A bolt of pleasure pulled Catherine from her deep slumber.
She bit her lip, spreading her legs a little wider. Her hand reached down to lazily run her fingers through Darragh's hair.
"I could get used to wakin' up like this," she tried to say. But she was so close to coming, the words came out a jumbled mess.
Something about the tongue lapping her warmth seemed mildly peculiar. The blissful cloud she'd been floating on vanished, sending her right to the ground.
Catherine's eyes popped open and she lifted her head, staring down at the man feasting between her legs.
Jimmy looked up, wiping her off his mouth. "Don't worry, a chuisle, I'll get ya there."
"What the fuck?"
Feeling the bed dip, Catherine turned her head to see Darragh. He brushed her hair away from her damp forehead. A stoic expression of concentration tightened his features.
"Just relax. I'm right here." He gently took her hand and interwove their fingers before kissing her knuckles. "Lay back down and just enjoy it."
Jimmy dipped his head, carefully wrapping his lips around her clit. The mixture of pleasure and pressure was almost too much for her to handle. Her nails dug into Darragh's hand as she twisted as if trying to get away.
"Careful!" Darragh scolded, reaching out and smacking the side of Jimmy's head. "She's bloody sensitive to that, so she is!"
Jimmy mumbled against her slick flesh, "Oh, fuck off, Ryan. I know what she does and doesn't like."
With his middle finger, he ever so lightly teased the opening of her soaked hole. Her eyes squeezed shut and her back arched off the mattress when the tip of his tongue brushed along her swollen nub of nerves.
"Keep lickin' just that. She's really likin' it."
Catherine opened her mouth to try and tell Darragh to make it stop. It wasn't Jimmy she wanted, it was him; it was only ever him. But again, and again, and again, Jimmy's tongue flicked against her electrified flesh.
Darragh kissed her forehead. "C'mon gorgeous, it's okay; come for Jimmy."
His words broke her. One final lick and her body tensed, her toes curled.
'This is crazy,' she wanted to scream.
So. Fucking. Crazy.
"Catherine."
Hearing Jimmy call her name pulled Catherine from twilight. She could barely hear him over the sound of her heart pounding. Her pajamas clung to her sweat-dampened skin.
She bolted right up, pushing the heavy duvet off her body. The rush of cool biting air was welcomed. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair out of her sleepy eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Her ashen skin made him think she was coming down with the flu. Affectionately, Jimmy placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check for a fever.
No fever, thankfully.
"Aye. Weird fuckin' dreams," she said, blinking rapidly. The sunlight flooding her bedroom made her eyes squint. "What time is it?"
"Half-ten."
"What? Why didn't you wake me?"
Darting right out of bed, Catherine grabbed the short, cotton robe hanging from a hook on the back of her door. Before Jimmy could stop her, she jogged down the hall to the boy's room. Pushing the door open, she found it empty-even their beds were made.
"I dropped 'em off at school."
She turned around, and Jimmy was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom. His ankles were crossed and both hands were in the front pockets of his tan-colored trousers.
"Did they eat breakfast? What about their lunches?"
"Such little faith ya have in the father of your son. Of course, I fed 'em, and I even made their lunches." Pushing off the doorframe, Jimmy took a couple of steps forward and wrapped Catherine in his arms. "For the record, I did try to wake ya, but you were dead to the world. So, I let ya sleep; can't imagine how bloody exhausted you are."
Relieved the boys were taken care, Catherine rested the side of her face on his chest. While she was slightly annoyed he hadn't woken her up so she could've seen just how excited Eamonn and Sean were to finally see Jimmy, she was greatly appreciative of the opportunity to sleep.
And not to mention the fact he stepped up and took care of the morning madness himself. For the first time, ever. She was happy to see he came out unscathed.
Closing her eyes, Catherine inhaled deeply. She swallowed her bubbling giggles when she caught a whiff of her sweet and clean soap lingering on his skin. Hopefully, he didn't plan on going home to Fiona smelling like another woman.
"Did they behave for you?"
"Aye," he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Eamonn put up a wee fight, wantin' to spend the day with me. I told him that if he went to school without any lip, I'd come to Dundalk with youse this weekend. Seemed to satisfy him."
Catherine lifted her head off his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's where you've made your first mistake, O'Phelan."
"Yeah? How so?"
"Ya see, Eamonn is just like his da. Ya give him the slightest inklin' you're willin' to make a deal with him, and he knows he's got ya wrapped around his wee finger."
"Nah. I think he gets that from his ma. Because like you, a chuisle, he was a hard bargin'. I damn near gave in when he called me daddy."
"Don't let him fool ya. He knows he's cute and he'll use it to break you."
Jimmy's eyebrows raised, and he wondered if she heard what she said. "Ya do realize you're further provin' my point that he's just like you, yeah?"
Catherine smiled and laughed, failing at her attempt to show faux offensive. "I never once used my adorableness against you."
"You can't even say that with a straight face."
Backing Catherine against the wall, Jimmy moved her hair away from her neck, immediately attacking the warm flesh with his mouth. As he kissed, sucked, and nipped, he snaked a hand under her shirt.
"Who says I was tryin'?" Her eyes fluttered shut when his teeth clamped down just as he sensually pinched one of her nipples.
"Just shut up," he snarled.
Following orders, Catherine zipped her lip. Her fingers fumbled with his belt and as she was about to free the button, they were once again interrupted by her fucking phone ringing.
Jimmy balled his hands into fists and pounded them on the wall just above her head.
"I'm sorry," she huffed, taking his cheeks in her hand and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "But ya know how it is-there's no rest for the wicked."
Short Strand - east Belfast
It was surreal for Jimmy to see Catherine sitting behind his desk. She seemed comfortable, albeit stressed. Still comfortable, nonetheless.
A little too comfortable for his liking.
"Are you one-hundred-percent sure t'was a peeler from Belfast?" she asked for the third time.
Dessie understood she needed to be certain. He was asking a great deal from her.
"Aye," he said, smacking his intelligence officer on the shoulder to start talking.
Rory Quinn cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in the chair opposite of where Catherine sat. She could tell he was slightly intimidated to be in her presence, and she wasn't quite sure how that made her feel.
"After the girl came to us, we started checkin' out her story to make sure she wasn't full'a shite. Other people who were at the same pub in Cross said the peeler was there and causin' trouble for most of the lasses, so we're inclined to believe her. She was able to give us his name and we tracked it back to a bloke who lives in Belfast and works outta the Oldpark station in Ardoyne. Showed her a picture, she said it was him, so we ran our own surveillance and were able to come up with a pattern."
Resting her elbows on the desk, Catherine rubbed her eyes. Jimmy took notice of how the maroon polish on her long nails was chipped. Something as trivial of chipping nail polish was a sign to him as to how ragged she was being run. She was a firm believer that a bad manicure was a sign of a sloppy appearance. Once they got to Dundalk, Jimmy decided he'd watch the boys for a day and send her off to one of the hotel spas to unwind.
"Takin' out a peeler is gonna cause a lot of problems for me in Belfast. Especially considerin' so many of the fellas were just hauled in."
"I get that, Catherine, but this fuckin' scum came into my territory and raped a nineteen-year-old girl. I must protect-"
Catherine held up her hand to stop him from talking. "When I was sixteen, I was almost takin' advantage of by a soldier. It was the IRA who dealt with him, and we will deal with this bloke. But after what just happened with the volunteers here, I cannot in good faith ask them to handle this. That's why, if you want it done, you'll have to bring up your guys from south Armagh."
That was a good enough compromise for him.
"I'm a wee short-handed, though," Dessie admitted. "Most of my guys are tied up in Dublin handlin' a shipment."
"How many Belfast guys do you think you'll need?" Jimmy inquired.
Catherine looked up at him. He was standing with his back against the door and his arms crossed over his chest. He could see the muscles of her jaw flexing. The glare she gave him sent a chill down his spine. She was doing him a favor by allowing him to be present during her meeting with Dessie and Rory, and she only let him be there under the condition he kept his mouth shut.
The south Armagh men turned around.
"Just two. Myself, Rory, and another lad'll do it."
"Donny and I'll join youse."
"Absolutely not," she barked. "Both you and Donny aren't active yet and I don't need the Kings breathin' down my neck any more than they are already. Seamus Doherty is still here, so I will do it with him."
Three jaws simultaneously fell to the floor. Catherine hadn't been on an operation-besides moving guns from Dungloe to Hannahstown-in over three years. She was more logistics and she did a fine job strategizing. No one was exactly sure how long it had been since she last fired a gun.
"You're not doin' it," Jimmy snickered matter-of-factly.
Her cheeks burned hotter than the sun because he was challenging her in front of two subordinates. She didn't appreciate he was embarrassing her, making it seem as if she weren't capable of being part of the operation.
Catherine spoke low and slow, her voice filled with a weight they've never heard from her, "Seamus and I will be the two partakin' on the operation. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the Kings, Jimmy."
Now he was the one turning a shade of scarlet. Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, ready to smack the pompous pout right off of her face. Catherine may be the one sitting behind the desk, but she was only keeping his seat warm and she needed to remember that.
A blanket of awkwardness wrapped around Dessie and Rory, who felt like they were stuck in the middle of some strange power struggle.
Dessie drummed his fingers on the desk, catching Catherine's attention. "Well, whoever it is who'll be comin' along, we better get crackin' on a plan here. There are only six hours before this prick's shift ends and we've still gotta get a kit from the Republic."
"Aye," Catherine said, reaching into the bottom desk drawer for maps of Belfast and Northern Ireland. Dessie and Rory quickly began opening them up. As she lit a cigarette, she spoke to Jimmy, not bothering to even look at him. "You can go, O'Phelan."
Gripping the door handle, Jimmy snorted. He wondered when in the hell she became so caviler. When he stepped out into the dim hallway of the pub, it took every ounce of self-control not to slam the door shut behind him.
Lower Falls - west Belfast
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jimmy silently watched Catherine dress. She pulled on her khaki camouflage pants, tucked in the white undershirt, then secured the leather belt around her waist.
"You don't have to do this," he said.
She didn't respond.
She picked up the olive commando sweater and put it on, pulling her long hair out of the collar. It was identical to the one Jimmy wore during his first year in the British army and then during his tenure as a rank-and-file volunteer.
Catherine sat on the bed beside him, slipping her feet into her worn boots. Once her pants were bloused in the boots, she laced up.
"I know I don't have to, but my men need me."
"They're not your men!" Jimmy snapped, standing up. "You are not their chief of staff, I am!"
Catherine stood, too. Jimmy couldn't explain the rise of anger he felt seeing her dressed in such fashion. Maybe it wasn't so much the fact she looked every ounce of a soldier, it was the confidence, determination, just oozing from her pores. She truly believed she was their leader, about to direct them into battle.
He was jealous. That should be him dressed like that, not her.
"For the last three weeks, these have been my men, Jimmy. They do as I say, for I am their chief of staff. Get over it."
"When youse leave here, do ya really think senior men like Dessie and Rory are goin' to listen to orders given by a woman?"
Catherine couldn't believe those words left his mouth. But then again, she had nearly a century of Republican Army history stack up against her. There had only been one woman before her, Bernadette Sands-McKevitt, to climb this high in the IRA ranks. Even though she sat on the council for the Real army, the men around her often brushed off her abilities.
If Catherine were a man, not a single soul would dare doubt her capability to the best leader there ever was.
It broke her heart to hear Jimmy speak in such a way. He trusted her enough to run the guns, plan operations. But apparently, he only trusted her enough to be a subordinate player.
She saw the worry in his eyes. The same worry he felt when he honestly believed Darragh would be the one to steal the head leadership position from him. Except this worry was slightly different-as if he'd rather die than watch his army fall into the hands of a woman who was just as capable as he.
Too bad he never thought of this before teaching her everything he knew.
Through gritted teeth, she said, "That sounds exactly like somethin' a Provie would say."
Jimmy recoiled as if Catherine physically slapped him. In the True army world, there was no greater insult that one volunteer could throw at another than to compare him to a member of the Provisional IRA.
She made it personal, so he did, too.
"Darragh felt the same way, did ya know that? He was relieved when ya turned over your beret to focus on runnin' the house and pop out babies."
"You're a fuckin' lair," she spat, though with a hint of doubt.
"Filip and your da don't think women should be in the IRA, either. I'm the one who paved the way for ya when those two were tryin' to block me from every goddamn direction."
"But Fiona-"
"Fiona only kept her fuckin' beret because he da was a bloody OC at the time and Filip didn't want to upset her ol' man. Filip never let her go on any operations he felt were too dangerous. And as the man in your life, I say this operation is too dangerous for you to be on, chief of staff or not, so, you're not goin' Catherine."
She finally snapped. Who the fuck did he think he was, telling her which operations she could or couldn't participate in?
Closing the distance between them, Catherine pushed Jimmy against the wall. His back hit with a thud and before he had a chance to register what happened, she shoved her forearm hard against his throat. As insurance, she lifted her knee, pressing it to his crotch.
"Until you're restored to active duty, you're my bitch; it's not the other way around," she growled. Then she remembered what he'd said to her six years ago, and spat the same words back in his face. "When I tell ya to jump, your only response will be 'yes, ma'am.' I am the OC of the entire fuckin' North Command and you will respect my rank. Is that clear?"
The longer he took to reply, the more pressure she applied to his throat. Jimmy coughed, struggling to breathe. But he wasn't going to give in to her that easy. Her referring to him as her 'bitch' only pissed him off more.
He was, nor ever would be, anyone's bitch.
When he tried to wrap his hands around her neck, she raised her knee. The pain in his groin was like a bolt of lightning shutting down his nervous system. Catherine too refused to relent.
"Am I clear, James O'Phelan?"
Wanting the agony to stop, he conceded and chocked, "You're clear."
The vilest smile Jimmy had ever seen from her spread across her face. When he looked into her darkened eyes, it was as if no one was home. "Grand."
Finally breaking her hold on him, he immediately dropped to one knee in a coughing fit. He wanted to fall over and cradle his aching manhood, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she hurt him more than he was letting on.
It was brave of Catherine to turn her back on Jimmy after that. She knew eventually he'd make her pay for what she did, however, she couldn't care less at this point.
Let him do this worst, she thought.
Strolling to her dresser, Catherine opened her underwear drawer and fished for the rosary beads which once belonged to Darragh. She slipped it over her neck, then tucked them under her sweater.
From her closet, she retrieved her balaclava and gloves, shoving them into the deep pockets of her pants.
Jimmy managed to get up, settling on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and bend over slightly. He still couldn't think straight as he watched Catherine slip a knife into her boot. Though he was bitter, he was also oddly aroused.
He knew he had it coming, but he hadn't expected her to stand up to him like that.
"My bag, as well as the boy's are downstairs by the door. Since they're playin' out in the backyard, I'm gonna sneak out. Please have 'em outta Belfast before we hit; I'll see youse in Dundalk."
The bedroom door slamming shut behind Catherine startled Jimmy. He fell back on her bed, listening to her heavy steps jog down the stairs.
Goddamn was this woman going to be the death of him.
