The movement I was riding was Lukas', and the stimulation was not just in my mind, for I now clearly felt him filling me up. He must have manoeuvred himself under and behind me in just the right spot to penetrate me without waking me up, and now he was moving us both in that slow, wave-like rhythm. He had an arm around me, his hand between my legs, stimulating me from the outside. How had he done that without waking me? He truly was a randy goat, but I loved him for it.
Soon, I couldn't think anymore, the pleasure was getting so intense it took over my whole being. A cry escaped me when I reached my high, after which he speeded up his pumping. I moved to my knees to give him more space, which stimulated him even more, holding on to my hips and thrusting at ever increasing pace.
Just when I thought he couldn't go any faster, his hands clenched at my hips and he came in a series of spasms. Panting like a dog, he fell back on the bed, totally spent once again.
I lay down on top of him, supporting myself on my arms so as not to squash him, and kissed him on his mouth. He couldn't return the kiss for lack of breath, but he did look at me with intense love. I said: 'You naughty horny billy-goat how did you manage to do that without waking me?' He laughed, getting his breath back reasonably fast, and said: 'Years of experience my dear, years and years of practice.' Then he admitted: 'Actually, you were
sleeping quite deeply, it would have taken a lot of effort to wake you. But it was time anyway and this was more fun. Wasn't it?' I had to admit he had brought me to new heights of passion, and I could see he had totally spent himself again. I asked him: 'Do you have to go so deeply, spend yourself so totally each time?' He replied: 'How else will I get my stamina back? I can't go for a good run outside, or go swimming. Maybe helping Paul at the forge will make me a bit more fit.'
But now I had to go to work, so I kissed my bed-partner, thanked him for the ride, showered and dressed in one of my suits. My hair was put up again, and I had a good breakfast. 'Will you go to Paul straight away, or will you sleep some more first?' I asked.
Lukas answered: 'I'll sleep some more, then I'll go, he'll probably interrogate me again, about my country, about my family, maybe even in English, to see how much I have picked up already, but I will go. He can help me fit in, too, and I can help him with his work. I'm looking forward to seeing his workshop, where all those beautiful things are born.'
'Wear clothes, or at least ask him if he is fine with it before you go there naked,' I advised. But he said: 'No, I want to fit in, I'll wear clothes so I get used to them. As long as I can sleep naked and maybe sometimes walk around without trousers in your house, I'll manage.' That pleased me, though I kind of liked him being naked, it seemed fitting for him to walk around as nature intended. I had to go, and I kissed him once more then left.
On the last stairs I ran into Paul, again, which confused me quite a bit after last night. He seemed more comfortable with me in a suit and my hair put up, and I clearly felt that though he did 'see' me now, he hadn't forgotten how I looked in a dress.
Good, I wanted him to remember that, I wanted him to lose some inner peace or even sleep over that image.
I did please me that he wanted to say goodbye to me, for I had not a doubt that he had been waiting for me, listening to hear me on the stairs. I decided to allow myself a hug and a good sniff at him, so I wrapped my arms around him, resting my face against his throat where his shirt opened, and took a nice deep breath. It was wonderful.
He did feel a bit awkward and tense in my arms at first, but soon he started to lean into me a little. I even got a slightly more than chaste kiss out of him, which was enough for now, I would just have to allow him some time.
Then I said: 'Please take good care of my billy-goat for me, he's coming over after his beauty sleep. I'm going on an inspection, I'll be back in the afternoon to do some calculations at home, and then I'm free to do some studying.'
Paul asked me: 'Lunch at my place?' I accepted gladly: 'Please, deliver me from my own cooking!' and off I was.
After a twenty minute walk I arrived on the construction site I was currently inspecting. The building was starting to look quite impressive, after the foundation had been laid the contractors were now putting up the frame of cast iron, fusing it together with huge bolts and some welds. The cast iron construction would be covered with glass panels, shaping an enormous glasshouse in the modern Victorian style.
My job was to monitor the whole building process for safety, the city council my employer. I would check the architect's calculations, run over his drawings minutely, measure every line put on the building plans and calculate it up to full-scale, then measure it in the field to see if it all added up. I had to check the building materials for quality, all for the good cause of safety.
It was a really responsible job, and a difficult one, not only because of the work itself, but mostly because I was a woman in a man's world. But the contractors knew me and no longer tried to get away with inferior materials or sloppy calculations. They knew I'd spot them and use my authority to stop the build until safety measures were met again.
I'd had to do that in the past, but no longer. Even new contractors were warned not to fool with me, and though the people whose work I inspected didn't like me, they did respect me, which was good enough. I suppose they didn't like my male colleagues either.
My superior in the council trusted me in everything, and even liked to talk shop with me, and the work itself was a continual challenge. I could more or less decide what hours to work, was allowed, even supposed, to do the calculations and measurements at home, and I had a lot of leisure time. And the pay was good.
As I passed the temporary gate put up around the building site, the workmen nodded or called 'good morning' to me. They mostly liked me, for inspecting safety measures was also my job, and they knew the risk of accidents was reduced to a minimum on the sites that I controlled, no matter what corners their bosses tried to cut to save a few pennies or hours of construction time.
In the two days I had been off work they had progressed a lot, the whole metal frame was standing up, and they would be ready to start applying the glass tomorrow. It would take at least a week to cover the building completely, provided the framework was stable enough to start glazing, and it was my responsibility to judge if it was.
So I went to the little cabin that served the architect and the contractors as office for a briefing. All three of them were present, the architect, the contractor that had built the frame and the one who was supplying the glass panelling
Whilst we were drinking coffee and talking about the progress of the building and the weather forecasts, the owner came in as well. Now everyone was present, and I started off by telling I had checked every one of their calculations and had found not a single aberration. Today, I wanted to measure the frame against the drawings, to see if the measurements matched the drawings, ensuring it was strong enough to carry the weight of the glass.
The four men were very confident, and so was I. This lot had not made a single mistake yet, so I expected them to get the rest right as well, but of course I was going to check.
I was wearing a women's suit on purpose, for it meant climbing scaffolding and getting hands-on with the frame itself, inspecting and measuring every inch of it. It would take me the whole morning to take the measurements, and the afternoon to compare them to the plans, in which time the builders would work on the ornamentation and carefully unpacking the glass panels.
I took leave of the men, and got my tools and my helmet from the locked compartment in the cabin.
Then I went over to the building site, preparing to climb to the very top of the building. The moment I set foot on the scaffolding, I felt a wave of unease roll over me. It was not sickness, or dizziness, it felt different. As if it came from the outside, not from inside me.
I was not afraid of heights, and not subject to dizzy spells or hysteria, and I would not show the men my momentary discomfort. So I climbed on the scaffolding, ascended to th
e top and started my measurements. Being busy, the discomfort faded to the background, like an annoying buzz in my ear. It was still there, though, and I kept puzzling what it might be.
For a short moment I was afraid to be pregnant, I did have intercourse multiple times the last two days. But my common sense told me that I could
not get pregnant from another species, and besides, as far as I knew one did not feel the effects of a pregnancy within two days. That was impossible. It had to be something else.
Maybe I felt someone using magic close by, the books I had read mentioned magicians being able to feel others practice the arts. But it lasted for hours already, would a spell take this long to cast? Or maybe someone had cast a spell on a worker, or the building, or my tools?
I dismissed that theory, but not the sense it might have something to do with magic. Maybe the awakening of magic felt this way, like a tooth breaking through. Determined to ask Paul, I filed the thought away and kept measuring and checking doggedly, only stopping once to drink tea during a general break at eleven.
My notebook was filled with numbers, neatly organised according to my own filing system. I had also sketched several parts of the building, noting measurements and construction details in the margins.
I'd thoroughly calculate all these measurements this afternoon, and send the results to the building council. By the time it was nearly one 'o clock, I was done, except for one last set of measurements close to where I had ascended the scaffolding.
After those, I was going to descend at that same point, and go home. But coming closer, the uneasiness hit me again, stronger this time. I took hold of one of the supports until I felt able to stand again, then started to look around for a reason why I should feel this way.
I found I could use the feeling as a lodestone, letting its intensity lead me to a sort of focal point for the feeling, now more like extreme nervousness, a big hand clamping on my insides. The place where it seemed to come to a high point was an intersection of supports for the frame, made of heavy, thick cast iron, supporting part of the building with their strength and weight, bolted to each other with heavy metal bolts.
I ignored my feeling of unease to really carefully measure each beam, comparing the shape to what it should be, checking the joins and the connections. All looked totally in order, all the measurements were fine. But I got a distinct feeling that something was wrong, that this junction was not going to hold up.
A feeling! I was a scientist, not a bloody diviner! I tried my very best to ignore the feeling, to stick to the measurements, but the feeling would not go
away. It had to be acknowledged.
So I checked everything again, carefully tapping the metal to hear it resound.
Of course my lingering over a part of the construction worried the overseer, and he carefully asked if something was wrong.
I told him honestly: 'All the measurements are correct, the shape is perfect, the joint is strong. Still I get a feeling something is not right in this intersection, but I cannot prove it. A feeling, as if I've studied engineering to follow my instincts.'
He did not look relieved at my denial of my feeling, but rather more worried:
'They say you're the best safety inspector, if you think there is something wrong maybe we should take it apart and make sure. Though the boss is not going to like that, it would set us back the whole afternoon.'
I replied: 'The trouble is, I cannot prove anything, so I cannot stop the build.
And I'm not convinced myself, that something is indeed wrong, it is just a feeling. I've learned to rely on facts instead of feelings.'
Still, the overseer was in doubt: 'If that intersection is not sound and we put the weight of the glass on, the whole structure might collapse. Lives may be lost, and a lot of money down the drain.' As if I didn't know that. But I had never relied on instinct, and didn't know what do do now. So I decided to step by the office and ask my own boss before I stopped anything.
Climbing further down until I set foot on the ground again, I once more admired the architecture of this lovely modern building. When the architect joined me I expressed my admiration of his design, and he was very pleased to hear it.
He asked: 'And what did you think of the construction?' I replied, still in doubt if I should mention the feeling to him, since it might influence his opinion of my common sense: 'As beautiful and solid enough for the load it will carry.
It will a magnificent building, a symbol of Victorian ingenuity.' But now the overseer had come after me and said: 'Tell him about your feeling.' I started to deny this but the overseer was adamant: 'Please tell him, lives could be at stake.'
This worried the architect and he asked: 'Was there a problem?' I tried to explain it away: 'I had this uneasy feeling where the ascent of the scaffolding is, and when I came very close, it concentrated in that support over there, the big one. But the shapes and measurements were all normal, and the sound as
well. I've never had a feeling like that, maybe it is indigestion.'
And the architect seemed to hope I believed this explanation myself. I promised to complete the calculations this afternoon, and send approval before dark. Then I locked my stuff back up, picked up my notebook and took leave, and went home, not directly, but via the council building where my superior worked.
Chapter 8
It was a good ten minutes walk, but the day was beautiful, the weather was sunny and warm and the green had spread a lot again, it seemed overnight.
Leaves appeared on trees, the first spring flowers opened, birds were making a noise.
The council building was large and beautifully designed. I liked to come here, the interior was even more beautiful, white marble and classic style statues. I passed by a lovely patio garden with box hedges and roses, of course not in bloom yet but sprouting fresh green leaves to prove they had survived winter.
I went to the second floor and walked into the office space of my boss, the council building official, Mr Millner. His secretary greeted me, and when I asked her if I could speak to Mr Millner she affirmed and asked if I wanted coffee. I did, they had great coffee there, and I knocked and went into his personal office.
Mr Millner greeted me warmly and asked me to sit down. I did, and we talked of spring and lovely weather for a very short time. The secretary brought us both coffee, how did she do that so quickly? It was fabulous coffee again, and then I asked my question, feeling a bit awkward: 'Mr Millner, I inspected the Glasshouse site this morning, and everything seemed in very good order, all the measurements were perfect, everything was in excellent shape. But....' I hesitated, feeling foolish, certain this would do my reputation no good.
My boss, seeing I felt embarrassed, encouraged me: 'You can tell me, I will not make fun of you or hold this against you. You have an excellent record.' I knew, and I wanted to keep it that way, but the feeling still buzzed me, so I acknowledged it again: 'but one junction at the very base of the building just didn't feel right. It made me uneasy, so much so that I could follow the uneasiness to its centre, a thick column of cast iron supporting at least one quarter of the construction.
I measured everything twice, checked the bolts, nothing was amiss. I feel
foolish, I cannot prove anything, but it still feels wrong.'
My boss did indeed not make fun at me or laugh, he thought very seriously about what I had just said. Then he asked: 'It was not dizziness, nausea, something you ate?'
I replied: 'It was not from inside me, the feeling came from the building. I've never had anything like it before, facts have always been good enough for me. I came by to ask you what do with it.' He told me: 'You don't need to do anything except the calculations. If they are correct, send word and we'll let the building go ahead. We cannot justify to stop it on a hunch.'
Relieved, I told him: 'I will, thank you for you advice. I am an engineer, not a diviner, that is why I wanted your opinion.' He shook hands with me and said: 'Always, Miss Thorn, you're a good engineer and
your calculations are good enough for me any day. See you soon!'
I left, saying: 'Thanks again, sir, for the advice.' And then I said goodbye to the secretary: 'See you soon, and thanks for the coffee!' And I went home whistling, enjoying the day, looking forward to lunch with Lukas and Paul, and an evening of studying together. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny little buzz still made itself felt.
When I came home, the guys were still in the workshop, both hot and sweaty, and very pleased with themselves. Paul asked: 'Did you have a good day at work?' I replied: 'Kind of, but something weird happened. I'll tell you all over lunch. What have you two been up to?'
Now Lukas launched himself at me, wrapping his arms around me, kissing me ardently. He felt really solid and warm, and the combination of a warm wet kiss and his musky scent made me look forward to tonight. He was so sweet and cheerful, how could I not love him to bits?
But then Paul looked a bit lost in his own beautiful workshop, and that could not be borne, so when Lukas and me were through with our kiss, I walked over to Paul and greeted him much the same, only not jumping him and not kissing him on the mouth.
I just embraced him intimately and nuzzled his neck again, smelling him as well, his scent as exciting as usual. He did return my embrace but he did not offer to kiss me, not that I'd expected that. But he seemed full of something, and he soon told me: 'We've been working hard, Melissa, starting on a new project together. Lukas has a real feeling for art.' I had a hunch they were not going to tell me what it was till it was finished, so I didn't ask. A hunch. What
was it with me?
So I answered: 'I am glad you had a good day together, I wish I could have been with you. And I'm not done yet, I still have some calculations to do.'
Maybe I would find a reason yet for the nagging feeling still riding me, giving me a reason to have that support checked thoroughly. Paul took my broad hint and led us to his apartment, where he had already set a nice table that only needed some food for a perfect lunch.
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