The Seamstress
"James needs a suit for his brother's wedding. The tailor his mother recommended is a thick, gorgeous woman who takes very thorough measurements."
The shop was tucked away on a side street James had walked past a hundred times without noticing. "Minerva's Fine Tailoring" read the gold-lettered sign, and beneath it, in smaller script, "By Appointment Only."
His mother had insisted. "No son of mine is wearing off-the-rack to his brother's wedding. Minerva will take care of you—she's done all your father's suits for thirty years."
James had expected a wizened old woman with a measuring tape draped around her neck. What he got was Minerva Santos—forty-something, with curves that defied physics and a smile that made his mouth go dry.
"You must be James." She stepped aside to let him into the shop. "Your mother said you'd be coming."
The interior was warm and intimate, bolts of fabric lining the walls in every color and texture imaginable. A large mirror dominated one wall, flanked by fitting pedestals. Soft music played from somewhere unseen.
"I need a suit," James managed. "For a wedding."
"So I hear. When's the big day?"
"Three weeks."
Minerva clicked her tongue. "Cutting it close. But I can work miracles." She circled him slowly, her eyes assessing. "Take off your jacket."
He did, feeling suddenly exposed in just his button-down. She was shorter than him but carried herself with such presence that he felt dwarfed.
"Shirt too. I need accurate measurements."
James hesitated. "Is that—"
"Standard procedure. Unless you want a suit that fits like a potato sack."
He stripped down to his undershirt, feeling the air on his arms. Minerva produced a measuring tape and got to work.
"Arms out."
Her touch was professional but warm as she wrapped the tape around his chest. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume—something soft and floral—and see the way her own blouse stretched across her ample chest.
"Breathe normally."
Easier said than done with her breasts brushing his arm as she reached around him. She seemed oblivious to the effect she was having, noting numbers in a small leather journal.
"Now the inseam."
James swallowed hard. "Right."
Minerva knelt before him, and the sight nearly undid him. She was eye level with his crotch, her soft face tilted up toward him as she positioned the tape.
"I'm going to need you to remove your pants."
"I—what?"
"The trousers." Her smile was patient. "I can't measure the inseam properly through fabric. It's either this or I guess, and I don't guess."
This had to be some kind of test. Or torture. James fumbled with his belt, stepping out of his pants to stand before her in his boxer briefs.
Minerva's eyes flickered—so quickly he might have imagined it—before returning to her work. The tape slid up his inner thigh, her knuckles brushing against him through the thin cotton. He prayed she couldn't see him beginning to respond.
"Interesting," she murmured.
"What?"
"Your measurements. You're well-proportioned." She stood, tucking the tape around her neck. "Most men aren't. Makes my job easier."
"Glad I could help."
She laughed—a rich, genuine sound. "You can get dressed. I'll have some swatches for you to look at."
James pulled his clothes back on with relief, though part of him mourned the loss of her proximity. When Minerva returned with fabric samples, she stood close—closer than necessary—as she held them against his chest.
"Navy would bring out your eyes. But charcoal is more versatile." Her fingers lingered on his collar. "What do you think?"
"I think you're the expert."
"Mmm." She set aside the fabrics. "Can I be honest with you, James?"
"Please."
"I don't usually do this." She stepped even closer, her body brushing his. "Mixing business with... other things. But there's something about you."
His heart was pounding. "Something?"
"The way you looked at me. Not staring, not avoiding—just seeing." Her hand came to rest on his chest. "Most men either ogle or overcorrect. You just looked at me like I was... normal."
"You're not normal," James said, and watched her face flicker with old hurt before he continued. "You're extraordinary."
The kiss was soft at first—a question rather than a demand. But when she responded, pressing her full body against him, it became something more. His hands found her waist, her hips, the generous curve of her ass.
"The door," she breathed. "Let me lock—"
"Yes."
She moved quickly, flipping the sign to "Closed" and throwing the bolt. When she turned back, her blouse was already half-unbuttoned, revealing a lace bra that could barely contain her.
"We can stop," she said. "If this isn't—"
"Please don't stop."
She smiled and led him to a chaise in the corner, pushing him down before straddling his lap. Her weight on him was intoxicating, her softness pressing against him everywhere.
"Touch me," she demanded. "I want to feel your hands."
He obeyed, exploring every inch of her as she rocked against him. Her breasts overflowed his hands, her nipples hardening against his palms through the lace. She moaned when he kissed her neck, gasped when he bit down gently.
"Pants off," she ordered, rising just enough to give him room. "Now."
He barely got them to his knees before she was sinking onto him, her warmth enveloping him in one smooth motion. They both groaned at the connection.
"God, you feel good." She started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. "So good inside me."
James gripped her hips, helping guide her rhythm. She was tight and wet and absolutely perfect, her body made for this kind of pleasure. He watched her face as she moved—watched her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, her cheeks flush with building ecstasy.
"Harder," he urged, pulling her down as he thrust up. "Let me have all of you."
She answered with action, her pace increasing until they were both gasping. The chaise groaned beneath them, threatening to give way, but neither cared. James felt her begin to tighten around him.
"I'm close—I'm so close—"
"Come for me. Come on me."
She did, with a cry that echoed off the walls. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and he spilled inside her, both of them shaking through their release.
They stayed connected as their breathing slowed. Minerva laughed softly, brushing hair from her face.
"Your suit," she said. "I'm definitely giving you the friends and family discount."
"Does that make me family?"
She kissed him, slow and sweet. "Come back for your fitting next week. We'll see what else needs measuring."
The suit, when it was finally finished, fit like a second skin. But James kept finding reasons to visit the shop long after the wedding.
Some things, it turned out, were worth getting tailored to fit.