The Surveyor

First time I saw him was Tuesday morning. Property viewing in Newnham, Victorian terrace I'm converting for a client. Structural survey booked for nine.

Expected some middle-aged bloke with a clipboard. Got Lewis instead.

Late twenties maybe. Northern accent, Yorkshire or Lancashire? Fitted T-shirt, work trousers, boots. Solid build. Quiet. Said hello, and got straight to work.

I'm there because the client doesn't trust builders. Wants me overseeing everything. Architect by training, interior design by necessity. Pays better.

Followed him room to room while he checked walls, ceilings, damp. Made notes in pencil. Actual pencil.

"This wall's not structural," he said, tapping it. "Could take it out. Open the space up."

"That's what I thought."

He looked at me properly then. "You're left-handed."

Stupid thing to notice. Threw me. "Yeah."

"Easier if I hold this side then." Moved the measuring tape so I could write. Small thing. But nobody notices stuff like that.

My phone rang. James. Husband. Again.

"Sorry, one second."

"Where are you?" Not hello. Never hello anymore.

"Newnham. The Victorian conversion. Told you this morning."

"Right. Well. Don't forget you're picking up Ella. I've got the investors dinner."

Hung up before I could answer. Always does.

Lewis was examining the window frames. Pretending he hadn't heard. But he had.

"Sorry about that."

"No bother." Still looking at the window. "These are original. Could restore them. Shame to replace."

Spent another hour going through the place. He explained everything. Didn't talk down. Didn't assume I wouldn't understand technical stuff. Asked my opinion on things.

At the door he handed me his card. "I'll email the full report Thursday. But structurally it's sound. Good bones."

"Thanks."

"You did the design?"

"Yeah."

"It's good. Thoughtful." He nodded at the plans I'd shown him earlier. "You can tell someone actually thought about how people live in spaces."

Then he left.

Sat in the car for ten minutes after. Good bones. You can tell someone thought about it.

When was the last time James said anything like that about my work?

---

Second visit was the following week. Builder had questions about the steels.

Lewis turned up same time as me. We stood in what would be the kitchen, looking at the ceiling.

"Definitely need an RSJ here," he said, pointing. "But you knew that."

"I did."

"Course you did." Half smile. "Why am I even here?"

"Because the builder doesn't believe women."

He looked at me. "Fucking hell. Really?"

"Really."

"That's bollocks."

Stupid how much that mattered. That he thought it was bollocks.

We measured the space together. His handwriting was terrible. Mine wasn't much better.

"Coffee?" I asked after. "There's a place round the corner."

Shouldn't have asked. Had no reason to ask. But did anyway.

"Yeah. Alright."

Cafe was nearly empty. Ordered black coffee, he had tea. We sat by the window.

"How long you been doing this?" he asked.

"Fifteen years. Architecture degree, worked for a firm, went solo five years ago."

"Like it?"

"Most days. You?"

"Seven years surveying. Thought about architecture but. Don't know. Like being on site more than drawing stuff."

We talked about buildings. Old ones, new ones, the shit developers do. He'd worked on a restoration in York. Mediaeval undercroft, listed building, nightmare job. Got excited telling me about the vaulting.

My phone vibrated, it was James again, asking where I was. Reminding me about Ella, about his meeting tonight, oh and asking me to pick up the dry cleaning.

I put it back in my pocket without responding.

Lewis was watching. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah fine, it's be a long day."

He clearly didn't believe me but didn't push either.

---

Third visit was because I needed to check the measurements. Didn't really. Builder already had them. But fuck it I went anyway.

Lewis was already there. Took his time this time. Went through everything again, explained load-bearing walls I already understood. But I let him.

"You don't need me to explain this," he said eventually.

"No."

"So why am I?"

Because I wanted to see you. Because my husband hasn't asked about my day in three years. Because you make me feel like I actually exist.

"Just being thorough."

He smiled. I think he knew I was lying. Didn't mind.

"Er, okay fair enough."

We stood in the empty front room. Dusty floorboards. It was still light outside.

"Your husband," he said. Didn't look at me. "So is he in the same field as you?"

"Oh no, he's in Finance. Hedge fund. Very important." Tried but couldn't keep the bitterness out.

"Sounds like it."

"He's. We're. It's complicated..."

"Oh, sorry to pry. You don't have to explain."

But I wanted to. For some stupid reason I wanted this man I barely knew to understand.

"We've been married twelve years. Two kids. He's not a bad person...somewhere along the way I became the logistics. School run, dinner, dry cleaning, boring wife who talks about grout."

Lewis looked at me properly. "You're not boring!"

"Ha, you don't know that."

"I do though."

The way he said it. Really certain, like it was fact.

"I should go, Ella needs picking up at four."

"Right. Yeah." He picked up his bag. Hesitated. "Next visit. If you need one. Let me know."

"There probably won't be another visit. Survey's done."

"Right okay. Well great working with you."

We stood there. Too close. Not close enough.

"Unless something comes up," I said.

"Yeah. Course, unless that."

---

Something came up the following Tuesday.

Texted him. Cracks in the rear wall, builder's worried, can you please take a look?

There were no cracks. We both knew it.

He arrived at three. I'd told James I had a site meeting. He was picking up Ella anyway - some school thing he'd actually remembered for once.

We stood in the back room. Looking at the perfectly fine wall.

"No cracks," he said.

"Nope."

"So?"

"So I lied."

He put his bag down. "Er, why?"

"Because I wanted to see you. Because I think about you. Because this is completely inappropriate and I should leave but I'm not going to."

He didn't say anything. Just looked at me. Deciding.

"I'm married," I said. "Two kids. This is. I don't do this."

"I know."

"And you're what, twenty-seven?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Still."

"Still nothing." He took a step closer. "I don't care about that."

"You should."

"But I don't." Another step. Right in front of me now. "Tell me to leave. If you want. I'll go."

Couldn't. Couldn't tell him to leave.

He reached out. Tucked my hair behind my ear. Gentle, his hand rough from work.

"You're not boring," he said again. "You're fucking brilliant. The way you think about spaces. The way you explain things. Your husband's an idiot."

Kissed him before he could say anything else.

He froze for half a second. Then kissed back. Proper kissed me. His hand in my hair, other hand on my waist, pulling me against me.

"Fuck," I breathed.

"Yeah fuck."

"This is insane."

"Probably."

"We should stop."

"Should we?"

Kissed him again instead of answering. He held me against the wall. The one with no cracks. His body pressed against mine. Could feel how hard he was already. Jesus.

"I haven't done this in. Fuck. Years maybe."

He pulled back slightly. Looking at me. "Years?"

"James doesn't. We don't...not anymore."

Something changed in his face. "When did someone last touch you properly?"

"I can't remember."

"That's fucking criminal." Started kissing my neck. Slow. His hands on my waist, not moving yet, just holding me. Found that spot below my ear that made me gasp.

"There?"

"God yes."

His hands slid under my shirt. Warm. Rough. Found my bra and stopped.

"Can I?"

"Please do."

Unhooked it. Pushed my shirt up. Looked at me.

"Fucking hell."

Self-conscious suddenly. "I've had two kids. Things aren't..."

"You're bloody beautiful."

Said it like he meant it. Like he'd thought about it.

His mouth on my breast. Tongue on my nipple. Then got on his knees. Started unbuttoning my jeans. Looked up at me. "Alright?"

"Yes, yes."

Pulled them down. My knickers too. And suddenly I'm stood in an empty house in Newnham with a surveyor I barely know about to go down on me and this is mental but I really don't care.

He kissed my thigh. Inner thigh. Getting closer but not there yet...

"Lewis."

"Patience."

"I don't have patience."

He laughed against my skin. "You're going to learn it."

Finally put his mouth on me. Gentle at first. Just his tongue. Exploring. Learning what I liked. Grabbed his hair. Couldn't help it. Needed something to hold.

"That's it," he said. "Use my hair. Tell me what you need."

Didn't have words. Could barely think. Just pulled him closer and hoped he'd work it out.

He did. Found my clit and didn't stop. Steady pressure. His hands holding my hips against the wall.

"Oh fuck. Fuck."

Close already. Embarrassingly close. Been so long.

"You taste so good," he said against me. "So fucking good."

That did it. The way he said it. Northern accent. Matter of fact. Came so hard my legs nearly gave out. He held me steady. Kept going. Gentler now but didn't stop until I pulled him away.

"Oh my god...fuck!!!"

He stood up. Wiped his mouth. Grinning. "Alright?"

"Alright? I just. That was. Fuck. You bastard."

"Good." Kissed me. Could taste myself. "Now what do you want?"

"You. I want you."

"Here?"

"Here. Now...I don't care."

He pulled off his shirt. Proper body. Not gym body. Working body, a dad body.

Got his jeans open. Pushed them down with his boxers. His cock was rock hard.

"Condom?" I asked. Not sure why really.

"Shit. No."

"I'm on the pill. And James and I haven't...not in over a year."

"I'm clean too, honest. I've never strayed."

"Then fuck me."

He turned me round. Hands on my shoulders. Gentle but firm. "Hands on the wall."

Did what he said. Face towards the wall. His hand smoothed over my arse. Then. A slap. Sharp. Real.

Should've been shocked. Should've told him off. Instead, "Again... again."

He did it again. This time harder. The sting of it spreading.

"Fuck, look at you." His hands spreading me open. Then felt him position himself. Stopped.

"Lewis."

"Tell me you want it."

"I want it. Please..."

"Tell me properly."

"I want you to fuck me. Please. I need..."

Pushed inside. One slow thrust. All the way.

"Oh god, move. Please move."

Started slow. His hands on my hips, pulling me back onto him with each thrust. Then faster and deeper.

"You feel so good," he said. "So tight."

One hand slid round to my front. Found my clit. Started rubbing while he fucked me.

"I can't. Too much."

"Yes you can." Rubbing harder. Fucking harder. His fingers digging into my hip. Bruising. "I can feel it. You're close."

Was. Could feel it building. Everything tensing.

"That's it. Let me feel you."

He shifted. Changed something. Deeper now. And fuck. Another one already. Didn't even have time to recover. Harder than before.

He didn't stop. Kept fucking me through it. His breath getting shorter now. Losing rhythm.

"Where?" he gasped. "Where do you want me?"

"Inside. Come inside me."

Groaned. His fingers dug deeper into my hip. Three more thrusts and he came. Pushed deep and stayed there. Felt him finish inside me.

Both standing there afterwards. Him still inside me. My face against the wall. Sweating. Trying to get our breath back. My legs wobbly. Could feel him twitching still, getting softer but still there.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Yeah."

Finally pulled out. Turned me round. Kissed me. Gentle this time.

"You alright?"

"Alright? I just. That was. Fuck."

He smiled. "Good."

Got dressed. Weird suddenly. Reality.

At the door he stopped. "This a one-time thing?"

"Should be..."

"Should be. But is it?"

Looked at him. This man who'd made me come twice in twenty minutes. Who thought I was brilliant. Who noticed I was left-handed.

"No."

"Good." Kissed me once more. "Thursday?"

"Thursday then."

---

Drove home in a daze. Still felt him. The places where his fingers had gripped. Where he'd slapped me. All of it.

Picked up Ella. Made dinner. James came home late. Barely looked at me.

Lay in bed that night. Thighs aching. Could still smell Lewis on my skin.

Thursday. Two days.

Might actually die before Thursday.