The first full day in the suite began with dawn bleeding pink and gold across the Las Vegas Strip. Samantha woke to the faint chime of the private elevator and the low murmur of male voices. She was still naked, skin marked with faint bruises from the night before, the ache between her thighs a constant, delicious reminder. No conference schedule. No emails. No world beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Nico found her first. He stood in the kitchen doorway, black silk robe open to reveal tattooed chest, holding a small gold choker—thin chain, simple heart-shaped lock, no visible key. He stepped behind her, brushed her hair aside, and fastened it around her throat with a soft click. The metal was cool against her pulse.
“Breakfast rule,” he said, lips grazing her ear. “You stay naked except
