John watched as the tear rolled down her cheek. She discreetly brushed it away while keeping her head down, partially covered by the black veil she wore in mourning. He couldn't believe his boss, Mr. McMahon, had suddenly dropped dead from a heart attack at only 45 years old. Of course, John also found it hard to believe that the beautiful young woman across from him at the grave site was his boss's daughter. He remembered once seeing a picture of Casandra on his boss's desk and assuming he'd landed a hot young piece of ass as a trophy wife. Of course, when he said as much to Mr. McMahon, the man immediately snapped at him that the beautiful young girl was his daughter and that if he tried anything with her it'd be over his dead body.
He snickered suddenly at the irony, causing Mr. McMahon's wife and daughter to both glance up in his direction. He tried to cover his inappropriate laugh by clearing his throat, but for just a moment, his boss's daughter caught his eye before bowing her head once more.
After the service ended, everyone came by the McMahon's home to offer their support and pay their respects to the family. John felt awkward showing up to the house given that he'd only met his boss's wife once or twice. He always felt this tradition was intrusive too, forcing a grieving family to host the after-party for their loved one's funeral. But oh well, he thought. At least there's food and drinks.
As John walked through the house, he said his hellos to colleagues from work and tried to stay out of the way mostly. At one point he saw Casandra sneaking some hard liquor into her drink. She had lost the veil between the cemetery and here, it seemed. Though he knew 19 was hardly old enough to drink, he figured the circumstances warranted a little empathy. In camaraderie, he poured himself another glass as well. When in Rome and all that.
After an hour or so, with the alcohol and stories flowing about Mr. McMahon, John could feel the shift in the room from grief to nostalgia. He considered leaving but realized this was a great networking opportunity, as shallow as it might sound. He stood around the living room with coworkers who knew Mr. McMahon much longer than he and laughed along at their tales of his early years in the company. John soon found himself distracted however when he heard whispered arguments down the hall.
"Can't you just tell them to leave?" Casandra's voice sounded shaky and upset.
"No, Casandra, I cannot. They loved your father too," her mother responded curtly.
"If they really loved him, they wouldn't be able to laugh and tell jokes right now." John thought he heard Casandra's voice crack.
"Listen honey, I know this is hard, and everyone is finding their own way to grieve. Why don't you go up to your room for the rest of the evening? I'll make sure no one goes upstairs for the rest of the night, and you can have some time to yourself."
John glanced back toward the hallway and saw Casandra quietly make her way up the stairs in her simple black dress and Mary Janes. She shouldn't really be alone with all she drank, he thought to himself. He quietly excused himself to use the bathroom, though he wasn't really close enough to anyone for them to notice his absence. Once he got to the hallway, he looked around for any company and then took his leave up the stairs before anyone could see.
He took gentle steps down the upstairs hall until he heard the faint sound of crying. He listened for a moment to be sure and then walked into the room like he had no idea anyone was in there. Casandra gasped at his intrusion and quickly used a tissue to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I was trying to find a quiet space and...I didn't realize anyone was in here," John explained, feigning ignorance quite well he thought.
"It's, uh, ok I guess," Casandra replied, trying to gauge the situation in her inebriated state.
"No, really. I just couldn't take any more of their laughter and jokes right now but, I'll go find somewhere else to go," he moved toward the door, though he had no intention of leaving.
"You couldn't take the jokes either?" Casandra asked, then suddenly burst into tears again.
"Oh dear," John sat beside her on the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
"I juss miss him so much," Casandra slurred slightly as the alcohol mixed with her grief.
"Me too, Casandra, me too." He stroked her shoulder with his thumb softly.
"You...you know my name?" Casandra almost hiccuped, and John felt his cock start to harden at the vulnerable sight of her.
"Of course Casandra. Your father talked about you all the time."
This caused new tears to spill over and she leaned into his shoulder for comfort. "I juss miss him so much..." she confessed again into the warmth of his shirt. There was no denying his arousal now as his cock strained against his dress slacks.
"I don't want to hurt anymore," she admitted.
"Is that why you were sneaking alcohol?" John asked with a hint of reproach in his voice.
