Chapter 19

Nineteen

C illian

Where she wanted to go was halfway across town. Not to mention the middle of nowhere. I'd be in the Black part of Boston, so I'd be out of my element. In a place foreign to me, I sure as hell didn't know who looked like trouble. If danger could find us in a mom and pop spot, I had to be wary of my surroundings, being the only white man in what looked like an old barrelhouse.

Outside people were gossiping, loud but controlled. The ones keeping guard at the door surely would be the first sign of how this night was going to be. "Hold up. We not letting the white boy in. Might be a fucking cop," a man blocking my entry with his hands, said.

Queenie had already stepped inside, and there wasn't a chance in hell I was going to leave without her if I wouldn't be let in. "I ain't no fucking copper. You just let my wife in and I ain't leaving without her. So, either you let me in, or we could go rounds. It's up to you."

Sensing my frustration, Queenie hadn't gone further than the entrance, trying her best at convincing the bouncers I wasn't trouble. "Please, I promise you my husband isn't police. We're just fixing for a night out, is all. We won't be any trouble."

This was my disadvantage. In a white neighborhood, everyone knew my father. Whether it was a good or a bad thing, it always explained my way in or out of things. In a Black joint, it was humbling to be known by no one . A man crept through the entrance, whispering something about Queenie and who her father was and my possible connection to them, but Queenie truly had the advantage in this moment. Because I'd only been out of prison a short time, I didn't always experience what it was like being Queenie's husband, as much as she experienced being Cillian's wife.

"We don't want no trouble now—Oh is that Queenie? Come here now, come give your cousin Skeeter a hug." The man who recently materialized squealed, as Queenie softened the situation by greeting him.

"How are you doing? You're getting so ladylike and big. Feel like I ain't seen you since you was in pigtails."

"I'm alright. I just came out to go dancing with my husband." As she walked past him to reach for my hand to hold.

"This your husband?" Skeeter asked with heavy skepticism. She nodded, as the man got real familiar and leaned on my shoulder as if I'd known him a long time.

"Oowee, we thought something big was about to break out. You have to forgive us. We don't get too many white folks out here." He was colorful. Definitely not originally from Boston based on his drawl. But a lot nicer than I initially thought.

"And he a nice-looking white boy too. Can he dance?" he directed toward Queenie.

"We'll find out if you let us in." She smiled.

"Since you know Queenie, we might be able to squeeze you in. But we don't want no trouble now. This place is to have a good time. You're being invited, so keep it a safe space, you here?"

"I hear," I nodded calmly, as Queenie pulled me by the wrist past the doorway and into the juke joint.

She hadn't been joking that it was a spectacle of vitality and vibrancy. People danced like I'd never seen, and the music was lively. Bellamy would probably love this if he hadn't already been.

"Should I get us some drinks?" As she nodded her response, before adding "That'd be nice."

Trekking through the crowded barrelhouse, it came at great disappointment how limited their spirits collection was. "Got any Guinness?"

"I got what I got." The man at the bar dismissed.

"Guess I'll take what you got." He poured two beers at my request and asked if I'd like to start a tab. I was reckless when I wasn't sober, and because this wasn't my space, I chose not to keep a tab. Just wanted something to relax me, was all.

No wonder Pa always tried to keep us away from Black people. From the looks of it, they actually had fun. Scanning the room, observing a culture that'd once seemed foreign to me, I was envious of the fact I'd never been exposed to it until Queenie.

Laughter, joy, mischief roared to life over music and dancing. Folks could really move out here. The dancing was like nothing I had ever seen. Admittingly, I had never been around this many Black people at once, but there were so many similarities with the Irish. We knew how to have a good time too, but the environment changed once you were surrounded by white people who weren't Irish.

We were really missing out on each other. Probably could be doing so much more if both sides knew that.

One of the only things Pa had ever let us explore when it came to Black people, was the music. Mum was never much of a fan, but it was the closest thing to Black people he'd let us get to growing up, and the music sounded so different when it was live.

The raw emotion the singer's voiced carried damn near illuminated the entire establishment. Nothing could compare to it, but it did remind me of talented barmaids back home.

"Well if it isn't Queenie Stanton." A tall, thin, light skinned Black woman approaching where Queenie had chosen to sit. Easiest thing to notice on her were the oversized glasses she wore that made her eyes look bigger than they were.

"Everybody's been worried about you. People keep asking around but your parents don't say nothing. Everyone thought you went up and got pregnant and went down south."

Excusing myself to sit down, I took a swig of my mug, waiting to be introduced. A big uncomfortable smile stretched along Queenie's face, suggesting she didn't fancy our company too much. "Actually, I went and got married. This right here is my husband, Cillian. And it's actually Queenie Sullivan now."

The skeptical look on her mate's face said it all. She was either too surprised, or masking disappointment. I can never really tell with glasses. "No wonder your parents kept it private. You went and got you a white man. And one of them handsome ones, too."

Suddenly she didn't seem that bad to me. It was a contrast to how I was perceived to even other Irish folk. Gingers had it the worst. You could be Clark Gable, but if you were a redhead, there was always that hope it didn't get passed down. Black people didn't seem to have that prejudice toward red hair.

"Cillian, huh?" she said, licking the top row of her teeth. Since she had full, painted red lips, it brought a lot of attention to them, which I'm assuming was the point.

"Yes ma'am," ignoring how close she was to me and that it was obvious she was trying to make me aware of her neckline and bust.

"So, you one of them foreigners or are you American?"

Taking another swig from my mug, I sat it on the table in front. "I'm Irish."

"Well Mr. Ireland. You got any brothers as fine as you?" Bellamy instantly came to mind, but he didn't like them that thin. Hell, after Queenie, I wasn't sure I did either. Laughing, I answered, "I've got three."

Taking the length of my tie, she spun it around her hand to pull me closer. "They married?"

"My husband and I are actually on a night out," Queenie interrupted. "My baby works a lot, so this is the first time in a while we've had one. Maybe you can get my number from my Mama at church and we could talk then. But for now, we're just trying to have a good time."

A cocksure grin spread across my face. I had never seen Queenie get jealous before. Even though I kinda liked it, she didn't need to worry. None of the women in this room had anything on her.

"Guess I'll let you enjoy your night, then. Goodbye cutie Cillian." Aiming a seductive smile at me before she got swallowed by the crowd.

"She seemed nice."

Queenie faked a smile. "If by nice you mean a fruitless gossip or a hussy trying to steal your man right in front of you," she fired back.

"Were you jealous?"

"No, I wasn't jealous." I took another sip of my mug.

"You're quite cute when you're jealous," I teased. "But she ain't the one to be jealous about. All I want, all I need, all I desire, is all in you," I playfully clipped her cheek. She rolled her eyes unamused.

"Maybe I was jealous. But it didn't help that you were smiling like a minstrel act and letting her flirt with you right in front of me."

"C'mon baby. I thought she was your mate. I didn't want to be rude."

"Well, she wasn't. Just a girl from the past trying to get under my skin," she said, swirling her glass, irritation stacked against her sweet features.

"This man over here bothering you? Because you look like you could use a drink." As a man sat down next to Queenie, heating my blood to a boil.

"Saw a beautiful girl like you and I just couldn't resist?—"

"Well you're gonna have to. I know you see me sitting here. That's my wife you're chatting up," I challenged, fully prepared to stand my ground.

To my surprise, he went the opposite of how I thought he'd react. "My apologies, sir. I ain't mean no disrespect." Downing the beer he'd came with, he reached out to shake my hand, leaving me even more confused.

"Your wife's a beautiful woman. You're lucky to have a Mrs. as pretty as that. You two enjoy your evening," he said taking his beer and left.

"Now look who's being jealous," Queenie teased.

"Difference between us is, I never said I wasn't. Wasn't expecting him to be so respectful about it." Taking a few gulps of beer. "But he was right."

"About what?"

"You do look really beautiful. And I am lucky to have you as my Mrs." I ended in a smile. She rolled her eyes again, this time more playful than annoyed.

"Well, if I look so beautiful, why haven't you asked me to dance yet?" She flirted.

My answer was humiliating. "Because I can't, Queenie." She pouted, my stomach tying in knots at her disappointment.

"Why not?"

"Because…" I hesitated. "Because I don't want to embarrass you. I don't know how to with this kind of music and I don't want to go out there and have people bloody laughing at me."

Her eyes widened in shock as she brought her mug up to her heart shaped lips. "But at home that's all we listen to."

"Yeah, listen to." I interrupted. "But there's a reason you never see me dance to it." I had my own culture, my own way of dancing and rhythm that I didn't think compared to anything anyone around me was doing.

She grabbed my hand, pulling my reluctant body to the dance floor with a look of determination in her eye. "Well, Mr. Cillian Sullivan. Let me explain the difference between your folk and my folk."

Tapping a man on the shoulder, lifting on her heels to whisper something to him. The man smiled wide, bringing his hands together in an enthusiastic clap. "Alright, now. Looks like we got a live one tonight. Your wife here said you could use a few pointers on how to move to this?" His tone a little bit too friendly to be strangers.

"Sorry to trouble you. Just my wife wants to dance and I don't want to risk stepping on her pretty shoes."

"Sounds like you got an accent." He asked as a question.

"I'm Irish."

"You said you Irish, now? Hell, I'm a Murphy, I might got a little Irish in me, too." He joked as we shared in a laugh together. From the looks of him, I highly doubted it, but you never knew.

The steps we went over seemed easy enough broken down. There was a level of appreciation there for having the time and patience to take six minutes out of their day to share it with me.

"Hey, you catch on fast, Dublin?—"

"I ain't from no fucking Dublin," I interrupted. "Cork through and through."

"Shit, it's all seem the same to me. But I was just about to say, you catch on quick. Might as well just call you Colored." He passed off as another joke. At least I think it was a joke, because he was smiling. As I thanked him, I pulled Queenie to the crowded dance floor, praying I didn't make my wife look stupid.

"He's right. You are a fast learner." She flirted, as I spun her around and pulled her back and close to me.

"Only because I wanted to dance with you." I flirted back, taking the moment to ignore what was happening around us and just focus on the fun I had with her. I had to admit, I loved her having a good time. Happy and free, entirely comfortable.

Seemed like we danced to no end. It was so much fun, everyone had to be kicked out before anyone wanted to leave. Walking back to the car, I sensed no one would have any trouble sleeping.

"Tonight was really fun. Thank you for suggesting it to me," opening her car door and hoping in. "I admit, I was a bit uneasy at first—but not because everyone was Black—but because I didn't know anyone, and no one knew me."

Starting up the car, I took her hand in mine, relying on my other hand to drive. "I'm sure that's how you feel all the time, only worse."

"I know it's hard for you to understand. I'm sure you don't go looking for places where everyone doesn't look like you. But Black people, we don't have that privilege. Even though we're born here, we're still treated like outsiders."

"I definitely didn't feel like an outsider tonight," I shamefully admitted.

"That's because we're so used to that treatment, it's not in our ministry to do others that way. Sometimes, I wish your people could take a page out of our book."

I brought her hand to mind to kiss. "Americans ain't always my people. You'd be surprised how they treat the Irish, probably wouldn't even need to be gangsters if they'd given us fair opportunities. We just stick together, otherwise we wouldn't have anything to show for leaving the old country."

"But you're still white. Half the reason why I wanted to come here, was to show you the difference. Black folk are going to be skeptical of you, just because of the way you look . They're going to be weary of you, not trusting of you, because of how you look . When you're around me, white people are going to treat you like me because you're with me. Black people are maybe going to ask you to back up. But white people might get violent, just because they don't like seeing me with you. It's a big difference. And I love you. I just don't want you to get hurt," she admitted with pain and concern in her eyes.

I understood her stance. I've never had to think about being white, but she always has to consider being Black. I didn't want her to feel like she was losing herself to be with me, so I knew looking forward, I was going to have to make more effort in her being in more environments where she felt just as comfortable as I did.

"Thing is, I didn't take a thousand beatings from my father to sit down and let someone talk down to me or my wife. I'm not going to let someone sit there and shrink my wife right in front of me, white or Black. You've got a big presence. Bigger than you see yourself. I just want to make sure it gets seen. Gets heard. I respect you too much to have a silent wife." As I kissed her hand again, blushing at her kissing my cheek.

"Again, tonight was fun. Moving forward, we need to do this more often."

***

"You're getting really good at this." Queenie complimented, as I raked my conditioner-soaked fingertips through the length of her hair. We sat in the washtub, her back to my chest, as I carefully detangled her coils the way she taught me.

"Have to. It's the thing you spend the most time on. Plus, it's my favorite thing about you," I flirted.

"I thought you said it was my behind," she challenged, as I rested my chin on her saturated head.

"That too. But your hair is a close second. Lean back for me." Queenie tilted her head back, allowing me to pour a bowl of clean water to rinse it soft and clean.

"I'm sure one day, you're going to find this to be a nuisance." I couldn't disagree more.

"Yeah your hair takes so much more effort and detail for me. But I just like that you trust me with it. Hair this lovely and delicate shouldn't always be left to one person to care for it," I flirted.

"How many gangsters do you think help their wives detangle and twist out their hair?"

"Can't really be sure. But none of them probably have a wife as pretty as you." For a while, we sat in silence as she let me work my magic with her hair. Honestly, I could do this all day. That's how much I loved her.

"Do you think our kids will feel close to Ireland? Or do you think they'll feel closer to America?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Being Irish and assuming I was going to marry an Irish woman, I never considered that before. Having spent my entire adult life in the States, it was hard letting go that I still felt like Ireland was home to me. I hoped that my children felt the same way.

"I don't really have an answer to that question. Unless you have something to tell me," I teased. "But I do want our potential children to know who they are. They'll be Sullivans, but they'll also be Black. I want them to love both sides of themselves, the way I bring my whole self, loving you, and you bring your whole self, loving me."

"How would you propose we do that?" looking for me to guide her.

"We could start by spending summers in Ireland. It's really the only way to feel it when you don't look it. Plus, they'll have nothing but field to play in and lots of family to help, so we could start on making more," I joked.

"And then we could spend holidays with your family. Here, and the Carolinas your parents are from, so they can know their people. So I can know your people. I want them to see how much I love you, too."

Nestling into my chest, Queenie rested her head on my shoulder. "You always say the sweetest things."

"I only say what I feel." Running my hand along the water, cupping a handful to gently pour it on Queenie's skin.

"Hmph. I wonder how you'd feel about this."

"About what?"

"I overheard some women talking in a dressing room earlier today. You know? Before you left. And they were talking about all the ways to keep a man at home, or keep him faithful."

"Okay?"

"Like, having sex, but not the way you normally do it. Penetrating the other hole down there. That amongst other things." She confessed, which I'm sure was hard for her given how little she knew about sex. Sounded like they were talking about fucking a woman's arse.

"Why you listening to women that gotta go above and beyond to keep their husbands at home? This brings me back home." As I reached in and grabbed her breasts. " This brings me back home." Reaching in between her legs. All she did was giggle and bat me away but I'd already gotten the smile I'd wanted.

"Your laugh. Your smile. That's what brings me back home. Nothing keeps a man that don't wanna be kept. If you have to do all that, the spark's probably already gone."

"Yeah, but they talked about how men like it back there, because it can't get you pregnant. Or how things change after you have a baby. I figured since we're honest and open with each other, was that something you were interested in doing?"

Truthfully, at the mention of it, I was curious. I'd done some wild shit, but a girl had never asked me to stick my cock up there. Not to mention, it'd been a while since we brought up the other stuff—the going dark stuff—so it seemed a bit out of character for her since she was so shy.

As if she'd read my mind, the next words to leave her mouth showed where we were with that subject. "I haven't forgotten going dark with you. I've just been thinking about it. Wondering how dark you go. But maybe I've also been too afraid to ask for myself, because I wasn't ready. But I trust you more now. What exactly does going dark, entail?"

Turning to face me in the washtub, I was relieved I could see her face more, to better assess if what I told her brought out fear, or excitement. "Well, I'd start by taking you to a place that's not our normal. At least for the first time. Being in a space that's familiar to you sometimes makes you anxious. I've got this cabin about an hour and a half drive from here. I'd take you there. Drop you off someplace you don't know your way. And then I'd chase you."

"Chase me?" Her eyes widening in shock. Guess it was better than disgust.

"That's part of my darkness. Most of the appeal. Making you feel helpless. Frightened. Because then it feels real when I catch you. I'm a wolf, remember? I won't appreciate the hunt unless you give me a good run for it."

To my surprise, she bit her lip, leading me to assume she was curious. Most of all, it seemed like she was considering it. "What else?"

Admitting what happened next wouldn't be easy, but being honest with Queenie had worked well for us so far. So, it couldn't hurt to be honest again. "I might sedate you. There's this…chemical, that if you breathe it in, it makes you unconscious. I'd probably carry you back to the cabin. But I'd wait for you to wake up before I touch you. The chemical, I'd only use it to relax you. Prepare you for what's to come, but it works better if you don't watch me do it."

Shamefully, my cock got so fucking hard at the thought of it. The thought of carrying her in the woods over my shoulder. The thought of taking her clothes off without the will to fight me. I'd been cooking up a scenario like this for such a long time, but wasn't sure I'd actually get to indulge in it, let alone have a wife open to exploring it.

But I was adamant on this. She had to want to. Not want to because I wanted to.

"When you're helpless, I'd tie you up. Secure you to the bed. Limit your movement in any way I can. And then…I'd just have you. In any and every way I want. Some sessions could take minutes. Some could take hours. I probably wouldn't pierce your back hole. I'd only do that after because I know it's not the same and I wouldn't want to hurt you.

But I'd taste you. Edge you. Fuck your pussy until you're crying and overwhelmed with pleasure. You'll probably want to kiss me. You may even want to hold me but in that space, all I'd ever do is use you. But I'd use you so good. I'd break you into tiny little pieces. And when I untie you, I'd spend however long it took to put you back together. Then I'd be gentle because I know you'd need me to be gentle after I'm through with you. At least that's how I planned it in my head. It doesn't have to happen. And truth is, I've never been that careful with someone but I want to be careful with you."

She took one deep exhale. "Wow. That was intense."

Lowering my gaze to the water, shame rushed to my cheeks, a mix of heat that likely turned them red. "Baby, I know. It's like one minute, I want to make you smile. And then the next I want to corrupt you. It's this damn Sullivan curse," I confessed, a smile creeping back on my face as she raked big piles of bubbles on my hair.

"I admit, that does sound scary. But it'd just be make believe?"

"Of course. I'm not expecting that of you in our normal space. I'm not expecting that of you in any space. Doing it for me, isn't something that would make me happy. Doing it because you're genuinely curious, and into it, would."

"Then I want to," she confessed. "I just need more time, if that's okay. Because once we go there, I know we can't really go back."

Nodding, I added, "I know, baby."

"But I want to experience everything with you. So maybe we can do the backdoor stuff first and then we just kind of go from there?"

"Okay," I replied, appreciating her openness.

She smiled. "Is it wishful thinking that I'd like one of our kids to get your red hair and freckles?" I chuckled.

"Long as they're as pretty as you, they can take whatever they want from me."