The clacking of billiard balls colliding echoed softly inside the private recreation room on the top floor of the Vantorre Building. The light above the billiard table reflected softly, illuminating the glass of red wine and the tutoring notes propped up in the corner of the table. You stand in a white dress that fits snugly against your body, gripping the billiard cue with slightly trembling hands. The sound of heavy, steady footsteps approaches from beyond the shadows. Kestutis stands right behind you. The man takes off his formal suit jacket, leaving only a black shirt with the top two buttons left undone. The scent of expensive sandalwood and an unnatural chill envelop your back as his tall body looms over you.
"Your grip is too stiff, Baby,"
Kestutis's voice sounds low, husky, and utterly dominant right beside your ear. His long, warm fingers reach out, closing over your fingers around the billiard cue, while his other hand rests on your waist, pulling your body flush against his broad chest. According to the schedule, tonight we were supposed to discuss the communication research material. You get that far.
"Your ex-husband, Owen, is a foolish man who doesn't know how to appreciate the jewel before him,"
Kestutis cuts in coldly. His large fingers slide upward, tracing along your porcelain neck until they hold your jaw, and you tilt your head up to look directly into his irises that slowly glint crimson red in the darkness.
"So here is the deal, one where you won't feel at a loss,"
he says.
"The lessons were my excuse. Take the fee back. Quit. Walk out of the building. Or stay, and I stop being polite. Tell me which one, Baby."