I watched you across the smoky room, fascinated by your technique and grace.

You were calm, cool as ice, and yet I saw something in your eyes that burned hotter than the sun. And then you caught my eyes, and with a look, shifted to my table. The shark dealt you in and we played. You may have thought I was concentrating on the game, but I saw you only, and I liked what I saw. You played a risk, and you played it well. With a deft sleight of hand you took it all, and suddenly I was hungry to know more. I saw it all, the way the heat made the perspiration shine on your skin, the way your cunning mind was always three steps ahead. You knew what was coming, and you rose to meet it. A flush, and the chips slide. But this time, when the cards are dealt, it is my hand, not yours, that seizes the spoils. And suddenly you are interested. We switch to blackjack, up the ante, deal and play.

The others are out and it is just you and I. All or nothing, you say, and I match it in one final round. The cards are dealt, and I hear the tiniest little slip uttered from your perfect lips, almost undetected by even yourself. I make no acknowledgement that I heard, and you think you are safe. All or nothing, I enquire, one final time, goading, almost begging you to spill again, but your faith stays firmly rooted in the two pieces of card between your slender fingers. You nod, and the heat is raised ever so slightly. You take a twist, and the ghost of a smile touches the corner of your lips. You settle and stick with your guns. So now it’s my turn. I take my first from its place on the tabletop, and in my head I smirk. I decide that I’m going to take a risk and play the second card blind. It turns up the tension even more. Now it really is all or nothing. This prompts you to intake breath ever so slightly more sharply than before, impressed with my gambit.

All or nothing, we both state, and show our cards, one at a time.

You held a ten and a seven and a three. 20. My first is the jack of clubs. Breathing deeply, I reveal my blind, hoping for the card I need. Perfect. The Ace of Spades. Blackjack.

I walk round the table, and press my lips to your soft throat.

“I win. You’re mine.”