The aftermath of last night still clung to Pete like a shadow. His body ached in places that weren't supposed to hurt, his mind haunted by Vegas' touch, his hands, his voice. Every muscle remembered. Every nerve burned.
And Vegas… Vegas was unrelenting.
Pete thought he'd escaped this morning, slipping past the chaos of the Montclair penthouse before Vegas woke. But a dark laugh stopped him in the hall. Vegas leaned against the doorway, hair damp from a late-night rainstorm, eyes smoldering, predatory.
"You thought you could run?" Vegas' voice was low, dangerous, teasing, and laced with promise. "Pet… no one escapes me."
Pete's chest tightened. "I… I'm not—"
Vegas crossed the room in a flash, strong hands gripping Pete's jaw, tilting his head so their eyes met. "Shut up," he growled, lips brushing Pete's ear, breath hot and rough. "No words. Only obedience. Only feeling."
Pete's stomach clenched, every instinct screaming to resist, but his body betrayed him. The desire Vegas had lit still burned hot, and no denial could put it out.
Vegas moved fast, rough, decisive. Pete's wrists were pinned over his head again, chains biting into his skin, and Vegas' lips found his neck, teeth grazing, lips crushing, a rhythm both brutal and intoxicating.
"You're trembling," Vegas said, voice rough, amused, hungry. "Good… I like it when you're on the edge. Makes you mine."
Pete gasped, body arching involuntarily. He hated how much he wanted it, how much he needed it, how every harsh touch and sharp command sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Vegas didn't relent. Every motion was precise, dominating, claiming. He explored, teased, demanded, punished, and rewarded, all at once. The world narrowed to chains, hands, teeth, breath, and the fire roaring between them.
"You belong to me," Vegas growled, eyes dark, teeth flashing in a wicked grin. "Every inch. Every heartbeat. Don't forget it."
Pete tried to resist verbally, mentally, physically—but it was a losing battle. Every push from him only drew Vegas closer, rougher, hungrier. His body, mind, and even the corners of his soul had surrendered.
By the time Vegas finally stepped back, sweat mingling with rain dripping from the window, Pete was gasping, trembling, utterly consumed. He'd been broken, claimed, tested—and he'd survived, but only because he wanted to.
Vegas crouched down, smirking. "See? You're learning, pet. Slowly… but you're mine. Don't ever forget it."
And Pete knew he wouldn't. Not ever.
Because Vegas wasn't just a storm. Vegas was fire.
And he was already inside him.