He nodded vaguely, still refining his plan inside his head. The way he saw it was that by the time he had the man playing him, it was as good as over; a few subtle hints from Zoey would tilt the playing field in Quentin's favour. Even if the worst happened and he lost out, he wouldn't lose Zoey. She was unlosable; too bound to him, by now. He might take her away physically for a while, but he thought her loyalty was fairly attached to himself. Perhaps in this assumption he was overestimating himself... But then he was trusting her to favour him rather than her own father anyway, so what harm another little leap of faith?<br/><span style="color: DarkRed"><br/>
"We'll play for small quantaties at first... Bits and pieces. Things I can lose. When he draws a good hand, I want you to be your usual inelegant self, and knock something over. Spill a drink, or drop something you're fidgetting with... Then I'll know to press in for the kill, to lure everything out of him. The elegance is that you will give me the signal, give me the distraction needed to procure a hand to beat his own, and then - when I whip you for the error - the reminder he needs about how important it is for him to win you back." </span><br/><br/>He twisted, this time enough to bring him up off his rump and have him turning. He ended up kneeling neatly before the bath, most of his body a few inches back to avoid the water; his one arm rolling it's sleeve up so that he might enjoy the feel of his prized girl yet again. By the time his shirt sleeve was securely around his upper arm, he reached forward and clasped a wet, soapy tit to massage it absent-mindedly.<br/><span style="color: DarkRed"><br/>
"Anything else to consider? Your rump will need to be black and blue for show, of course, but that is easily done..."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>