The Montclair estate had no quiet corners. Every room whispered power, danger, and Vegas' presence. Pete had thought he could maintain some control—some distance—but Vegas had other plans.
Vegas appeared like a shadow, smooth, deliberate, dangerous. His gaze burned straight through Pete, reading every hesitation, every pulse, every buried desire.
"You think you have choices?" Vegas murmured, voice low and rough. "Pet… in my world, choices are illusions. You're mine, and you will learn it."
Before Pete could respond, Vegas moved with lightning speed, chains cold and precise, wrapping around Pete's wrists again. The leather bed beneath them groaned under Vegas' weight as he pressed him down, eyes dark, smirk wicked.
"Resisting me only makes this more… fun," Vegas said, teeth grazing Pete's ear. "You feel it, don't you? That fire? That tension? That hunger?"
Pete's body betrayed him, arching, trembling. He wanted to resist, wanted to push back, but every touch, every rough motion, every whisper from Vegas shredded his control. Vegas wasn't just dominating him—he was rewriting the rules of what Pete could feel, what he could crave.
"You're learning obedience, pet," Vegas growled, hands moving with precision, teasing, punishing, demanding. "And god, you like it. Admit it."
Pete gasped, a mix of frustration, lust, and panic burning through him. "I… I hate that I want this—want you," he breathed.
Vegas' grin widened, teeth flashing. "Good. Hate, need, fear, desire—they're all mine to play with. And tonight, I play hard."
Time became chaos: chains, bodies, harsh touches, whispered threats, and every nerve screaming. Pete's mind spun between panic and ecstasy, control and surrender, resistance and craving. Every sharp command, every brush of lips, every bite and touch was a claim. Vegas wasn't just teaching him obedience—he was breaking him in the most addictive way possible.
Finally, Vegas leaned back slightly, watching Pete shiver, sweat, and shudder under him. "See? This is your world now, pet," he whispered, voice low, dangerous, possessed. "There's no escape. Only fire. Only me. And you… you love it, don't you?"
Pete's chest heaved. He couldn't lie. Couldn't fight. Every instinct, every nerve, every pulse screamed yes.
Vegas smirked, leaning down to capture Pete's lips in a harsh, claiming kiss—one that stole his breath, his control, his mind. "Good," he murmured against Pete's mouth. "Because this is just the beginning. And I promise… it only gets hotter, rougher, darker from here."
As the rain lashed the windows outside, Pete realized the truth. Vegas Montclair wasn't just a storm. He was a wildfire—and Pete was trapped, consumed, and burning with him.