10. Milo
MILO
The final credits roll across the massive TV screen, and I let out a long, contented sigh. The rom-com was exactly the kind of fluffy escape I needed after everything that happened… the handover, the spanking, the rules, the confusing dinner with Maxim.
My eyelids feel heavy, but my body is still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.
I stretch my arms overhead, wincing a little as the movement pulls at my tender ass.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, standing up from the armchair.
Maxim’s not back yet, but the apartment feels strangely quiet without his presence. I pad toward the kitchen, intending to head straight to my room, when the half-empty tub of triple-cookie-dough ice cream in the freezer catches my eye.
My stomach gives a little happy flip.
Just a little more won’t hurt.
I pull the tub out, grab a small metal spoon from the drawer, and decide on impulse to take the whole thing to bed.
“Why not, right?” I giggle to myself as I walk.
The cool container feels good against my palms as I walk down the corridor.
I scoop a generous bite and pop it into my mouth right there in the hallway.
The rich, creamy sweetness explodes across my tongue: chocolate chunks, chewy cookie dough, and that perfect vanilla base. A soft, involuntary moan escapes me.
God, it’s sooo good.
By the time I reach my bedroom, another spoonful is already melting on my tongue. I close the door behind me, set the tub on the nightstand, and pause.
The city lights glow softly through the windows, casting a silvery sheen across the bed.
Something restless stirs inside me. Maybe it’s the memory of Maxim’s hands on my ass earlier.
Maybe it’s the way his hard cock felt pressed against my hip while he spanked me.
Or maybe it’s just the cold, silky ice cream making my body feel awake in all the wrong—or right—places.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I peel off my tank top and shorts. No briefs anyway, per my so-called master’s orders.
The cool air kisses my still-warm, sensitive skin as I climb naked onto the big bed.
I lie back against the pillows, heart beating faster. This feels naughty. Forbidden. Exactly the kind of thing that would earn me another trip over Maxim’s lap if he caught me.
The thought only makes me wetter.
I dip the spoon into the ice cream and scoop up a generous amount. But instead of bringing it straight to my mouth, I hover it over my chest. A cold drip lands on my right nipple first.
I gasp at the shock… it’s wickedly icy against my flushed skin. The peak tightens instantly, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight to my cock. I do the same to the left nipple, watching the creamy dollop slowly melt and run down the curve of my pec.
“Fuck…” I whisper, scooping more and tracing lazy circles around my nipples with the back of the spoon. The contrast of the freezing cream and my hot skin is intoxicating.
I arch my back, letting another drip slide down my stomach toward my navel.
My dick is throbbing now, aching for special attention.
My mind drifts to earlier tonight. Maxim’s calm, authoritative voice telling me I’m a bad boy.
The sharp crack of the hairbrush. The heavy, unmistakable hardness of his cock against me while I squirmed and cried over his lap.
He was so controlled, so completely in charge.
And some horny, fucked up part of me had loved it.
I slide one hand down my body while the other keeps playing with the ice cream.
I smear a cold streak along my inner thigh, then higher.
The first touch of the spoon against my swollen dick head makes me jolt and whimper.
It’s almost too cold, too intense, but I press it there anyway, rubbing slow circles as the cream melts against my heat.
“Oh god…” My hips lift off the bed.
I picture Maxim’s strong hands spreading me open, his low voice commanding me to take my punishment like a good boy. I dip the spoon again, collecting more melting ice cream, and push two fingers inside my ass while the cold metal teases my shaft now. The combination is filthy and perfect.
I’m achingly hard, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
A messy mix of arousal and sticky sweetness dripping down to my punished ass only adds to the pleasure as I probe deeper and tease my tight hole.
I fuck myself faster, thighs trembling, spoon alternating between my nipples and my cock.
Every thought circles back to him. The way he rubbed the cooling cream into my burning cheeks so tenderly afterward.
The quiet promise in his voice when he said he’d take care of what’s his.
The sheer size of him… tall, broad, utterly dominant.
My orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I cry out, back arching sharply, fingers buried deep in my ass as my cheeks clench and my cock spurts two, three, four thick ropes of cum up and all over my chest. Waves of pleasure crash through me, leaving me shaking and gasping.
Ice cream smears across my pecs and stomach.
I keep wanking through the aftershocks until I’m oversensitive and whimpering, then collapse back onto the sheets, chest heaving.
For a blissful few seconds, I just float there, blissed out and sticky.
Then I hear it.
The soft click of the apartment door opening.
Shit.
Panic explodes through me. I lunge for the bedside lamp and slap it off, plunging the room into darkness. My heart hammers against my ribs as I lie there, naked, covered in melting ice cream and the evidence of what I just did.
I listen as footsteps move through the living area. I squeeze my eyes shut, barely breathing, praying he doesn’t come check on me.
A long beat of silence.
Then Maxim’s deep, gruff voice carries down the corridor. “Goodnight, Milo.”
Relief floods me so hard my eyes sting. I don’t answer, I don’t trust my voice, but I hear him move toward his own room.
To my relief, his bedroom door closes quietly.
I wait another full minute before I dare turn on the small bedside lamp again.
The soft glow reveals the mess I’ve made: streaks of cookie-dough ice cream across my chest, stomach, and thighs, the spoon discarded on the sheets, the tub slowly melting on the nightstand. I look like a decadent disaster.
A shaky laugh bubbles out of me as I slide off the bed on wobbly legs.
My dick is still twitching, and my mind is spinning with conflicting emotions.
I just masturbated furiously to thoughts of the man who spanked me until I screamed tonight.
The same man who ordered my favorite meal, watched a rom-com with me, and then went out to do God-knows-what dangerous underworld business.
I’m so screwed.
In the ensuite bathroom, I turn on the rainfall shower and step under the hot spray.
The water rinses away the sticky evidence, but it can’t wash away the memory of how hard I came thinking about Maxim’s hands on me.
I scrub myself thoroughly, then dry off and slip into a soft sleep shirt…
no bottoms, because apparently that’s the new house rule.
Back in bed, I pull the covers up and hug Zoop tight against my chest. The apartment is quiet again. Maxim is somewhere down the hall, probably already planning tomorrow’s empire-building.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. My body is satisfied, but my mind is wide awake, replaying every second of the evening: the spanking, the ice cream, the orgasm, the quiet “goodnight” that somehow felt protective instead of controlling.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I’m supposed to hate him.
I’m supposed to be plotting my escape.
Instead, I’m lying here wondering what it would feel like if Maxim had walked in and caught me doing my thing.
The thought sends another shiver through me.
Get it together, Milo.
But as I drift toward sleep, one thing feels terrifyingly clear: Maxim Kovalev is under my skin now.
And I’m not sure I want him out.
I’m scraping the last few soggy flakes of cereal around the bowl when Maxim walks into the kitchen wearing a crisp black button-down and tailored trousers. He looks unfairly put-together for this early in the morning.
I’m still in my sleep shirt, hair messy, spoon halfway to my mouth. At least now I have some panties on though to cover my modesty at least a little bit.
“We’re both going on a little trip,” Maxim says casually, pouring himself a coffee.
My stomach drops like I’ve just stepped off a skyscraper.
A trip.
A little trip.
The words echo in my head as every worst-case scenario floods in at once. This is it. He’s decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
Or maybe the truce is already broken and this is how he starts the war—by getting rid of the Lentini bargaining chip. My uncle’s nephew, conveniently eliminated on a “trip” outside the city…
Body dumped in the river.
No witnesses.
Clean.
My spoon clatters against the bowl. I force myself to breathe normally, but my pulse is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“Okay,” I manage, voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll go get changed.”
Maxim nods once, checking his watch. “Hurry up. The car is waiting downstairs.”
I practically run to my room, heart racing. My hands shake as I pull on jeans and a simple black sweater. I catch my reflection in the mirror: wide eyes, pale cheeks.
Get it together, Milo.
But the fear is real. Last night I was eating ice cream and touching myself while thinking about this man. This morning he might be driving me to my grave. The contrast makes me feel dizzy.
I grab a light jacket and hurry back out. Maxim is already at the door, holding it open. His expression gives nothing away. We ride the private elevator down in silence. Every floor that passes makes my dread thicker.
When we step outside, a matte-black SUV is idling at the curb. The driver doesn’t even look at me as we climb in.