If his mouth weren't otherwise occupied, a wolfish grin would've pulled across his lips. Alas, finding another place to nibble was the priority. Poor Pete. He's going to look like he was attacked by some hormonal teenager who doesn't know any better come morning. Vegas was determined to mark him up until he can get that collar. Everyone needed to know Pete was off-limits.

Vegas sighed against saliva-wet skin, then breathed in deep. He could smell sweat and arousal and, oh, it was enough to send a shiver of delight running down Vegas' spine. Even just this was raw and intense. He savored Pete clinging to him, the fingers in his hair, the bite of his nails scraping over Vegas' skin. All this while Pete was hot and hard in his hand. Vegas couldn't get enough of him.