The Las Vegas morning dawned golden, filtering through the heavy curtains of the presidential suite. Sunbeams streamed through the panoramic glass, illuminating the tousled sheets that still held the heat of the previous night.
Vergil opened his eyes slowly, his breathing calm, like a predator awakening after a hunt. The mirrored ceiling reflected fragments of what had been a battle of bodies and moans. He didn't need to move to know where he was: he could still feel the weight and heat of the two women pressed against his body.
To his right, Alexa slept soundly, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, wild even in her rest. Her brown hair spread over his chest, and a possessive arm wrapped around his waist. Her mouth still bore traces of red marks, tiny cuts where teeth and desire had mingled.
