Page 16 of Cillian

I took my hat off scanning the room for just a semblance in what I was in search of. When I didn't see it, I thought it best to inquire since in this part of town, it might not be advertised.

“This may seem like an odd request, but by any chance have you got any Colored girls?” I don't know what I was thinking. But after a night of being rejected, the only person I could think about was the reason I was on the prowl. As much as I hated admitting it, lying to myself wasn’t going to stop the intrusive thoughts. It was her skin that I wanted to touch, her body I wanted to violate. But because we were anything but civil, I sought to get the next best thing.

“Oh, so you like them exotic then, huh? No, I haven't got any Colored girls. Best I got is an import from India. But her skin is so dark, she almost passes for a Colored girl.”

“Fine. I'll take that one.” Deciding that with so little options, beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Right this way, sir. Right this way!”

***

“Is there anything I can do to help?” The working girl asked, her impatience with my impotence heavy, as her glance was permanently glued towards the clock. It had been twenty minutes since we'd entered this room and hadn’t gotten any closer to slapping skins, all because in the peak of the moment, everything about my shit mood affected my performance.

“No,” I growled. “I don't need any help getting it hard,” I said, rubbing my palms along my face in frustration, as my limp cock hung sadly flaccid on my muscular thigh.

“I'm just having a fucked-up week is all, it's not you,” I said reassuringly, but as someone who probably saw a dozen cocks in one day, she knew she wasn't the problem. Of all the things to happen, a Sullivan who couldn’t get hard in a whorehouse. If my brothers knew about this, I'd be a fucking laughingstock. Especially since I got out I’ve been going on and on about really needing pussy.

“I'm happy to do whatever it takes to get things started. But even if we sit here and do nothing, you still have to pay.” Shaking my head in frustration, I pulled out a few fivers and laid them on the nightstand.

“Fine then could you just let me have the room for a while. I just need time to clear my head.” With a quick retrieval of her shirt, she covered her naked breasts before grabbing the money on the table, and bowing before exiting the room.

For a while, I just sat there, a lit cigarette between my lips that I put out after getting the desired effect. Taking my wallet out my back pocket, I retrieved the small photo of Elizabeth that my brother gave me. It didn’t show much. Just a portrait of her sweet face, doe eyes, and long wild hair.

The darkness I carried, longed to see her bound. Take her neck into my hands and apply that sweet pressure as I savored her helplessness. To spank her pussy until she pleaded with me to stop. I suppressed thoughts of me taking her unconscious body, as I shoved her face into the mattress while I fucked her senseless.

The more I gave into the fantasy, the ones shrouded with violence, the easier it became for my cock to rise to full attention. I dreamed of using her, the dark beauty called Elizabeth. Not because I didn't like her, but because she was the only woman fueling my obsessions. What would it feel like making a Black girl mine? What would she feel like? What would she taste like? How would it make me feel to watch her implode on my hand?

My answer came in thick bursts of hot, creamy release. Weeks of restraining myself from not wanking had my cock shooting like a water hose in a riot. Why did I have to have these fucked up deviant fantasies? Why couldn't I just be normal? And why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about her? By the looks of things, we were never going to be civil, but at this point, I'd have more luck with my traitorous wife than another Irish girl in Boston. No one was ever going to touch me once the truth spread that an Irish man had broken a cardinal rule.

Never marry a girl who wasn’t Irish.

Seven

Cillian

Was this what rock bottom felt like? Destined to suffer with the pleasure of my own hand for the rest of my life. No one would lay down with me and nothing made my cock hard—even if I was paying for it.

The Sullivan curse had never been more burdensome, because only one woman would do it for me. Even if she let me touch her, I could never be myself around her.

Returning to the pub defeated, I hadn't had time to go over the numbers or close a damn thing before Bellamy confronted me, asking if I'd got what I needed to get out my system.

“You good, Cilly boy? Did you get what you needed?”

“For now,” I lied.

“Good, because Tadhg is asking for us. Said he got a meeting he wants me to lead with someone important but he wants you to be there. Get you back in the swing of things.”

Maybe a night out would be good for me.

I certainly enjoyed my brother's company to what I'd have waiting for me at home. If Tadhg was asking for me instead of Paddy, maybe that meant he didn't see me as the immature spoiled kid who’d gotten locked up.

Making our way to the office in back, Tadhg had just came from the safe. It was one of many, as too much dirty money to clean required several locations, but this was just one of the few things I’d learned since I’d been out.

“Tadhg, Cilly’s back. Tell him what you need from him,” Bellamy wording it in a way that sounded like it wasn't the offer that I thought it’d be.

“Cillian, have a seat,” Tadhg insisted, but since neither of them were sitting, neither was I.

“What do you plan to team up on me?”

“No, I’d just prefer you sitting down. Every time we tell you something you don't want to hear, it don't take long to where you have a gun in someone's face.”

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