12. Milo
MILO
“Urgh, what… time…” I splutter. “What was I just dr…”
I wake up with my throat dry as sandpaper and my heart still racing from another half-remembered nightmare.
The city lights outside the window cast faint silver patterns across the ceiling, but the apartment is otherwise dark and silent.
My bedside clock glows 3:17 a.m. I lie there for a minute, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, before deciding I can’t go back to sleep like this.
Water from the ensuite tap feels boring. I want something cold and sweet.
Apple juice. With ice. Maybe that will settle me?
I slip out of bed, grab Zoop from where he’s tucked against the pillow, and tuck him under my arm like a security blanket. My sleep shorts are soft and loose, my vest thin. I don’t bother with a robe, the apartment is warm, and it’s the middle of the night.
Maxim’s almost certainly asleep anyway.
The hallway is pitch black. I move slowly, one hand trailing along the wall so I don’t bump into anything. The marble floor is cool under my bare feet. Every tiny sound feels amplified: the soft pad of my steps, Zoop’s worn fur brushing my side, my own breathing.
The living area opens up ahead, the huge windows letting in just enough ambient city glow that I can make out the shapes of furniture.
I reach the kitchen without incident and open the refrigerator door.
Bright white light floods the space, making me squint. The carton of apple juice is right where I hoped it would be on the top shelf. I pull it out, twist the cap off, and—because I’m too thirsty to care about manners—lift it straight to my lips and drink deeply.
Cold, crisp sweetness floods my mouth. I gulp greedily, a little juice escaping the corner of my lips and trickling down my chin. It feels decadent. Rebellious, even. Drinking straight from the carton in Maxim Kovalev’s pristine kitchen…
But a low, amused voice cuts through the quiet behind me.
“Naughty boy. Drinking straight from the carton like you were raised in a barn.”
I choke, juice going down the wrong way. I spin around so fast the carton nearly slips from my fingers.
Maxim is standing in the kitchen entrance, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black silk pajama bottoms that hang low on his hips.
Oh God…
I can’t stop staring…
I need to stop, I really need to…
The sight of Maxim—bare chest, defined muscle, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband—steals the breath I just got back. His silver-threaded hair is tousled from sleep, but his eyes are sharp, predatory, and fixed on me with unmistakable heat.
Electricity crackles in the air between us, thick and undeniable.
My nipples tighten against the thin fabric of my vest. I’m suddenly hyper-aware that I’m not wearing much, that my shorts are barely covering anything, that Zoop is still clutched under my arm like a security blanket while I stand here looking thoroughly caught.
“I was t-t-t-t-thirsty,” I stammer, lowering the carton. Juice drips from my chin onto my chest.
Maxim steps forward, slow and deliberate. The refrigerator light paints shadows across the hard planes of his torso. “Thirsty enough to break another rule? I thought we discussed manners, malysh.”
My pulse thunders in my ears. “It’s just juice…”
Maxim is in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He reaches out, wipes the trickle of juice from my chin with his thumb, then brings that thumb to his own mouth and sucks it clean. The casual sensuality of the gesture makes my knees weak.
“You need to be reminded who’s in charge here,” he says, voice low and rough. “Turn around. Hands on the counter.”
I gasp, but my body obeys before my brain can catch up.
I set the juice down and face the counter, gripping the cool marble edge. Maxim steps behind me, pressing close. I can feel the hard length of him through the silk of his pajamas, already thick and insistent against my ass.
He yanks my sleep shorts down in one smooth motion, baring me completely. Cool air hits my skin, followed immediately by the sharp crack of his palm against my right cheek. I jolt forward with a yelp, but he holds me in place with a firm hand on my hip.
“Count them,” he orders.
“One,” I breathe, already trembling.
Another hard spank lands on the left cheek. The sting blooms hot and bright, sending pulses of arousal and pain all over my body.
“Two…”
Maxim builds a steady rhythm, alternating cheeks, each smack deliberate and controlled. By the sixth I’m whimpering, pushing back into his hand despite myself. My cock is hard, throbbing in fact, my thighs trembling in nervous arousal.
The contrast between the cool kitchen air and the heat of his palm is driving me insane.
Then his hand slides up under my vest. Strong fingers find my pecs, pinching and rolling my left nipple until I moan loudly. He does the same to the other, tugging harder, sending sparks straight to my core.
“Such sensitive little nipples,” Maxim murmurs against my ear. “Always so responsive when you’re being punished.”
I’m shaking, barely holding myself up. “Maxim…”
“On your knees.”
The command is quiet but absolute. I sink down immediately, turning to face him. My shorts are still tangled around my ankles. Maxim hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pajama bottoms and pushes them down. His cock springs free…
Maxim’s cock is thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip.
The sight of it makes my mouth water.
“Open,” he says.
I part my lips. He guides the head into my mouth, one hand tangling gently in my hair. I taste salt and clean skin as I swirl my tongue around him, taking him deeper. Maxim groans low in his throat, hips rocking forward.
“That’s it… good boy. Use that pretty mouth.”
I work him eagerly, hollowing my cheeks, taking as much as I can.
My hands rest on his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles tense under my palms. He fucks my mouth with controlled thrusts, never forcing too deep, but never letting me pull back either.
Saliva drips down my chin. My dick aches untouched and frustrated between my legs.
“Swallow every drop,” he growls. “Show Daddy what a thirsty boy you are.”
I moan around him as he swells. His grip tightens in my hair and he climaxes with a low, guttural sound, pulsing hot and thick across my tongue. I swallow hard, taking everything he gives me until he’s spent.
Maxim pulls out slowly, thumb brushing my swollen lower lip. His eyes are dark, satisfied, but still burning.
“Go back to bed,” he says, voice rough. “And do not touch yourself. Not even once. Understood?”
I nod, dazed and aching. “Yes… I understand, Daddy.”
He helps me stand, pulls my shorts back up, and presses a surprisingly soft kiss to my forehead. “Good boy. Now sleep.”
With that, Maxim playfully slaps the tent at the front of my shorts. He knows how aroused I am, and he loves that he gets to control that.
I walk back to my room on shaky legs, Zoop still clutched under my arm. My cock is aching for release, throbbing intensely now, my nipples still tight and sensitive from Maxim’s touch. Every step makes me more aware of how empty and needy I feel.
I crawl into bed, pull the covers over me, and squeeze my thighs together tight around my tucked cock. Maxim’s command echoes in my head.
Do not touch yourself.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to fall asleep like this… rock-hard, desperate, and utterly owned by the man sleeping just down the hall.
But I don’t touch myself.
I lie there aching, heart racing, mind replaying every second in the kitchen… and somehow, that only makes the need worse.
I’ll never get to sleep now.
Morning light filters through the huge windows, soft and hazy, when I finally drag my eyes open.
My head feels fuzzy, like I’ve been floating in a dream I can’t quite remember. The sheets are tangled around my legs, and my body feels heavy in the best and worst ways.
I stayed good. I actually obeyed Maxim’s command last night.
No touching.
No sneaking my fingers between my thighs even though I was erect and aching for what felt like hours.
It was torture.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, remembering the kitchen: his thick cock in my mouth, the taste of him, the way he’d looked at me afterward like I was both precious and completely his. My dick tingles at the memory.
And there it is, I’m hard all over again.
With a frustrated little groan I roll out of bed and strip out of my sleep shirt and shorts. The cool air kisses my skin as I pad naked into the ensuite. The massive rainfall shower looks like heaven. I turn the water on hot and step under the spray, letting it cascade over my head and shoulders.
The heat feels amazing on my sore muscles, but it does nothing to calm the fire still burning low in my belly.
In fact, it makes it worse. Water runs down my chest, over my stomach, between my legs.
My nipples tighten instantly. I lean back against the cool tile wall and let my hand drift downward before I can stop myself.
Just a little…
“Having trouble following orders already, malysh?”
Maxim’s deep voice cuts through the sound of the water like a whip.
I yelp and yank my hand away, spinning toward the shower entrance.
He’s standing there in the open doorway, fully dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.
Steam swirls around him like he’s some kind of demon summoned by my dirty thoughts.
“I… I wasn’t…” I stammer, cheeks burning hotter than the water.
Maxim steps inside the bathroom, unbothered by the spray soaking his shirt. “You were about to touch that needy little cock. Don’t lie to me.”
I bite my lip, caught. My thighs press together instinctively, but that only makes the ache sharper.
He reaches into the shower and turns the temperature down a fraction, then holds something out to me. A thick, realistic suction-cup dildo… flesh-colored, veined, and intimidatingly large. My eyes widen.
“You can cum,” Maxim says, voice low and commanding. “But only if you put on a proper show for me. Attach this to the wall. Fuck yourself like the horny little boy you are. I will watch. Do not leave me unimpressed.”
My breath catches. Shame and arousal crash together so hard I feel dizzy. But my body is already moving. I take the toy from him with trembling fingers, press the suction cup firmly against the tiled wall at the perfect height, and test it. It holds.
Maxim leans against the glass door, arms crossed, eyes never leaving me. “Good boy. Now show me.”
I squirt some shower gel over the dildo and in turn squirt some into my palms so that I can prep my ass too. Then I turn my back to Maxim, spread my cheeks as wide as I can, and line the thick head up with my ass hole.
The lubrication on both sides mean it slides in fairly easily on the first push. A broken moan escapes me as it stretches my ass open. The fullness is overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what I’ve been craving.
“Deeper,” Maxim orders. “Ride it properly.”
I brace my hands on the tile and start moving. The toy drags against every sensitive spot inside me as I rock back onto it. Water cascades over my back, my ass, my thighs. I glance over my shoulder and see Maxim watching with intense focus, his jaw tight, the front of his trousers already tented.
That look pushes me higher. I fuck myself harder, moaning openly now, one hand slipping between my legs to pump my thumpingly hard cock. The wet sounds of the dildo moving in and out mix with the shower spray and my desperate little cries.
“Fuck… Maxim… please…”
“Cum for me,” he growls. “Let me see what a good boy looks like when he earns his reward.”
The orgasm rides up inside me without warning…
My legs shake violently as I cry out, slamming back onto the dildo again and again.
Pleasure explodes through every nerve ending, white-hot and overwhelming as my cum flies through the air.
I keep rubbing my cock through it, drawing it out until I’m gasping and trembling, barely able to stay upright.
Maxim steps into the shower fully clothed, water soaking him instantly. He wraps one strong arm around my waist and holds me steady as I come down, legs wobbling like jelly as I haul myself off the dildo.
“Excellent,” Maxim murmurs against my ear, pressing a kiss to my wet shoulder. “When you behave and follow my commands, you get rewarded. Remember that.”
I nod weakly, still floating.
Maxim turns off the water, grabs a thick towel, and wraps it around me. Then without warning he scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing. I yelp and cling to his neck, burying my face against his soaked shirt as he carries me back into the bedroom.
Maxim sets me down gently on the edge of the bed and kneels to dry my legs with careful strokes. The tenderness after the filthiness of the shower makes my chest feel strangely tight.
“We’re going shopping later,” he says casually, as if he didn’t just watch me fuck myself senseless on a dildo in the shower. “You need more clothes. Things that suit your new life here. And anything else you want.”
I blink at him, still dazed. “Shopping? Like… normal shopping?”
A small smirk tugs at his lips. “As normal as it gets with me. My driver will take us. You’ll stay close. No running off.” His hand slides up my thigh, stopping just short of where I’m still aching. “And if you’re very good, maybe I’ll let you pick out something special for tonight.”
Heat floods my face again. I nod quickly.
Maxim stands, looking down at me with that unreadable intensity that always makes my stomach flip. “Get dressed. Something comfortable but smart. We leave in an hour.”
With that, he leans down, brushes a surprisingly soft kiss against my forehead, and leaves the room.
I sit there wrapped in the towel for a long moment, heart racing, body still buzzing from the orgasm and the sheer overwhelming presence of him.
Last night he made me suck him off in the kitchen and sent me to bed needy.
This morning he caught me in the shower, made me put on a filthy show, rewarded me, and then carried me like I was something precious.
I have no idea what to do with any of it.
It’s a lot, that’s for sure.
But as I stand up on still-wobbly legs and start picking out clothes, one thing feels clearer than ever: Maxim Kovalev is slowly, deliberately, rewriting every rule I thought I knew.
And the scariest part is how much I’m starting to crave the new ones.
I pull on black jeans and an oversized sweater, run a brush through my damp hair, and glance at Zoop sitting on the pillow. He looks back at me with his stitched eyes, as if to say, You’re in so deep.
“Yeah,” I whisper, hugging him quickly. “I know.”
But when I step out of the bedroom and see Maxim waiting for me by the door—tall, composed, and watching me with that quiet hunger—I realize something else.
I’m not sure I want to climb back out.