fancy drinks, and too much cranberry juice. When father was called away to talk with one of his associates and Seth, Elijah, and Rowan were engrossed in a game of Mario Kart, I pulled Chester away.
“Hey, I’m waiting for my turn!” he protested, but I shushed him, putting a finger to his lips.
“Trust me, you want to come with me. Quietly.”
Intrigued, the redhead followed after me, leaving the gaming group oblivious to our disappearance.
With my hand in his, I led him upstairs.
To my room.
I closed the door behind us with care, making sure it wouldn’t make too much noise.
I gestured to the reminders of my past scattered around us. Once upon a time it was the main residence where mum and I stayed, but after her death we returned here only for Thanksgiving, so the room was left relatively unchanged.
It was a perfect portrait of the life of a teenage girl. Band posters on the walls, colorful accents everywhere, even a few plush toys left on the bed.
“Have you ever thought about dirtying my childhood bedroom with your cum?” I asked.
“Yes! Maybe? I mean, I’m definitely thinking about this now!” Chester babbled, his voice rising with excitement.
I shushed him with furrowed brows.
“If you want to get any, keep your voice down,” I reproached. “Unfortunately, the sound carries to the lower floor. If we are too loud the gaming bros or, gods forbid, my father will hear us.”
“My lips are sealed!” Chester promised and mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key away.
“No, it’s my lips that are going to be sealed… around your cock,” I promised and pushed Chester onto the bed, crawling after him as he scooted up to the headboard until he was sitting with his back to it.
My fingers unzipped his pants swiftly and Chester swore quietly.
You would think he was still a teenager with the way his cock went from zero to a hundred as soon as I pulled him out of his yellow duck-patterned boxers. I decided to take it as a compliment and hid my smile in the curve of his throbbing cock as I traced its shape with my open lips, then with my tongue. I wanted to take my time, but it was better to not risk anyone would go in search of us, so with a moan I dragged my mouth to the top of my prize, then sealed my lips over the cockhead. Chester gasped, then panted as I sank lower, gulping him down, stretching my lips with his girth. One of his hands darted to my hair, not trying to take control but holding onto me as I did my best to wreck him. When I established a toe-curling rhythm of up and down, I discovered that my lover was equally responsive, whether I was pulling off his cock or sliding it deeper into my hot mouth. The problem was this came with noises.
“Lisa…!” Chester moaned. I glared up at him before I pulled off his cock and swiftly rose on my knees, dislodging his hand from my hair.
“That’s not quiet!” I hissed in his ear and slapped a hand over his mouth.
His eyes were wide as I reached down to stroke his cock but kept my palm covering his mouth. Like this, Chester still made noise, or at least tried to. The broken moans were muffled and that had to do. I didn’t want to stop. With his fast breath against my hand, I could feel how he struggled to keep his sounds of pleasure down. The harsh panting mixed with a wet symphony of strokes, my saliva easing the way of my rhythmic caress.
I pressed with my hand, and Chester’s head thudded onto the headboard behind him. This position allowed me not only to silence him but to keep him in place.
Honestly, the thrill of it went to my head a little.
Chester’s eyes were glazed with pleasure, his fingers tangled in the sleeves of my sweater. He wasn’t trying to control the motions of my hand; no, the desperate grip was him just trying to hold on, to anchor himself among the sea of bliss.
His muffled cries dangerously increased in volume, and I knew I had to finish this fast.
“Good kitty,” I whispered in his ear and it was all it took.
Hot cum spilled over my fingers, but I kept my gaze on Chester’s face. His cheeks were ruddy with the red blush and, under my hand, I felt how his mouth had opened on that last cry of completion. The temptation was too strong, and I dipped my fingers inside, sliding my fingertips over his tongue, feeling him pant around me. Saliva slipped down his chin.
He was a complete mess.
I did this , a proud voice in my head crooned.
“Instead of worrying about people overhearing us, I should have been more worried about someone taking one look at you and seeing how I wrecked you,” I murmured, as Chester watched me with dazed eyes.
He gave me the slowest of blinks, like the cat that he was, utterly relaxed and blissed out.
I was the only thing keeping him from sprawling all over the bed as he became a total noodle. Still, he feebly tried to get his hand under my skirt. I caught it and held it in place.
“You may be satisfied with keeping quiet, but I won’t be. I want you to make me scream. Let’s revisit this when we are back home,” I said.
“M’kay,” Chester agreed and nuzzled against me.
The post-coital bliss really brought out the cat in him.
I had to escape his grabby hands when I went to clean myself up. I returned with a towel to clean my partner with and after we were done with the perfunctory cleaning, Chester wound himself up around me immediately. I was pretty sure that if he was in his cat form he would be purring up a storm.
We should be getting back before the others started to worry… but surely fifteen minutes couldn’t hurt. Despite my best efforts I dozed off, too comfortable snuggling with my lover.
“…Lisa? Lisa? …did she fall asleep?”
I came to consciousness with a rush of panic as the knocking turned into the sound of the door cracking open. My father couldn’t see me in bed with Chester!
“…is that a cat?” My father asked from the half-ajar door.
I blinked, then looked at the other side of the bed where an orange cat tried to scramble away. Oh no, you don’t , I thought and pulled Cheddar against me.
“Yes?” I answered sheepishly, extremely glad my lover’s response time was fast enough to shift before dad saw him.
“…where did you get a cat? Actually, nevermind. It wouldn’t be the first time you brought an animal home. At least it’s not a squirrel this time.”
“Are you going to keep bringing that up forever?” I groaned. “I was eight and didn’t know squirrels shouldn’t be kept as pets!”
“Give me some new material to tease you with and I will drop it,” dad smirked, but then his smile morphed into a more serious expression. “I want to know about details like that from your life, all the fun little stories but also your struggles, the bad days where you could use an ear to share your worries.”
“And you thought sending three men to spy on me was the best way to get those stories?”
There, we were finally talking about it. The elephant in the room has been acknowledged.
Father winced.
“My primary objective was your safety. It’s so easy to get hurt when you are all alone in a big city. As you getting mugged proved.” He hastily held his hands up when my brows narrowed at that. “But! But I realize it was duplicitous of me to keep the knowledge I assigned you a security detail from you. And hearing about you from others is not the same as listening to you share your life with me. Can you talk to me? Please, Lisa?”
I was silent for a moment as I gathered myself and squeezed Chester until he meowed in protest. Then a deluge of words escaped my lips like a waterfall.
“Oh, I will talk,” I said viciously. “Because too few people call you on your shit as the big, bad CEO and you had gotten comfortable getting away with things you should not. Have you imagined for a moment how I would feel when I found out my neighbors were spying on me? That the men who had become my friends were paid to do so? To get close to me? To share information about me? This, me putting my faith into Chester, Elijah, and Rowan after they had come clean to me, is the best happy ending you could possibly get because let me tell you… If I learned about this by myself I would be gone . I would take the heaps of money from my trust fund and run somewhere where you would never find me again.”
“Lisa—” Father had the gall to look stricken. It was all a game to him and he was mostly ashamed he got caught. I needed to make him realize how close he got to losing me because of his actions.
“If you ever threaten anyone close to me or use your money and power to put me in a fucking gilded cage again, I will… I will…” I felt the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
Cheddar headbutted my chin and started to purr even as his big cat eyes looked worried.
That’s right. If you do it again I will have three people to support me , I thought with relief. I couldn’t control the actions of others, only hope for the best outcome, but I could control mine.
“I’m sorry,” father blurted out and I snapped my head up. As a born and raised rich boy he was pretty much allergic to this word. To admitting he was wrong. But here he was, gazing at me with those sorrowful eyes. “I know I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I wanted. Give me a chance to make it better?”
“Knowing you, you will need at least three,” I muttered, then sighed. “I suppose I could see you were at least making an effort those past days. It’s a good start.”
“You know… those boys of yours aren’t that bad,” father said awkwardly.
“Even Chester?” I asked slyly.
“He’s certainly… imaginative,” father said diplomatically. “You know, he reminds me a bit of your mother.”
“Oh?” I asked because my mother was a gentle soul who certainly didn’t speak with the speed of a machine gun.
“She thought tomatoes belonged in a fruit salad as well.”
The cat in my arms turned to stare at my father, his ears pricked up, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You know, she actually made that salad one day… and I didn’t want to disappoint her so I ate it… and then she decided my fake smile meant I liked it, even though I felt visceral wrongness every time I spotted the red among the fruits, so I had to break it to her gently…”
The reminiscence of the old times and the anecdote about my mum pulled me into a stilted conversation with my father and, before I knew it, the words were flowing smoothly between us once more. Some balance, some instinctive trust, was restored, and we traded stories back and forth, while Cheddar eavesdropped shamelessly from my lap.