Sullivan and the Lies He Heard

"That's fine by me." Oliver paused. "Good luck on the 19th, with whatever it is. I hope it turns out alright."

"Thanks."

Sullivan left his boss's office. That was settled.

He went into his own office to assemble his file. It was made up of address lists, blueprints and assessment guides for the buildings he'd be inspecting today. The file under his arm, he left his office. He had just enough time to get to his first appointment in Saugerties at an unhurried pace.

The site was a rural home. Nice property, but the house was in shambles. As he walked up to the house, he eyed its exterior.

It had good bones but major work was needed. The brickwork was damaged and had lost enough weatherproofing that it was too far gone for simpler repairs. It had to be replaced or rendered. The roof's integrity was holding up for the most part, but the flashing had separated from the chimney and the windows. There was so much rot around the windows that the wood would crumble at a touch.

But then, it wasn't his concern. He and Doe had a blast being their own contractors when they bought their house, but this one wasn't his problem to dirty his hands with. He was only here for the fire assessment. Stepping carefully, he went up the porch steps and pressed the doorbell.

The door was opened by the property owner. He was a nice guy. Customers tended to be, but today, the effort was wasted on Sullivan. He cut through the pleasantries and got straight down to business.

"I have the layout here as the building stands, but my notes say you're extending the house as part of the renovation."

The property owner nodded. "I'm also going to rip out the kitchen and redo it. I want to put a bathroom in a space that was used as a storage room by the last owner. I'm just not sure if that'll work with the existing piping. That's one of the things I want to be sure won't be a fire hazard."

"Discuss it with your contractors," Sullivan replied curtly. "Especially if you'll be rerouting any copper water pipes. You don't want those coming in contact with drywall. Anything else you want to tell me before we start the walkthrough?"

There wasn't. Or if there was, the guy was now too intimidated to speak up. They started the walkthrough, making a full tour of the house, followed by a circuit of the 3-acre plot. Sullivan made recommendations as they went, checked all the electrical points in the house, and made a full list of the renovations that would be made.

They were done shortly before noon. The day had brightened a lot by then. Before getting back in his car Sullivan said, "You'll get my full report next week. It'll be mailed to you from our office."

"I'll look out for it. Thanks for coming out." The man extended his hand.

They shook, Sullivan hit the road, and headed to his next appointment in Kingston. After it, he grabbed a late lunch at a salad bar before setting out for his last appointment in Cortlandt.

At a few minutes to 7:00, he was home. His boots got unzipped at the front door before he continued into the living room. The sound of a TV sitcom and the smell of takeout greeted him. Doe was on the sofa.

She smiled when he walked in, but it was a curl of her mouth that didn't reach her eyes. "Hey. Okay day?"

"Yeah." Sullivan peeled off his jacket, tossed his file on a chair, then made himself walk over to the sofa and kiss her.

"Takeout's heated up," she said. "I didn't start without you."

"Okay. I'll get changed."

He came back down in comfortable flannel. She'd gotten pasta primavera for them both, but there were a lot of different sides. He sat by her on the sofa, stretching his legs out. The sitcom, with its irritating laugh-track, was still on. How come? They both detested sitcoms.

He threw a sugarsnap pea in his mouth. "Why are we watching this?"

"There's nothing much on right now, and the game replay doesn't start until 8 o'clock. It's this or the news."

"I'll go with the talking heads."

For some reason, she hesitated at this. Then, with obvious reluctance, she switched it to a news channel. As she put down the remote, she placed her hand on his thigh.

He reminded himself not to tense up at her touch. After all, she'd promised him a massage and sex tonight, and he should go along with it. Which, if he was being honest, he didn't find distasteful. It was weak of him, but he'd still enjoy her body. The idea of STDs occurred to him, but if he hadn't caught anything from her all this time, he should be safe now.

She stroked his thigh for a minute, then set her plate aside. "Be right back." She went to the kitchen.

He focused on the TV screen. The female newsreader was talking about the rescue efforts in Egypt after a bombing last Thursday. She stared intensely into the camera lens as she communicated this information.

Doe returned then. She held a bottle of Jerez Brandy; a 10-year-aged gran reserva. She also held two tumblers and a bowl of crushed ice. Sitting, she turned the news volume all the way down.

Sullivan eyed the bottle label. "Breaking out the good stuff."

She smiled. "I thought I'd lube you up before the massage."

She tossed him the bottle. He caught and opened it. She dumped handfuls of ice in the tumblers, and he filled them up the rest of the way with the brandy.

When their plates and tumblers were empty, they headed upstairs. He followed his nightly routine of a hot shower with the 'Cantique' and setting his bedroom temperature. Instead of going back out to her woodshop, Doe came to his bedroom holding a bottle of massage oil and wearing a skimpy nightshirt.

Already lying in bed, he watched her walk in. Inky black hair fell in a straight sheet to her waist. Her nightshirt stopped only a few inches lower, draping over her hard nipples and the inward groove at the apex of her thighs.

There was a tingle in his cock. A physiological reaction he couldn't rationalize away. Cursing his traitorous body, he flipped over to lie on his front in a prone position.

Doe joined him on his bed and got astride him. Her thighs wrapped around his. Her ass settled on his calves.

He got harder still, his erection pressing into the mattress. He ignored it, focusing on the sounds of her opening the oil bottle and rubbing her palms together.

Her slick hands cupped his nape. The mellow scent of the sandalwood oil reached his nose. Her thumbs performed firm circular motions on the sides of his neck, sweeping up towards the base of his skull. She lingered there for a few minutes, then moved down to his shoulders. Her circular motions became kneading that loosened the knots in his trapezius muscles.

Sullivan breathed out. His eyes closed. His cock was raring to go, but the rest of his body grew lax. How could she have such cruel intentions for him, yet touch him like this?

She moved down, kneading his lower back, sending the tension melting out of his muscles. Her thighs shifted over his, skin sliding over skin.

Her hands left his body then. There was a soft rustle of fabric--she must be taking off her nightshirt. Her nudity was confirmed when bare tits flattened into his back. The softness of the globes contrasted with the bullet points of the nipples. The heat of her mound radiated into his lower back.

His erection pulsed.

Doe ran her hands over his thighs. Her lips were at his earlobe. "Turn over."

So help him, he turned over.

He'd hate himself when post-nut clarity came, but for now, with blood flowing through his rock-hard erection, this was beyond what he wanted to resist.

Doe resettled astride him once he was lying on his back. Her dark eyes fixed on his blue ones, she ran her hands down his bare chest to the obvious tent in his shorts. She lifted the waistband above his erection and drew it down his hips. Her black hair fell over them, screening them like a curtain. Her creamy pale tits hovered above his face, their hardened nipples with a deep rose hue. Although 35, her body hadn't changed since her early twenties.

Yeah, he'd hate himself later. But for now...

Sullivan took one breast in his hand, letting his palm graze the bulleted nipple.

Doe lowered further down to him, lying on his body.

His cock hardened against her stomach. He slid both arms around her waist, squeezed her well-curved ass. Her legs parted over his, making room for him to slide his hand to her mound. Wetness was already there. Her folds were hot and slick to his fingers.

She lowered her head to his, kissing him.

He returned it, their lips moving together as he put his fingers to her clit. She moaned a "yes" into his mouth as he traced over her clit again and again. She arched her hips in time with his fingers--helping him get her off. It got wetter between her legs, her fluid drenching his fingers.

She still got this wet for him. All her attraction to him couldn't possibly have died. Did her asshole lover know that? Did the son of a bitch know she still moaned like this at her husband's touch? Would he still love her if he knew?

A twinge of pained anger went through Sullivan. It wasn't enough to make him lose his erection and stop, but it was enough to make him rougher as he dipped two fingers between her wet cunt lips and deep inside her. He bit along her throat at the same time, hunting by instinct. His teeth grazed her skin; down her shoulder.

She definitely knew where he was headed, because her arms wrapped around him as soon as his mouth locked onto her nipple. Doe crushed him closer, digging her fingers into his sides. He tongued the nipple, slipped another finger inside her. Going deeper still into her wet, clenching cunt. His other hand rested on her fine ass.

Moaning another "yes," she arched against him, her hips rolling as he fingered her. Then she stilled as her release arrived, clenching around his fingers several times.

When it stopped, she lifted her torso up. An orgasmic flush had bloomed over her neck and tits. Her hands ran across his chest. Her eyes were smoky, holding his.

The expectancy in the look went straight to his cock. He cupped her ass cheeks. His hips shifted. The sensitive tip of his cock prodded her wet slit. He pushed upwards, moaning a little himself as the tip entered her to be surrounded by a buttery canal. Doe lowered to him, her hands on his shoulders and their hips drawing closer as his cock disappeared into her body. Her hips settled on his.

Fully surrounded, Sullivan moaned again. One hand left her ass, gathering her hair into a fist. He tugged her head to his. "Ride me until I come."

A smile touched her mouth. The flush climbed higher up her neck. She raised her hips, drawing up until the tip of him, and lowered down to take all of him again. She repeated it, rolling her hips as she kept up the rhythm.

Her breaths got faster and the flush suffused her face, but her pace didn't slacken. Her athletic body had never failed yet. Those long, lean muscles rippled as she stabilized her arms on his shoulders. Her strong calves were locked around his legs. Her tits swayed above his face. Her wet canal milked his cock.

Sullivan wrapped her hair tighter around his fist. His other hand went between her legs to her clit, just above where his cock plugged her. He flicked the nub; not altogether gently. She gave a sharp moan. Her walls clamped down around him. Her hips kept rolling, slick and speedy.

He flicked her clit again. She moaned again, louder this time. Her breaths also got louder. He thrust up against her, giving back as their joint movements became deeper and shorter. More like grinds.

He twitched inside her, swelling, his balls tightening. Their eyes locked. "Who are you riding?"

"You," she panted.

"Then say my name."

"Sullivan." The word was equally a gasp, moan and a hiss. He flicked her clit again. "Sullivan! Sullivan!" She leaned forward, her flushed face dropping into the curve of his throat, her pussy contracting around him. Drenching him in fresh juices.

He grabbed her around the middle, pressing her tits into his chest and shoving up deep between her legs as he also climaxed in a rush of relaxing pleasure. He arched with the kickback, spurting hot liquid into her as satisfaction flooded his cock and lower back.

Temporary satisfaction. The rush was soon over. The buzz passed. There was a lingering laxity in his body, yeah. But his mind, which had cleared, became overcrowded again.

And the self-disgust set in. To have let his cock make the decision. To have enthusiastically fucked the woman whose betrayal still brought him close to tears when he dwelled on it...

You retard. Don't lie here holding her. Dismember her. Carve her eyes out of her skull.

His arm stayed motionless around her waist. Doe was sprawled on top of him. They lay there, not quite cuddling. When his cock softened enough to slip out of her, she rolled over and flopped onto the bed beside him. He let her, pulling his arm off her body.

She stretched, looked across at him, and smirked. "Not bad for medicinal sex."

Sullivan found he could smile back.

She sat up, swinging her legs down to the floor. She gathered up her nightshirt, his spent semen streaking her inner thighs as it found its way out of her.

The sight brought bitterness. He looked up to her face. "Going to get all that out of you and take your pill."

Doe returned his look, then her gaze shifted. "Yeah."

It's her lover's child she wants. That's it. She hates you; why would she want to carry your child? The ink won't have dried on your divorce decree before she's pregnant for the asshole.

He looked away too, fighting the urge to tell her to get the fuck out of his space.

He didn't need to say it, however. She tugged her nightshirt on, closed the blackout blinds for him, then turned on the white noise and started for the door. "I'll watch the game replay after I clean up. Then I'll work in the woodshop for an hour or so. I want to check on wood I bent this morning for a different project. Maybe make some kerfing strips."

He didn't bother answering.

"Night," she said.

"Night."

He got about three hours, but not in a single shot. It was in bursts of REM sleep interrupted by stretches of wakefulness. He finally went down to the kitchen a little before 5:00am, and another working day began.

***

Things continued the same throughout the week and weekend. Sullivan turned down two offers of sex without arousing her suspicions, but was weak enough to cave once. She walked into his bedroom on Friday night in that same damn nightshirt, and he caved.

Tuesday the 19th arrived.

He went through the normal motions that morning; breakfast together and their parting greetings. She went to her woodshop and he left the house.

Instead of going across to Green Island, he took the bowrider a half-mile downriver and walked back to the house. Through simple deductive reasoning, he was sure he wouldn't need any other transportation except his two legs.

Whoever she was meeting today, must already be on the island or would be arriving solo on the ferry. In summer, the ferries docked here twice a day. Now, off-season, it was twice a week; Saturdays and Tuesdays. Today, the only arriving ferry would dock at 10:00am. and depart at 6:00pm. Doe had said on the phone that the meetup would be 'sometime in the afternoon', during his working hours. This meant she couldn't possibly leave the island on the ferry without his noticing her absence. Nor did she have access to their bowrider for a quick mainland trip--it was the only boat they owned, and he used it for his commute.

She was necessarily meeting her lover here on the island.

Knowing her athletic bent, she would walk to the location. The island wasn't that big, so she never took her car unless it was a grocery trip. He could follow her on foot no problem.

His wait wasn't uncomfortable either. There was no crouching behind bushes or curling up in a vehicle like an idiot. He simply let himself back into the house and waited in the living room. Doe, out in her woodshop, was none the wiser. She even dropped into the kitchen for a midmorning snack but didn't swing by into the living room, where he lay on the sofa reading a book.

Once it was noon, he moved to the garage because she'd have to pass through the living room as she went out.

He only waited there an hour. Shortly after 1:00pm., there was the sound of someone leaving the house through the front door. After giving her a minute's head start, he stepped out and scanned the lane. There she was, turning a left corner.

Sullivan let her make the turn. Then he followed.

He kept a discreet distance, often letting her out of his sights but never losing track of her.

He tracked her through interconnected residential streets for roughly a mile. As this island was a local vacation spot, there were several B&Bs and a few privately-owned mansions alongside the modest family homes like theirs.

It was at one of these mansions that Doe stopped.

His brows rose. Her lover was wealthy. Was that the attraction? He'd never known her to be impressed by wealth. Had that part of her character changed without his realizing?

She strolled to the front door and pressed the doorbell. From where he stood, it was impossible to see who admitted her, but the door was soon answered. She went inside and the door shut.

She emerged 94 minutes later. This time, she wasn't alone. Beside her was a young man. They walked down the driveway together, talking and laughing. Clearly, they were comfortable with each other.

Seeing this for himself, Sullivan's initial reactions returned with full force. His heart cracked all over again. On its heels came that rage, compelling in its intensity. Urging him to go up to them and make her watch as her lover was beaten to near death.

He resisted the urge--for now. He needed to get practical things aligned first. Head before fists. He didn't permit the anger to move his body. He stayed in his spot, getting a good look at the guy.

It wasn't the same asshole from the pier. This one was blond, late-twenties and sporting a blissful post-coital smile. He was good-looking enough, Sullivan could allow. But he was so...neat and pressed and clean-cut. Not the kind of guy he'd have pictured Doe being attracted to, much less falling in love with. Soft boys had never held appeal for her.

The pair stopped at the end of the driveway. Soft Boy leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Why not on the lips? Being discreet because they were outdoors?

After this kiss, Soft Boy continued down the street. Doe turned in the opposite direction.

At this point, Sullivan had to decide which of them to track. On one hand, he could follow Soft Boy and find out more about him. Perhaps get a vehicle registration number. On the other hand, he could see if Doe got up to anything else before going home.

He picked Doe.

This turned out to be the wrong decision, because she didn't get up to anything else. She only returned home, where she went upstairs and took a shower before going back out to her woodshop.

It was nearly 4 o'clock then. He doubted she'd try anything else with his being due to return home in a couple of hours.

A shame he hadn't tracked Soft Boy instead. Still, his day's mission was accomplished. He knew where her lover lived and had seen him. Now he'd get over to Albany.

Sullivan walked to where he'd left the bowrider, went across to Green Island, then to an electric supply store in Albany where he purchased recording equipment. It wouldn't be difficult for him to install it in her woodshop.

He returned home an hour later, stowing the recording equipment in his bedroom before going to find her.

She was in the woodshop, standing over the half-finished rosewood chest and drilling holes around the top of the frame with a forstner bit. She looked up as he opened the door. "Well, hey. You're early."