Page 33 of Cillian
It dawned on me that Queenie was just standing there, watching me eat. That was what my mother used to do. Cook for her husband, cook for the kids, then when we were all done, cook for herself.
Surely, Queenie had been raised the same. That wasn’t how I pictured things between us, her being a servant to me like my Mum had been to Pa. “Come sit with me,” offering my lap, as she graciously took it and we took turns feeding each other.
“You’re so good to me, Queenie.” Leaning in to lick the syrup that had slipped down the corner of her mouth. “I appreciate you. Even when we were hard on each other.”
Slipping what she called a biscuit in my mouth, my eyes rolled to the back of my head like I’d never eaten before. This had to be fucking love. “You’re so fucking perfect,” as it didn’t take long after devouring the plate, to be devouring each other.
She centered herself to have better control on top of my lap, my busy hands finding its way into the dress shirt, our mouths working like we had every intention of depriving ourselves of air.
Pulling one of her breasts out the shirt made her playfully pull away, deeming the location inappropriate. “No, not here.”
“Why not here?” Biting my lip, fighting the lustful glaze over my eyes. Sliding my hands between her legs, her wetness confirmed it. “This seems to want to here,” I teased.
“We eat here,” she defended.
“Trust me, I plan to eat plenty,” I said, drawing circles on the button between her legs. Her bottom lip got caught between her teeth, as a desperate mew left her mouth when I pulled back. “I thought you wanted me to stop,” I taunted, as she gave in, working her manicured hands to unzip my trousers and pull me out of them.
“It feels nice when you spit on your hand,” I encouraged, as she took my direction well, working me up and down. “Mmm…that feels nice.”
Massaging and pinching her breasts from inside the dress shirt, I knew if we hadn’t wanted to become this way, we never should have fucked in the first place. Now I can’t keep my hands off of her.
“Just get me hard. I want to come in you.” We managed to push my trousers down to my ankles. Just as she’d managed to take all of me into her, my mouth went in for a desperate kiss.
“Clock is ticking, Cilly boy. Waited long enough for you, you’ve got—” Queenie’s scream layered with the cadence of Bellamy barking, but neither Bellamy or Paddy were prepared to walk in on me and my wife finally fucking.
“The fuck is going on here?” Paddy crowed, Bellamy being the only one with decency to turn around. He hit Paddy, forcing him to face opposite of us as I argued that my wife wasn’t decent.
Strangely, Paddy was polite enough to offer his coat to Queenie, so she could put on some clothes. Once she left the room, Paddy handed Bellamy money, as I’m sure they’d placed another bet on me.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked, managing to button back my trousers.
“Bell bet me the only reason you hadn’t showed up to the theater or come downstairs, was because you were fucking. I bet him not only were you not fucking, but that one of you’d be wringing each other’s necks. Got to say, it’s one of the first times, I’m glad I’m wrong.”
Bellamy sat at the table, pointing at my leftovers, asking “Are you gonna eat that?”
“You mean breakfast my wife cooked for me?”
“Thanks, I’ll just help myself,” as he built himself a plate.
“Guessing something changed. She didn’t seem too unhappy to be there,” Paddy taunted.
“We were kinda in the middle of something, so if you could give us another thirty minutes?—”
“It is twelve of fucking clock, kid. How much time do you fucking need?” Bellamy interrogated.
“I could make five work,” I pleaded.
“Look Cilly, we’re happy that you got a wife who’s not scared off by your ugly mug enough to lay down with you, but you have work to do. Plus, I’m sure it’ll be an adjustment. You ain’t never been much for vanilla, so I’m sure it can wait.”
Now it was my time to humble one of them for once. Because my wife was more open than they thought. “That’s where you’re wrong. My wife knows all my fucked-up shit. When she’s ready for despicable, she’ll get despicable,” I bragged.
Paddy’s face dropped, as he pointed in the direction Queenie left. “You got that church girl interested in the Sullivan’s curse?” he asked and an arrogant smile stretched across my face. He then pulled another bill out of his pocket and handed it to Bellamy.
“See, that was a mere speculation. If anything, I was thinking the same.” Bellamy tucked the money in his pocket. How many bets had they placed on this relationship?
“So naturally, you can see why I could use an extra ten.”
“You just said five!” Paddy challenged.