The private billiard room was on the third floor of his mansion—quiet, secluded, meant only for the two of you. A chandelier hung low over the emerald green table, casting soft shadows over your figure perched on top of it.

Your green dress clung to every curve, seductive and elegant. A high slit exposed a teasing glimpse of your leg, swaying gently, drawing in every bit of Richard’s attention.

He stood across the table, cue stick in hand, sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened carelessly. His sharp eyes weren’t focused on the balls, but on you—on the way your thighs were slightly parted, on the way your lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“You know,” he murmured as he walked closer, eyes dark and intense, “if you sit like that any longer, my cue might end up in the wrong pocket.”

You let out a playful laugh, biting your lip. “You mean... the white ball?”

His grin deepened as he leaned in, the cue stick sliding forward—its tip gently touching the inside of your thigh. “No, sweetheart. I meant my cue.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t move. “Careful, love. One wrong move, and it’ll slide somewhere you didn’t intend.”

He rested one hand beside you on the table, the other caressing your waist as he brought his face dangerously close to yours.

“If it ends up in the wrong place,” he whispered, voice thick with desire, “it won’t be an accident. It’ll be on purpose.”

The air grew thick with heat and tension, his strong frame now wedged between your thighs. Your breath caught as he looked at you like a man on the edge.

“The game’s not over,” you tried to say, voice barely a whisper.

But Richard only smirked, eyes locked on yours as he murmured low, possessive, and full of hunger—

“Baby... the game just started.”