Chapter Text
The room gleamed with opulence, dim chandeliers overhead, diamond-glinting centerpieces scattered across round tables, the soft hum of tension swirling beneath clinks of crystal glasses. The auction was in full swing, and the air buzzed with power plays dressed as polite conversation.
Vegas sipped his champagne slowly, the flute catching the light like it was mocking him. His white suit, sharp as a blade, hugged his lean frame effortlessly.
The crisp lapels of his ivory blazer curved like they’d been tailored for seduction, lying open to reveal a sheer, silky white shirt beneath just translucent enough to hint at the shape of his chest and the gold chain resting low on his collarbone.
He had just come from that delightful exchange with Kinn all fake smiles and sharp edges, tension wrapped in velvet. Now, as he slipped back into his seat, his jaw flexed ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching downward. Annoyed. Kinn always played clean when he knew he could get dirty and still win.
Nop, his bodyguard hovered a step behind him, silent and watchful. Vegas barely registered him.
He leaned back, one arm draped along the velvet cushion of his seat, fingers idly toying with the long stem of his glass. The champagne had gone warm. He didn’t care.
His eyes moved across the room, scanning for Porsche, the wildcard that Kinn had brought into this world like a dog he was trying to train into a wolf.
But then he stopped.
Not on Porsche.
Someone else.
Vegas’s breath caught, There he was. Standing by the wooden paneling like a shadow carved from silence.
Pete.
He recognized him, one of the main family’s bodyguards, seen just once before but Back then, he seemed plain and Quiet But now?
Now he stood tall in a sleek black turtleneck and a tailored dark suit that hugged his figure like it was made to tempt. The outfit was simple, but the way he wore it was a kind of silent defiance wrapped in elegance.
His hands were clasped neatly in front of him, his face calm, unreadable.But Vegas could see the awareness in the way Pete held himself. Controlled, Alert and undeniably hot.
Vegas tilted his head just slightly, the corner of his lips curling up. Interesting. So, the main family had prettier blades than he thought.
Vegas took another sip of his champagne. Warm now. Just like the thought forming at the back of his mind.
Vegas let his gaze linger, glass hovering near his lips.
The first time he’d seen Pete was when Tankhun, his delightful disaster of a cousin had barged into a meeting at the main family estate in full drama queen mode, flanked by his personal entourage like royalty in a bad soap opera.
Vegas had dismissed most of them. But Pete had stuck out. Not in a loud way. No, it was more in the way he didn't draw attention to himself. He was quiet. Watchful. Like a still lake hiding sharp rocks just beneath the surface.
Still, at the time, Vegas hadn’t thought much of him. Just another pretty face babysitting Tankhun’s hysterics.
But now in that black turtleneck, standing alone, Pete looked like something else entirely. Polished, Composed and Dangerous in a way Vegas couldn’t quite name yet.
How the hell is he the head bodyguard? That thought had crossed his mind before. It did again now.
Pete didn’t look the part. There was a softness to his face, something inherently gentle in the way his features settled. The kind of softness people mistook for weakness.
But if there was one thing Vegas had learned in his life, it was that softness could be the best camouflage.The main family doesn’t hand power to pretty things for no reason.
So Pete was a pretty thing with teeth, maybe even claws
Vegas’s lips curved again, this time with the slow amusement of someone realizing they might’ve underestimated something and liking the idea of being proven wrong.
He tilted his head slightly, watching the way Pete scanned the room, his stance relaxed but precise. He didn’t fidget, didn’t shift weight, didn’t let his eyes linger too long on any one person.
The kind of bodyguard who blended into the backdrop until the moment he needed to strike. Just smooth,Like velvet over steel.
Vegas eyes trailed down slowly, leisurely, like a man savoring a glass of fine wine and Pete, right now was the vintage he couldn’t look away from.
The cut of the suit was clean. That black turtleneck tucked seamlessly into those perfectly tailored slacks, hugging every line of Pete’s body with infuriating precision.
Vegas’s gaze stopped at Pete’s waist.
He didn’t mean to stare.
But the way the fabric clinched around that trim waist, the way Pete stood with spine straight unaware of how sinfully well he wore obedience. it made Vegas’s mind flicker with a thought he shouldn't be having in the middle of a diamond auction.
What would it feel like to hold him there?
To curl his fingers around that slim waist and feel Pete's breath stutter just once.
Would he tense? Would he flinch? Or would he lean back into it and challenge him? like some part of Vegas wanted him to?
Vegas exhaled through his nose, leaning back in the booth, one arm draped over the velvet edge as he brought the flute of champagne to his lips. The bubbles tasted bland now, too light against the weight settling in his chest.
He tore his gaze away before it could linger longer than it was acceptable.
Pete felt a gaze on him. He snapped his head around, his eyes locking with Vegas's. Pete frowned slightly. Why is Khun Vegas looking at me?
Vegas didn’t look away.
If anything, he tilted his head the slightest bit with that same smug and unreadable expression etched across his face. His fingers swirled the champagne lazily in the glass, but his eyes remained fixed on Pete.
Pete held the stare for a second too long before shifting his gaze away, jaw tightening. He straightened his posture, resettling the earpiece at his collar as if it gave him something to do. But even then, he could feel it that stare. Hot and Heavy.
What the hell does he want?
Khun Vegas has never paid attention to him. Like never. He always thought he was invisible to him but now here he is watching Pete like a hawk.
And Pete didn’t like being watched like that. Not by him. Not by someone with a reputation for chaos and knives tucked under silk.
Still, against his better judgment, Pete found his gaze drifting back just for a split second.
Vegas was still watching. Smirking now. Pete looked away again. This time, he didn’t look back.
Vegas smirked, eyes still fixed on the spot where Pete stood.
He lifted two fingers subtly, and Nop leaned in immediately. “Change of plan,” Vegas murmured, voice low.
“No Porsche?” Nop asked, brows slightly raised.
Vegas’s smirk widened. “No. We don’t need Porsche.”
He swirled the champagne once, slow and deliberate, before setting the glass down.
“I just found something far more interesting,” he said, gaze drifting back to Pete like a predator locking onto prey.
Something worth chasing.
“You can go wait in the car, Nop,” Vegas said calmly, eyes never leaving Pete.
“But Khun—” Nop started, hesitating.
“Go.” Vegas’s tone dropped, quiet but final.
Nop swallowed whatever protest he had and gave a short nod before slipping away into the crowd.
Vegas leaned back in his seat, one leg crossing over the other, fingers tapping slowly.Let the auction play on.He’d already set his sights.And this time, it wasn’t on the diamonds.
After a few moments, amid the glimmer of jewels and the hums of binding Vegas’s gaze found Pete again.
Their eyes locked.
This time, Vegas didn’t smirk just lifted his chin slightly, the most deliberate tilt of his head.Then with two fingers, he made a subtle gesture.
Come here.
A command, not a request. he didn’t look away.He waited to see if Pete would obey.
Pete’s brows drew together,He had been doing his job, scanning the room, ignoring the weight of that gaze that had burned holes into him earlier. But now, Vegas wasn’t just looking.He was calling him.
Pete didn’t move at first. Just stared, expression unreadable.
What the hell does he think I am? One of his men?
Pete hesitated but still walked across the room and stopped just short of Vegas’s table. Not too close. Just enough to show respect.
“Khun Vegas,” Pete said coolly, voice low. “Is there something you need?”
Vegas leaned back in his seat, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily along the backrest. He looked up at Pete like he was sizing up a rare object in a private collection, one he might just decide to steal.
“As you see,” he said smoothly, voice like velvet, “my bodyguard went to run some errands.”
He let the silence sit between them for a moment, like smoke curling in the air.
Then, with a small, amused tilt of his head, he added,“Get me a glass of wine, Pete.”
Not please Not even a smile.Just the weight of his name on Vegas’s tongue low and intentional. A leash thrown, just to see if Pete would pick it up.
But Pete didn’t flinch.
He met Vegas’s eyes, expression cool. Then, with a slight nod and a voice smooth as polished glass, he replied,
“Sure, Khun Vegas.”
As Pete turned to walk toward the servers’ table, Vegas followed his retreat with half-lidded eyes, the smirk returning lazily to his lips.
That waist again.Fitted perfectly in those dark slacks.
G od, that was going to be a problem.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vegas caught movement familiar. Across the room, Kinn was watching. His cousin’s expression was tight, unreadable.
Vegas lifted his champagne glass, now empty and gave Kinn a small, slow toast with nothing but mischief in his smile.
Pete reached the serving table, posture composed but pulse ticking just a bit faster under his skin.
Porsche was already there, casually munching on something off a canapé tray like he wasn’t technically working. His eyes flicked up the moment he saw Pete.
“You alright? You looked like you got summoned by the devil himself,” Porsche muttered, smirking, his voice low enough for no one else to hear.
Pete exhaled, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Khun Vegas asked me to get him a glass of wine.”
Porsche raised an eyebrow. “You’re not his bodyguard.”
“Yeah, I know,” Pete replied flatly, glancing back toward Vegas’s seat, the man still lounging there like he owned the damn auction house. “His bodyguard ran off somewhere, so now I’m apparently doing wine service.”
The waiter handed Pete a fresh glass of red with a quiet “Khrap.” Pete took it with a small nod.
Porsche leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing with a grin. “And you just…agreed?”
Pete shot him a look. “It’s called professionalism.”
“It’s called getting played,” Porsche whispered with a chuckle. “Careful, bro. That guy doesn’t ask for things just to be polite.”
Pete rolled his eyes, but the words stuck with him. As he turned to head back, wine in hand, he could feel it again, the burn of a gaze already waiting for him.
Vegas hadn’t looked away once.
When Pete returned, he held the glass steadily, his expression back to calm professionalism. He stopped in front of Vegas and extended the glass.
“Here, Khun Vegas. Your wine.”
Vegas looked up at him with a smile but it was too polished. The kind of smile that meant trouble, not thanks.
He reached out, fingers brushing just under the stem of the glass And then, suddenly, his hand bumped it.
The glass jerked in Pete’s grip.
Red wine splashed.
The deep crimson spilled forward in a smooth arc, staining Vegas’s pristine white suit in a slow, horrifying bloom. The fabric drank it in, the red spreading like blood across his chest and down the front of his jacket.
Pete stood frozen, eyes wide for a fraction of a second.
Vegas glanced down slowly, still composed, like he had all the time in the world. Then he looked back up at Pete, lips curling just slightly.
His voice was low.
“Well,” he said smoothly, brushing a thumb across the edge of the stain, “that’s unfortunate.” But his eyes said something else entirely. Got you.
Oh, poor Pete.
For a split second, his whole life flash before his eyes from his first day of training to the inevitable funeral Tankhun would throw if he died for spilling wine on the minor family's heir.
“I’m so sorry, Khun Vegas–” Pete blurted, already moving, panic creeping into his usually calm tone. “I didn’t mean–”
He snatched a napkin from the table, hands working on instinct, and reached forward to dab at the spreading red on Vegas’s chest.
Vegas didn’t move,didn’t even stop him.He just watched.
Pete leaned in, blotting at the wine, trying to clean up the disaster with quick, frantic motions only to realize how close he’d gotten.
His hand hovered just over Vegas’s chest, the stained fabric clinging to the lean muscle beneath it. He froze for half a second, heat blooming in his cheeks.
Vegas tilted his head, voice like silk dipped in heat.
“Careful, Pete,” he said, amusement dancing in his tone. “People might think you’re trying to undress me.”
“Khun Vegas—” Pete started, but his voice was tight, flustered, unsure whether to defend himself or apologize again.
Vegas cut him off, voice low, smooth as ever.“You can help me clean up…”
He paused just long enough to make it feel deliberate. Then, with a soft sigh and a glance down at the mess blooming on his suit, he added,“But not here.”
He reached up, fingers brushing Pete’s hand not enough to push him away, just enough to make him feel it.
“Tabbing it with a tissue will ruin the fabric,” he said, as if they were having a casual discussion over tailoring. “And it won’t get the stain out.”
His eyes flicked up, locking with Pete’s again.“I’ll need something a bit more… thorough.”
The words hung in the air between them.
A trap, wrapped in silk and Pete had just walked right into it.
Vegas stood up slowly, the motion fluid and unhurried like he had all the time in the world. Without a word, Vegas adjusted his cuffs, then glanced at Pete with that same unreadable smile.
He motioned with two fingers.Follow me.
And then he turned, walking with that effortless confidence as if he owned the room.
Pete didn’t move right away.He looked at Vegas’s retreating figure then back toward where Kinn sat.
Kinn’s eyes were already on him. Pete swallowed.He wasn’t sure if following Vegas was a mistake but not following might be worse.
Pete gave Kinn a slight nod small, respectful enough to say I’ve got this.
Kinn didn’t nod back. He just stared, face unreadable, lips pressed into a tight line.
Pete tore his gaze away before it got to him.
As he moved to follow Vegas, he caught the reactions from the other bodyguards. Porsche mouthed something he couldn’t quite catch. Arm raised his brows knowingly. Pol just blinked, like trying to decide if Pete was walking into a trap or a scandal.
Pete ignored them all.Back straight, jaw set, he followed Vegas out of the auction hall. And with every step the tension coiled tighter in his chest.
Vegas stepped into the elevator like he owned the whole building and maybe for tonight he did. The doors stayed open just long enough for Pete to catch up and step inside.
The moment they slid shut, Pete cleared his throat. “Khun Vegas, we can use the common restroom. It’s just down the—”
“Nah,” Vegas cut in without even looking at him. “That’s nasty.”
Pete blinked. “Nasty?”
Vegas finally turned his head, giving Pete a side glance.
“You want me to stand in a line of drunk old men while red wine soaks into my suit?” He leaned back against the mirrored wall, one brow raised. “I have standards, Pete.”
Pete opened his mouth to reply but the elevator dinged and Vegas pushed off the wall casually.
“Private lounge,” he added, stepping out. “Much cleaner. Much quieter.”
Vegas reached the sleek black door at the end of the hallway, pulled a keycard from his pocket, and with a smooth swipe, unlocked it. The light above blinked green, and he pushed it open with one hand, stepping inside without hesitation.
The room beyond was dimly lit luxurious, private, and far too extravagant for just "cleaning up." Velvet drapes lined the walls and a low amber glow spilled from designer sconces. A leather couch sat in the corner, untouched. A crystal decanter of something expensive gleamed on a side table.
Vegas didn’t even glance around. He walked in like he’d been here before.Pete hesitated at the door for a breath, then followed in.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, the silence wrapped around them like heat.
Vegas stopped in the center of the room, turning slowly to face Pete. The red wine had begun to dry against his white suit, the stain now darker.
He smiled.
“Well,” he said softly, “you wanted to help me clean up, didn’t you?”
Vegas shrugged off his white suit jacket in one smooth motion, letting it slide down his arms with practiced ease. The deep red stain was even more vivid under the room’s warm lighting.
He draped the jacket carelessly over the back of a chair, then turned his eyes back to Pete.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the buttons of his shirt.
One by one, he undid them slowly. the dark red wine having soaked through the thin cotton, clinging to his skin underneath. The sharp line of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, began to show beneath the damp fabric as he peeled it away.
He tugged the shirt out from his waistband, the soft sound of cloth brushing skin louder than it should’ve been in the quiet room.
Pete stood frozen, eyes fixed somewhere between Vegas’s face and the stain spreading across his bare torso.
Vegas let the ruined shirt drop to the floor, standing there half-dressed, unbothered.
He tilted his head, lips curling.“Well?” he said, voice low. “Still planning to help?”
Pete’s throat bobbed in a swallow he didn’t mean to make.
His training screamed at him to keep a straight face, to stay professional, stay neutral but that was getting harder with every passing second.
Especially with Vegas standing there half-naked, red wine streaked across his chest like blood, eyes locked on him like a predator waiting for the next move.
Pete nodded stiffly and moved forward, keeping his hands steady as he reached for the nearby towel folded on the sideboard. He dampened one corner with water from the silver basin, wrung it out, and stepped closer.
“May I?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.
Vegas didn’t answer, just lifted his chin slightly, giving Pete silent permission.
Pete pressed the cloth to his skin, gently dabbing at the wine that had trickled down Vegas’s sternum. The towel met warm skin and dried alcohol, and Pete tried not to think about how close they were.
About how Vegas’s skin flexed slightly under his touch. About how still Vegas stood watching him.
“You’re surprisingly gentle,” Vegas murmured, the words brushing along Pete’s nerve endings. “Not what I expected from the main family’s head dog.”
Pete didn’t look up. “It’s just cleaning, Khun Vegas.”
“Mmm,” Vegas hummed, amused. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
Pete’s hand faltered for the briefest second, then resumed its work. “I’m just doing my job.”
Vegas leaned in, just a fraction, but close enough that Pete could feel his breath near his ear.
“Let’s test that, shall we?” he whispered. “See how far that loyalty of yours really goes.”
Pete’s fingers tensed around the towel.
He finally looked up meeting Vegas’s gaze head-on. There was no mistaking the look in Vegas’s eyes now. It was sharp and Dangerous.
Pete didn’t flinch.
“I’m not yours to test,” he said, voice steady, though his pulse betrayed him, hammering just beneath his skin.
Vegas smirked. “Aren’t you? You followed me.”
“You ordered me to.”
“And you listened.” His voice dipped lower. “Interesting, considering how often the main family brags about discipline. Your obedience is something.”
Pete swallowed again, mouth suddenly dry. He dabbed one last time at the red stain, then moved to step back but Vegas’s hand shot out, catching his wrist, holding it just tight enough to stop him without hurting.
The towel slipped from Pete’s hand and hit the floor.
Vegas leaned in too close, he tilted his head, eyes scanning his face, his mouth just inches away now.
“Tell me, Pete,” he whispered. “When you saw me staring... did your heart race like this then, too?”
Pete opened his mouth to say what, he didn’t know. Finally snapping from the trace he spoke.
“Khun Vegas,” Pete said firmly, voice low but clear, trying to pull his wrist back. “Whatever you’re up to… it’s not gonna work.”
Vegas didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened just slightly enough to make Pete feel it. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Amusement.
“Is that so?” he murmured, gaze still fixed on Pete’s face. “You sound so sure.”
“I am,” Pete replied, jaw tight.
Vegas stepped in closer,so close their chests nearly brushed, only the air and tension between them. His voice dropped into a whisper.
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Pete’s pulse betrayed him again. He hated it. Hated that Vegas noticed.
“I’ve seen your type before,” Pete muttered. “Arrogant. Entitled. Think you can get whatever you want if you push hard enough.”
“And I usually do,” Vegas said simply, eyes glinting. “The question is… what exactly do I want right now, Pete?”
Pete stared back, not flinching.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Because you’re not going to get it.”
Vegas finally smiled.
“We’ll see.”
Pete yanked his wrist free, his pulse still racing, and stepped back fast putting space between them, needing air.
He turned on his heel and marched to the door, reaching for the handle without hesitation.
But the moment he tried to open it, The door didn’t budge.
Pete frowned. He jiggled the handle again, harder this time. Still nothing. It was locked.
“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath, trying it once more.
Behind him, he heard the soft hum of a laugh. That low, rich sound that always meant trouble.
Pete didn’t have to turn around to know Vegas was smiling.
“I told you,” Vegas said smoothly from behind, “I have standards.”
Pete turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “You locked us in?”
Vegas shrugged, unbothered. “It’s private. No one comes in without my keycard. It’s quiet, remember?”
“Open the damn door.”
“Why? We haven’t finished our conversation.”
Pete took a step forward, the tension rolling off him now. “Khun Vegas, this isn’t a game.”
Vegas didn’t move. He just looked at Pete slowly, from head to toe, then back up again.
“No,” he said softly. “But you might be.”
Vegas’s smirk hadn’t even faded when Pete’s fist came swinging.
He dodged it barely but the second blow came fast. Pete was trained to be quick, his movements honed by years of discipline. But Vegas wasn’t heir to the minor family for nothing. He blocked, countered.
“You want the key?” Vegas taunted, ducking another hit, “You’ll have to do better than that–”
Pete’s leg swept low. Vegas staggered, back hitting the wall with a thud. But instead of retreating, he laughed, a breathless wild sound.
“Careful, Pete,” he growled, grabbing his wrist mid-strike and spinning him hard.
The room blurred around them in the chaos of adrenaline and heat, until they crashed into the edge of the bed.
In a final motion and force Vegas shoved forward.Pete hit the mattress with a grunt. Next second Vegas was on top of him, knees pressing against the sheets on either side of Pete’s thighs, one hand pinning both of Pete’s wrists above his head.
His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with Pete’s. Stray strands of hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t blink. He was too focused.
Pete struggled beneath him, still catching his breath. His heart thundered in his ears, not just from the fight, but from the nearness. The way Vegas’s body pressed into his, heat and tension clashing in the space between their lips.
Their faces were inches apart. Neither moved. Just heavy breathing, thundering hearts.
Vegas’s voice came low and breathless. “So…this is how you want to get the key?”
Pete’s mind was a storm.
What the hell just happened?
He could still feel the sting on his knuckles, the rush of adrenaline pulsing through his veins but all of it was drowned out by the fact that Vegas was on top of him. The bastard was smirking.
Pete’s arms strained slightly beneath Vegas’s grip but he didn’t fight it. Because the truth was– he couldn’t think straight.His body was in fight mode, but his mind had turned traitor.
Why did his skin burn where Vegas touched him?
Why did his heart feel like it was trying to punch through his chest?
Why couldn’t he look away from those stupidly sharp eyes?
He hated how Vegas looked at him like he was a puzzle he is tempting to solve. Like he wasn’t just some obedient bodyguard but something far more interesting.
Pete clenched his jaw.
He hated this.He hated Vegas. He hated how his body didn’t listen when it mattered most.
Vegas's breath was still fanning over Pete’s face, his smirk was fading. Something was shifting in the air between them and they both felt it.
Pete could have said something, shoved him off, cursed him out, demanded the damn key again.
But he didn’t.
Vegas loosened his grip slightly, just enough to test the line. His eyes flicked down to Pete’s lips then back up. He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing Pete’s ear. “You could scream for help right now. But you won’t, will you?”
Pete swallowed hard.
No backup.No way out unless Vegas let him but then something snapped in Pete’s gaze.
"You're right," he said, voice tight. “I won't scream.”
And with a sudden twist of his hips and a jerk of his shoulder, Pete broke free from Vegas’s loosened hold, surprising them both.
Now it was Vegas who landed on his back, and Pete who straddled him, hand at Vegas’s throat, eyes burning with a fury that masked too many things.
“You like games, Khun Vegas?” Pete said, breath ragged. “You’re not the only one who can play.”
Vegas looked up at him stunned and then he laughed. Laughed like he hadn’t in years.
Oh, this was getting fun.
He propped himself up on one elbow, the mattress creaking under their shifting weight. Pete didn’t move, his knees still firm against Vegas’s sides, His hand sliding down from Vegas's throat and pressed to the man’s chest as if trying to keep distance but the look in his eyes said otherwise.
Vegas’s other hand slid up slowly, fingertips lightly grazing Pete’s side. His gaze never left Pete’s face not even for a second.Then he leaned in.
It was slow. The kind of movement that gave Pete every chance to pull away but he didn’t. Vegas’s nose brushed along the sharp line of Pete’s cheekbone, sending shivers up his spine.
Pete’s heart thundered in his chest.
And then finally Vegas reached his lips. But he didn’t kiss him. He hovered there, So close that Pete could feel every shaky exhale between them.
“You smell like trouble,” Vegas murmured, voice low.
Pete’s breath hitched. “And you smell like bullshit.”
Vegas chuckled, his nose still pressed to Pete’s skin, lips twitching like he might close the gap at any second.
His hand slid down with slow ease, fingertips tracing the slope of Pete’s torso before curling around his waist.
God, that waist.
His grip tightened slightly, just enough to feel the shape of him through the fabric. The way Pete’s suit hugged his form should’ve been illegal.
Pete's waist fitted perfectly in Vegas’s palm. It was maddening like his hand had found the one place it was meant to rest.
He didn’t even try to hide the low, appreciative hum that escaped him.
“So this is what you’ve been hiding under that uniform,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Pete tensed. His breath came shallower, his hand still splayed against Vegas’s chest, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to shove or clutch.
Vegas’s thumb stroked the dip of Pete’s waist lazily, his lips brushing the edge of Pete’s jaw now.
"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he whispered.
And maybe Pete didn’t but from the heat in his eyes, maybe he did.
Vegas’s eyes flicked downward with a hunger that no longer bothered to hide itself.
Then without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head and caught the edge of Pete’s black turtleneck between his teeth.
Pete’s breath caught.
Vegas gave it a slow tug, dragging the fabric down an inch, then another— just enough to expose the smooth line of Pete’s collarbone, the beginning of his chest. His breath fanned over the newly bared skin, hot.
Pete’s whole body went still.
He should have reacted.He should have pushed Vegas off, thrown him across the room.
His hands hovered in place. Frozen. His heart pounded in his ears and heat flooded his skin, rising up from his chest to the tips of his ears.
What the hell was happening to him?Why was every nerve in his body buzzing like it want this?
Vegas lifted his head slowly, his smirk now a shadow of something darker, more amused. “You’re quiet,” he said, voice low and teasing. “That little head of yours trying to decide if this is dangerous…or something else entirely?”
Pete clenched his jaw, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat. He didn’t know the answer.
All he knew was that something was very, very wrong with him. Because instead of pulling away, He was leaning in.
As if he could hear every frantic thought racing through Pete’s head, Vegas’s smirk deepened.
And then, in one swift motion, he tightened his grip around Pete’s waist and pulled him down, flush against him. Pete gasped but it was too late to retreat.
Vegas ducked his head and sank his mouth against the curve of Pete’s neck, right where skin met the base of the jaw. The heat of his mouth, the sudden pull of his lips sucking slow and hard sent a shock through Pete's entire body.
Pete jolted. His hands instinctively grabbed at Vegas’s shoulders, eyes wide. “W–Wegath—” his voice broke.
Vegas dragged his tongue along the mark he left before sucking again, harder this time like he wanted to leave something Pete couldn’t cover up.
Pete’s mind was spinning. His body was betraying him, aching in ways he didn’t understand. What the fuck was wrong with him?
This was Vegas. Khun Vegas and yet—God, it felt too good.
His breath hitched again. His head tipped back before he could stop it.
Vegas smiled against his skin. “There you go,” he whispered, voice husky. “That’s more honest.”
He kept sucking at the same spot. His lips dragged over Pete’s neck with maddening precision, alternating between the sharp sting of his teeth and the soft heat of his tongue.
Pete’s hands clenched tightly in Vegas's shoulder, knuckles white, jaw locked. He tried—God he fucking tried not to make a sound. He bit down on his lip, digging in so hard he could taste blood.
But his body was trembling with heat coiling in his stomach. It slipped out suddenly, A soft, breathy moan.
“..Mmnh...ngh”
Vegas stilled, lips still pressed to Pete’s neck. A beat passed. Then he pulled back just enough to see Pete’s face.
Eyes wide. Lips parted. Cheeks flushed.
Vegas’s gaze darkened, like a predator that had just found its prey’s softest spot.
“You do make pretty sounds.” he murmured, his voice a low growl of satisfaction.
Pete wanted to shove him away. To deny it. To snap back with something smart.
But he couldn’t. He was too stunned, too dazed and that one mark on his neck throbbed like hell.
Vegas leaned in again, whispering at his ear.
“Let’s see what else I can pull from you.”
Vegas’s hands slid lower, firm and he ground Pete down onto his lap until Pete was seated fully on him, straddling his thighs.
Pete froze.
His eyes widened as he felt it. Something hard and thick pressing against him through layers of expensive fabric.
The realization hit like a punch.Vegas’s cock, straining against his slacks, nestled right against the curve of Pete’s ass.
Vegas leaned in, voice dark and laced with wicked satisfaction, “See? This is what you did to me.”
Pete’s breath caught.
His heart was hammering so loud he could barely think. His fingers dug into Vegas’s shoulders as if for balance but his entire body had gone stiff except for the part pressed so shamefully close to Vegas’s.
“I didn’t–” Pete started, voice hoarse, defensive. But Vegas only smiled.
“No?” he purred, thrusting up slightly, just enough to drag his arousal against Pete again. Pete’s body jerked, heat flooding every nerve.
“You’re sitting here,” Vegas murmured, mouth brushing along the shell of Pete’s ear, “with that voice, that waist and that neck I could mark up all night and you think I wouldn’t react?”
Pete swallowed hard, He didn’t know if it was anger or arousal or both burning through him but he couldn’t speak nor move. All he knew was the hard length beneath him.
Pete knew he should’ve shoved the smug bastard off him the second he ground up like that, But the moment those filthy words slipped past his lips he couldn’t.
Vegas’s lips ghosted along Pete’s jaw, just enough to make him shiver. “You’ve been staring too, you know,” he murmured, voice slow and poisonous, “Trying to pretend you’re not curious. But your body’s louder than your mouth, Pete.”
Pete tensed, his heart thundering in his chest. “You’re disgusting,” he whispered, but it came out too breathless to sound convincing.
Vegas grinned.
“You say that,” he said, rolling his hips up just a little, enough for Pete to feel him again, hard and pulsing through his slacks. “But you haven’t moved. And now…” He dragged his fingers slowly down Pete’s back, to his hips, to that perfect curve “…you’re sitting on me like you want to be fucked.”
Pete gasped.He didn’t know where this was going but if Vegas moved again, if he said one more thing like that he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
Vegas looked at him like he already won like Pete was just another piece in his twisted little game.
Something snapped in Pete’s head.
Pete's eyes darkened, and that sharp glint returned to his expression, the one that meant trouble for anyone who underestimated him.
Two can play this game.
He leaned in, just enough so their noses nearly touched, his breath brushing against Vegas’s mouth.
“Fine,” Pete said, voice low and steady now, like the calm before a storm. “Let’s see if you can take what you give.”
Before Vegas could answer, Pete rolled his hips down slowly grinding himself back onto that solid bulge. The shock on Vegas’s face was brief but didn't go unnoticed by the latter.
Pete smiled.
“Not so smug now, are you?” he whispered, fingers curling into Vegas’s collar.
Vegas stared at him, stunned silent for the first time since they started. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, lips parted just slightly like he didn’t know whether to pull Pete closer or pin him down and make him beg.
Pete leaned forward again, lips just brushing the corner of Vegas’s mouth, and whispered, “What’s wrong, Khun Vegas? Thought you were in control?”
And then he rolled his hips again harder this time.
Vegas groaned, low in his throat, the sound ripped out of him before he could stop it.
Pete smirked.
He kept going, grinding against Vegas with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with payback. Each roll of his hips was precise, punishing. Calculated to make Vegas lose that arrogant composure.
And it worked.
Vegas's grip on Pete's waist tightened as he let out a breathless laugh, the sound ragged with arousal. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered against Pete’s neck, voice almost reverent.
Then his lips touched skin, hungry kisses trailing along the curve of Pete’s neck. Pete shuddered but didn’t stop moving. He pressed harder, grinding into Vegas’s lap, making sure Vegas felt every movement, every pulse of heat between them.
Vegas groaned into Pete’s neck, his breath warm and heavy, hands twitching against Pete’s back like he was barely holding himself together.
One hand slid up Pete’s back, the other curled around his waist again, pulling him in closer as Vegas rubbed up into him, slow thrusts that met Pete’s grind with equal desperation.
Pete gasped, biting his lip, the friction unbearable. “F-fuck,” He hissed under his breath, trying to stay in control.
But Vegas was relentless now, his hips kept rocking beneath him in a maddening rhythm.
Pete gritted his teeth, his breath coming faster, the pressure building between them hot and thick.
Vegas’s mouth dragged along Pete’s jaw, his breath shaky, lips brushing against the edge of Pete’s ear before murmuring, “You’re going to ruin me.”
Pete let out a breath that stuttered halfway through. He didn’t know whether to take that as a warning or a confession. His body was flush against Vegas’s now, grinding making his legs tremble.
Vegas’s head fell back slightly, mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and blown wide with lust. His hands moved again—one sliding under Pete’s turtleneck, calloused fingers ghosting over bare skin.
“You’re shaking,” Vegas murmured, his voice strained with restraint. “You like this more than you want to admit.”
Pete didn’t respond with words. He rocked his hips again,sharper this time and the way Vegas moaned, deep and unfiltered, sent a dangerous thrill through him.
Then Vegas leaned forward, catching Pete’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make Pete’s breath hitch. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want this.”
Pete’s hands slid up to Vegas’s chest, fisting his hair. His heart was pounding like war drums, his whole body hot and tight with tension. But he met Vegas’s gaze, steady and defiant even as his cheeks flushed.
“You’re the one who wants it,” Pete whispered back. “I’m just letting you have a taste.” Vegas chuckled darkly at the response.
Suddenly Pete felt his body tightening, He was so close. And so was Vegas.
The man was gripping him like a lifeline, thrusting up with a desperation that made Pete’s stomach twist with satisfaction. His control was slipping. He was right there.
Which was exactly when Pete stopped.
In one swift, fluid motion, Pete pulled away, the heat of their bodies ripping apart with a gasp of lost contact. Vegas blinked in confusion, chest heaving, pupils wild.
“What the fuck—” Vegas began, already reaching for him.
But Pete was already standing beside the bed, straightening his clothes with maddening calm. He turned, hand lifting casually and in it, the sleek silver keycard.
Vegas froze.
Pete smirked, smug and infuriatingly pleased. “Head bodyguard for a reason, Khun Vegas.”
Vegas stared at him, disbelief and unspent desire crashing over his face like a tidal wave.
“Good luck dealing with your junior,” Pete added, eyes deliberately dropping to the very visible problem in Vegas’s pants.
Then, just as he reached the door, Pete turned back, blew him a slow, taunting kiss, and winked.
“Checkmate, Khun Vegas.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Vegas sat there, still half-naked on the bed, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the closed door.
Moments passed. Then He laughed.
A low, deep sound that rumbled from his chest and spilled into the room like velvet smoke. It started as a chuckle and quickly turned into a full-bodied, genuine laugh. The kind of laugh that came from someone who had just been outplayed and loved it.
“Oh, sweetheart…” he murmured to the empty room, running a hand through his hair, still breathless. “You just made this even more interesting.”
He lay back against the pillows, grinning like a man who had just discovered his new favorite game.
When Pete reached the grand hall again, the buzz of the auction was winding down. People were gathering their things, murmuring goodbyes, the last sparkle of diamonds fading beneath the soft chandelier light. The main family was already preparing to leave.
Pete spotted them near the exit, Khun Kinn speaking quietly with one of the elders.
Pete casually slipped in between Porsche and Arm, smoothing down his turtleneck like nothing had happened. He didn’t even look winded.
Porsche turned to him with wide eyes. “Dude, there you are! I thought Khun Vegas flushed you down the damn toilet or something.”
Pete just grinned, clapping Porsche on the back as if he wasn’t the one who just left said man a panting mess in a hotel room upstairs.
“Nah,” Pete said coolly. “He didn’t have the guts.”
“Well, I thought Khun Vegas would’ve had your head for ruining his suit,” Arm said, eyeing Pete up and down with a raised brow. “But you look fine. Suspiciously fine.”
Pete turned to him with the most innocent smile he could muster. “What can I say? I’m just really good at crisis management.”
Arm narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh.”
Porsche leaned in, squinting. “Why does your face look like you just committed a crime and got away with it?”
Pete just shrugged, the keycard now hidden deep in his pocket. “Because maybe I did.”
Porsche rolled his eyes. Arm chuckled and drifted his attention to the surroundings.
Pete was thankful his coat was just long enough to cover the evidence of the chaos upstairs. It was long enough to concealed the very real and very annoying tightness in the front of his pants.
He shifted slightly, like the professional he was supposed to be and cleared his throat.
No one needed to know.
Especially not Porsche, who kept glancing at him like he could smell secrets.
Pete knew what he’d done upstairs wasn’t something that would just fade.
It would have consequences, real ones.
He humiliated Khun Vegas, stole the upper hand, walked out with the keycard and his pride intact. That man wasn’t the type to forget, let alone forgive.
And yet As Pete stood among his team, he didn’t feel fear. He felt thrilled.
Adrenaline hummed in his veins like a drug, His lips curled into a small, private smirk. That look on Vegas’s face, the shock, the hunger, the frustration has been glorious.
He’d poked the devil in his own den and walked out untouched.
Pete knew this wasn’t over. No, Khun Vegas wouldn’t let it end like this.
And that was what made his blood run hot.
The game had just begun.