Page 63 of Cillian

“Thought he could use a pair of clothes to change into,” she said, exchanging the clean clothes for dirty ones. “Let me know if you'd like something else too.”

“That would be nice. I'm surprised you just have clothes for Cillian lying around.”

“They're actually Bellamy's,” she confessed. “After Eoghan’s father died, he stayed here a lot after the baby. They just happened to fit Cillian now that he's…well, not little Cilly anymore.” She ended in a laugh.

“Oh, and I apologize for my cousin. Fiona, bit of a traditionalist, that one. If things escalated when you left, it was only because Cillian…he didn't like that you felt so uncomfortable that you needed to leave.”

Hesitation was there; it was embarrassing to admit this was a norm for me, but Órfhlaith thus far had never given me a reason not to confide in her, but it didn’t stop me from trying to downplay the moment for peace.

“Trust me, I'm used to it.”

“Well, we don't want you to be used to that. Moving forward, anyone that's made you feel like less of a Sullivan doesn't have an open invitation to Sunday dinner.”

“Thank you. You don't have to.”

“I don't, but we're family. You're the new kid on the block, so yeah, we have to if we don’t want to scare you away.” She joked.

“Anyway, if there isn't anything else you needed, I?—”

“Actually, there was something we talked about earlier that I wanted to follow up on,” I interrupted.

“Follow up?” She formed as a question, in need of a refresher.

“We talked about…stuff…about back door?”

“Oh!” Her face lighting up in recognition, as she asked me to come follow her to her room. Offering me a seat, she rummaged through various dressers, until she found what she was looking for at the back of a drawer.

At first it looked like a box of gloves, but it only took further examination to learn they were gloves meant to only fit your fingers. “What are they?”

Órfhlaith laughed, like she thought she was going to have to proceed with caution explaining it. “They protect your fingers if you ever…get a little creative with a man’s arse hole. They act like they don’t like it at first, but they’ve got a little button up there, makes it damn near impossible for them to be able to control themselves. All I’m saying is, anytime you’re blowing a man off and you want to get it over quick, stick a finger up his bum.”

Even though I’d still been determined to try stimulation back there, the last person I thought to touch back there was a man. “I can see the resistance,” Órfhlaith reading my expression.

“And truly, no man is gonna let you back there unless you get his guard down first. But take it as someone who was forced to be with a man, you learn the tricks and trades of how to spend the least time around them. Or at least how to please them quick enough for them to not spend any more time on top of you than they need to be.”

Interestingly enough, Cillian could’ve been top of me all night and it wouldn’t have mattered. Being close to him in that way was all I could have ever hoped for with a healthy sexual relationship. It wasn’t a chore to be with him in that way. Maybe he was a little insatiable, but he never made me regret having sex.

“Now when you say forced to be, do you mean?—”

“Queenie, you're not the only one who'd been expected to marry within this family. The reasons were different…” She started, but never finished the thought. But it didn’t stop her from gabbing and exchanging stories, before my eyes grew so heavy, they would barely stay open.

It wasn’t before long, I too, was limping to bed. With low energy and strength, I’d managed to strip down as far as I felt comfortable, and climbed in bed next to Cillian.

Instinctively he groaned, crawled closer to me and reached his hands over my clothed bosom. But this was peace. No matter where we were, this was peace.

Twenty-Two

Queenie

After a few days of practice, I decided that this was the morning I would attempt the beloved Irish breakfast. I had a habit of cooking the bacon too crispy because that was the way everyone growing up around me liked it, but Órfhlaith stressed with lessons that it was meant to be softer to complement the rest of the meal. Today, I was confident that I finally gotten it right and it dawned on me that for the first time since mastering it, that this was a lot of food. How did anyone eat all this? Stumbling in wiping away sleep from his eyes, he greeted me with a gentle hug and kiss, his voice low and raspy as he wished me good morning.

“Mmm…you're up so early. Today's late inventory and I didn't have to be at the pub until twelve. I thought we were going to sleep in together… something smells good,” he said, being a pest trying to lift up one of the lids on the stove as I slapped his hand away.

“No, sit down. I wanted to surprise you with something different today. I hope you like it,” I said, easing him on an empty seat at the table.

“We've gone over this a hundred times. If you cook it, I’ll love it. But I have to say that I was a wee bit disappointed to wake up alone. Don't know how to explain it but it's like my body senses when you're not there. I'll just keep tossing and turning.”

“Close your eyes,” I asked, as his face contorted into a frown.

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