Tanned Leather & White Lace [+18]

3

Vegas knew he fucked up—big time.

It slammed into his face like a wrecking ball when he woke up to the symphony of gunshots and screams and the rhythmic beat of someone attempting to bulldoze his office door. He knew it when he pointed his gun at the said door, hand and arm trembling, yes. But above all, he definitely knew when he found himself still holding tight the very naked body of the first family bodyguard against him— the bodyguard he banged senseless in the middle of this room a couple of hours earlier, on the floor, well not exactly on the floor but on his beautiful room-size Chinese blue and white antique Peking carpet, if he wants to be specific.

That man with whom he baptized his ten-thousand-dollars precious rug in the glorious mix of sweat, spit, and a good measure of other fluids—other fluids being his and that pretty guy's come. The bodyguard with whom he fell asleep for a couple of hours, having two hours of one of the best sleeps he hadn't had in months or maybe even years, who is now looking at him intensely, eyes still tired, fingers clutching Vegas' shirt, and breathing heavily.

Yes, Vegas knows he's totally, indubitably screwed.

Well, talk about multitasking – while those guys outside are busy turning his club into a bloodbath reminiscent of an old Mel Gibson epic historical movie he can't remember the name of, Vegas managed to turn a night of innocent evidence research with his associates into an impromptu almost-foursome with that pretty guy he's still hugging tight against his chest, studying Vegas' face while he, in turn, finds himself completely captivated by those eyes once again.

That pretty guy he barely knew a thing about except his name a couple of hours earlier—the one he was aware was one of Kinn's lapdogs, a key member of his inner circle, the one Kinn specifically picked to shadow Vegas everywhere. This is the same guy he never really thought of as pretty, well, not just pretty but downright beautiful – the guy he rarely paid attention to, not even during those awkward encounters when Nop caught him and made him strip down in front of Vegas, no matter where they were.

Funny how perceptions can change when you put your dick into someone.

That same man who was now warm against him, his neck and chest covered in bruises and the imprints of Vegas' own teeth, gazing at him with an expression that looks like worry or fear – and he doesn't know why but that's something Vegas is really, really bothered to witness in those just as beautiful eyes.

That pretty guy, a weirdo who wears Mario Kart underwear or Super Mario – Vegas didn't even know there was a freaking difference between the two – the awkward guy who speaks in Morse code when anxious, and, oh, has been a pain in the ass– the peculiar tickle in Vegas' throat that appeared and disappeared every so often, never really there but always around somewhere.

And Vegas had also went bareback for the first time in... well, ever. It awakened something in him he hadn't seen coming but Vegas wasn't going to dig into that hole because the last thing he needed was another kink. For now, he just thanked the gay gods that Pete wasn't a woman; otherwise, Vegas might be having an heir on the way.

Yes, Vegas undoubtedly messed around with the main bodyguard of the first family, probably the worst idea since Elon Musk renamed Twitter X. Meaning, the guy is probably going to spill all the juicy details of the commando currently turning his club upside down to Kinn as soon as he steps out of here. Kinn, his nemesis, the reason why the pretty spy is here. Vegas under attack, being ridiculously unreliable, a weakness – classic Vegas, the shame, the black sheep of the whole family business.

Because, let's face it, it's the pretty man's job – he's getting paid for it. The pretty bodyguard wasn't supposed to end up on his knees in the middle of Vegas' office with three guys cornering him. Well, at least not for those particular reasons— reasons that involve sucking dicks and being up for a good fuck.