Vincent wiped the traces of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Then why did you go three days without eating?”
“I…” Star wilted, his ears drooping like a cat. “The good takeout is too expensive. I did not want to waste money.”
Vincent was caught between laughing and crying. “Do you think I cannot afford to support you? Besides, the way you acted in Hawaii did not look like you were trying to save me money.”
The three-thousand-dollar Christmas meal was hardly convincing evidence of frugality. Star could not think of a better excuse, so he simply said, “You were not coming back, and I thought you had grown tired of me. I had no appetite.”
Vincent paused for a moment, his arms tightening around him unconsciously. “So, you were seeking attention?”
Star felt he had dug himself a massive hole. “I did not. I did not mean to.”
Vincent held him tightly, burying his head in Star’s shoulder, and fell silent. “Cipher, I will not grow tired of you easily. You do not need to worry, but…” He paused. “Do not forget your place.”
Star hugged his broad back, his voice very calm. “I know. I will not forget.”
Vincent listened to his calm voice and felt a sudden, inexplicable prick of pain in his heart. Star had indeed not forgotten, and from that day on, he ordered takeout every day. Whether he could eat it or not, he would always take a few symbolic bites, and his body did indeed begin to recover. From initially falling into a coma like sleep, he progressed to being able to stay awake and endure the entire night.
One night, after Vincent had fallen asleep, Star quietly slipped to the balcony of another room. There were lounge chairs and a tea table there. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from beneath the table, lit one, and lay back on the lounge chair.
The Las Vegas night sky was lively; buildings emitted lights that pierced the sky, and airships drifted through the air. Star’s eyes remained unfocused. It had been half a month. Vincent came every night and left in the morning; Star did not know if Vincent regarded this place as a home or a high end club.
Not that it made any difference. Vincent had continued to give him money, totaling nearly a hundred thousand dollars. He was selling himself quite dearly.
“Heh.” Star laughed, but his eyes remained cold.
He took several sharp drags of the cigarette, the cold menthol stimulating his brain. Through the smoke, he watched the airship in the sky until it drifted out of sight. Vincent watched him for a long time; he had wanted to go up and call him in, but seeing the hollow, deathly look in Star’s eyes and the blurry, desperate face beneath the smoke, Vincent turned away instead.
Star spent a long time on the balcony to air out the scent before heading to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and changed into pajamas before lying next to Vincent. He was pulled into an embrace the moment he lay down. Vincent did not touch him, just held him. Star knew they were just sleeping, so he did not bother unbuttoning anything.
Once the person in his arms was breathing rhythmically, Vincent gently stroked his brow. For some reason, he always felt that Star’s features were far more profound than they appeared. His bone structure looked very European.
Star moved uncomfortably, and Vincent stopped his hand, holding him tighter. He had only ever found one person who satisfied him so far; it was unlikely he would find another suitable companion in the future. He decided he would be kinder to him.
The next morning, the first thing Star did upon waking was to order takeout, waiting until it was about to arrive before getting out of bed. He thought Vincent had already left, but upon reaching the living room, he found him sitting on the sofa looking at a tablet.
“Sir…” Star did not know what to say; since they had moved, they rarely spent much time talking while fully dressed.
Vincent put down the tablet. “Come here.”
Star sat obediently on his lap. “Sir.”
“Take a look.” Vincent placed the tablet in his hands. It was a digital notebook filled with handwritten notes. The script was sharp and elegant. Star zoomed in to look at them one by one; it was research on the most famous psychiatrists and psychologists in America. The notes were meticulously organized, summarizing the strengths and weaknesses of each doctor, along with many terms Star did not recognize.
Star looked up hesitantly. “Sir, this is…”
Vincent stroked his arm and clicked on two images. “Your mother’s condition, as far as I can tell, falls into the domain of these two doctors.”
Star’s jaw dropped. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the tablet. “I… you…”
Vincent smiled gently and tousled his hair. “Let us bring your mother over.”
Star was too shocked to speak. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. Vincent had done this research for him? He had taken such detailed notes? He even wanted to bring over his mother, who sounded like a massive burden? He was just a lover; was this really necessary?
“You…” Star wanted to ask if he treated everyone this way, but the words died in his throat. That phrase, do not forget your place, kept spinning in his mind.
“Maybe just forget it. Medical care in America is too expensive. She does not speak English either. I am afraid she will become even more withdrawn if she comes here.” Star did not even have a mother. No matter how serious Vincent was, it would not change that fact.
Vincent found a few more images for him. “I have considered that. These are English speaking caregivers. I can hire three of them to look after your mother around the clock.”
The resumes displayed were dazzling. Although there were no prices listed, Star estimated the monthly salary for each would not be less than ten thousand dollars. Star was stunned. It was not Vincent reminding him of his place anymore; it was Star who wanted to remind Vincent. Did Vincent remember his status? He is a lover! A lover bought with money! What was this? Loving someone so much that you extended the affection to their family? Was he crazy?
Star did not know how to respond, so he shoved the tablet back into Vincent’s hands and ran into the bedroom, locking the door.
Vincent knocked on the door. “Cipher, do not worry. I will pre pay for your mother’s care for the next five years.”
Crazy, crazy, crazy. This is truly crazy!
Star felt like grabbing the sheets and rappelling down to the street, but the height of the twentieth floor kept him calm. What was Vincent doing? This was not the romantic struggle between an artist and an entrepreneur; this was a benefactor and his kept lover!
He heard the sound of keys jingling outside. Star felt the sound like the chime of a death bell. Even if he agreed, where would he get a mother? He had to fool him somehow.
Star paced the bedroom floor, his brain cells firing rapidly. If I can just make it through this, I can run. I will just keep up the facade until the time is up, and then I will run.
Having figured it out, Star opened the bedroom door and threw himself into Vincent’s arms. “Thank you, sir. Truly, thank you.”
Vincent scooped him up with one hand and carried him back to the sofa. “You deserve it. Do not thank me.”
Deserve it, my foot. Star had never seen a benefactor who went this far. There were those who were so infatuated they broke with their families or ruined their lives, but those were few and far between, and certainly never top tier billionaires; they were usually just nouveau riche. A top tier billionaire might be sweet talking and gentle, but they would never compromise on matters of principle. Look at Qin Yue; he was madly in love, but he had never once mentioned marriage. Was Vincent truly not finding his mother a burden, or was he…
Star shook his head vigorously. Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
Vincent saw him shaking his head and frowned slightly. “What is wrong?”
Star realized what he was doing and shook his head again. “Nothing. I am just afraid to bring her over directly. I am afraid of stressing her out. Can you give me a few months to talk to her slowly? Otherwise, she will worry about everything, worrying about being a burden, worrying about not being able to survive…”
Vincent nodded. “Fine. Take your time.”
Star breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Vincent did not ask for his mother’s information to make an advance appointment. Well, of course, why would a billionaire need an appointment?
Still, the shock was significant, and Star decided he had to give Vincent a reminder. So, the next day, Star dug out the equipment from the bedroom drawer. There was so much of it that it could have opened a small boutique. Star blushed even touching the daringly shaped items. In the end, he picked out the most conservative ones.
After dressing, Star looked in the mirror. This could hardly be called clothes. He threw on one of Vincent’s shirts, which just covered his thighs. He thought about it and took it off. Forget it. I have already come this far. Better to be shocking.
That evening, the electronic lock beeped. Vincent pushed the door open, his briefcase nearly dropping to the floor. In the dimly lit living room, warmed by the orange glow of the simulated fireplace, a well behaved cat eared boy knelt in the entryway. The boy had fair skin, smooth body lines, and a firm abdomen covered only by a simple maid’s apron. Two soft, pink tinged knees showed beneath the black apron, and a long, black cat tail curled beside him. The boy tilted his head, and the bell on his collar chimed. His two cute dimples appeared.
“Master, you are home.”
Thump.
Vincent’s briefcase hit the floor. He turned around instantly and locked the door. When he turned back, Star was holding a cat o’ nine tails with cat claws in both hands, biting his lip. “Master, the kitty broke a plate today. Do you want to punish the kitty?”
The boy’s pitiful appearance, his perfectly submissive kneeling posture, and the way he held the whip, everything matched Vincent’s fantasies perfectly.
Kneeling, waiting for him to come home.
Vincent suddenly felt the apron was an eyesore. Best if he wore nothing at all.
Vincent picked up the whip, sliding his fingertips across the boy’s palm. It was cold. Everything was cold, the boy’s hands, the whip. He stood there, holding the whip, motionless for a long time. Soon, the whip warmed with the heat of his palm.
Star tilted his head, leaned forward, and crawled over, his hands braced on the floor. The intermittent chime of bells filled the room.
“Master, do you not like the kitty?”
How could I not like you?
Vincent was simply afraid of losing control. Losing control to the point of locking the door, sealing the windows, never letting him have clothes again, never letting him stand up. Making it so his world consisted only of him, his diet, his actions, even every breath he took required his permission. Losing control to the point where there was no turning back.
Seeing Vincent silent for so long, Star lost his nerve. This should not be happening; Vincent must like these things, or why would he have bought an entire room full of equipment? Star gripped Vincent’s trouser leg and rubbed his head against him.
Vincent’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the whip. He raised his hand and placed the whip on the entryway cabinet; the silicone cat claws on the end were already deformed from his grip. He slowly reached out and rubbed the boy’s head. His hair was soft, softer than a real fur cat ear headband.
Star rubbed against him again. “Mas, ugh…”
Star was suddenly shoved to the floor, and the bell on his neck rang sharply. Immediately after, a rapid, frantic chiming of bells followed.
The sound was sometimes fast, sometimes slow, from the entryway to the sofa in the living room, and then from the living room to the balcony. In the vast house, the sound of the bells was everywhere. Star went from being active and enthusiastic to crying as he gripped Vincent’s back. He refused to beg for mercy; instead, he exerted himself to tease him further. The movement of his hips, the expression on his face, the cat like sounds from his throat, everything provoked Vincent’s nerves.
Vincent stopped only because he was truly worried about Star’s physical state.
But Star did not want him to stop. From that day on, whenever Vincent returned, day or night, Star would be there at the door to greet him. And the ways he greeted him were varied, cat ears, dog paws, rabbit tails, he had used almost all the equipment in the drawer. Vincent did not even have time to speak; every day was just a blur of passion.
Ten days later, when Star opened the door wearing a devil’s tail and small wings on his back, Vincent did not give him a chance; he took off his suit jacket and draped it over him.
“Stop.” Vincent pressed his forehead against his, not letting him continue.
Star clung to him like he had no bones. “What is wrong, sir?”
Vincent felt as if he were raising a little Daji. He had never imagined Star could go to such lengths. He thought he would have to coax Star to accept those props and equipment, never expecting Star to have used them all before he even had the chance to ask. Vincent closed the door, wrapped him tightly in his suit jacket, and carried him to the sofa. “What has gotten into you?”
Star naturally straddled his lap, wrapped his legs around his waist, and hugged his neck. “I want it.”
The young man still had hickey marks on his neck from the day before, bruises on his waist, and the little devil wings on his back peeked out from under the suit jacket. His dark red contact lenses looked like a predator seeing its prey, bewitching him like a little devil enticing a man to commit a sin.
“You…”
Star blocked his mouth. A long time later, panting, he pressed his forehead against Vincent’s. “Master, the tail is a plug.”
Boom.
Something called reason collapsed.