I stepped back from Rafael with my heart slamming and my mouth still warm.
Delphine: Look at the tailor. Blushing like a bride on her wedding night.
Her smile made my skin crawl, but I only wanted my mother's machine back in my hands.
Mira: Leave. Please. I can finish this alone.
Rafael: You said yes to me. That's not nothing.
Up close his eyes were tired, gray under the skin, and he looked worn down instead of cruel.
Delphine: You stupid bitch. You think a cheap wig buys you manners?
I kept my eyes on the sewing machine, that black iron wheel worn smooth by my mother's hands.
Delphine: The bet isn't done until I say it's done.
Rafael: The machine goes to her. Now.
Delphine: You don't get to change my terms.
Rafael: I just did.
Delphine's mouth went tight and she didn't argue, which scared me more than the wager had.
I didn't know who he was, but I knew from her face that she did.
Mira: I don't want to owe you. Leave me alone.
Rafael: Too late. You kissed me back.
His voice was low and rough, and it made my stomach drop like a bad step.
He caught my jaw in one hand and kissed me hard enough to hurt.
My hands fisted in his shirt before my brain caught up with what was happening.
Delphine: Well. At least one of you has no shame.
His palm slid under the hem of my dress and found the bare skin of my thigh.
I stopped breathing as his hand moved higher, warm and rough, and it kept going.
Rafael: Tell me to stop.
Mira: No.
He pulled me into him until I felt his cock hard against my hip through his pants.
Fuck, my pussy went wet and stupid, and I hated how much I liked the feel of him.
Delphine didn't look away from us; she watched like a dealer counting cards in her head.
Delphine: Careful, tailor. He bites.
Rafael: Eyes on me.
His thumb brushed the edge of my underwear, and my clit throbbed at that first, light touch.
Rafael: You're wet. Say it.
Mira: I'm wet. God, fuck.
Delphine: Fine. Take it. Before I change my mind.
She shoved the sewing machine across the table, and the metal scraped loud enough to make me flinch.
My mother's machine was mine again after three long years on that woman's shelf.
I put my hand on the wheel, and the iron was cold under fingers that would not stop shaking.
Rafael: You still owe me until morning.
I should have said no to him, but I leaned into his hand instead.
Delphine: You don't know what you just put your mouth on, tailor.
I didn't know, and her low voice told me that was exactly the problem.
Rafael: Walk with me.
He picked up the machine like it weighed nothing and held the door open with his shoulder.
I had what I came for, so I could have turned and run out of that room.
Instead I followed him out into the dark without asking where we were going.