the penthouse roared with the fire of two bodies bound in tension, lust, and domination. Vegas Montclair moved like a predator, eyes dark, smirk wide, hands rough, deliberate.
Pete tried to escape with words, but his body betrayed him, every nerve alive, every pulse screaming for the dangerous man who had consumed him.
"You're trembling," Vegas purred, pressing close, lips brushing Pete's ear. "Excited, scared... or maybe both? Good. That's how I like you. That's how I make you mine."
Chains weren't necessary tonight; anticipation, memory, and desire were enough to hold Pete captive. Vegas' hands, lips, teeth, and voice orchestrated a symphony of domination, teasing, and claiming that left Pete gasping, shivering, addicted.
"You're fire," Vegas growled, fingers tracing heated lines over Pete's body. "And I'm the storm that keeps you burning. Forever. Admit it. You love being mine."
Pete's chest heaved, lips parted, mind foggy with lust, fear, and desire. "I... I do..."
Vegas' grin widened, a predator's triumph. "Good. Because this is forever, pet. Every heartbeat, every thought, every inch... mine. You can't escape. And you wouldn't want to."
The hours blurred into fire, sweat, and obsession. Chains, teasing, rough dominance, whispered promises, and electric touches consumed them, melting resistance and forging desire into something unbreakable.
By the time morning light crept across the city, Pete was trembling, exhausted, utterly surrendered. Vegas leaned over him, brushing a hand over his hair, lips grazing his temple. "Mine. Always. Remember that. Forever."
Pete could only nod, chest heaving, body alive, mind spinning. He was trapped, consumed, addicted... and he loved it.
Vegas Montclair wasn't just a storm or a wildfire-he was eternal fire, and Pete burned with him, willingly, completely, forever.