9. Nikolai
NIKOLAI
Nikolai stands, leaving a few notes on the table for the coffees. Theo remains seated, laptop already open again but the screen turned just out of view, the careful professional mask back in place as if the conversation about discipline never happened.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” Nikolai says.
Theo looks up and offers a small smile.
“Talk later?”
“Count on it, malyshka.” Nikolai turns and walks out of the coffee shop without looking back.
The morning air is mild, the sidewalk busy with the usual mid-morning flow of people who have never had to decide whether a rival family lives or dies before lunch.
The black SUV idles at the curb. Xander is behind the wheel, dark sunglasses on, expression unreadable as always.
Nikolai slides into the passenger seat and the door closes with a solid thunk.
Xander pulls into traffic without needing instructions and they ride in silence for three blocks before Xander speaks.
“You want me to dig on the boy? Quiet check. Make sure he’s clean.”
Nikolai watches the street slide past. “Not yet. But put a man on Theo today. Distance only. I want to know where he goes and who he meets. Nothing more for now.”
Xander nods once. He makes a short call on his phone, gives the necessary details in clipped Russian, then ends it.
“Done,” Xander says. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy to see you… dating.”
“Dating!” Nikolai laughs. “Don’t even go there. You know that’s not how we live.
“True,” Xander replies. “Well, whatever it is, I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me,” Nikolai snarls, half-serious, half-joking.
“As if,” Xander fires back. “I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I have…”
The rest of the drive crosses from the cleaner commercial streets into the older part of the city where the restaurants know how to keep private rooms private.
Xander parks in a narrow alley behind a low brick building with no signage on the rear entrance. Two of Maxim’s men are already waiting, but they step aside the moment they see Nikolai.
Inside, the private dining room is quiet and dimly lit. Heavy curtains block the street view. A long table is set for four, though only two places are occupied when Nikolai and Xander enter.
Maxim Kovalev rises from his chair with the same measured calm he showed the night they first discussed territory over vodka. He is a few years older than Nikolai, grey beginning to show at the temples, the lines around his eyes earned the hard way.
“Nikolai,” Maxim says, extending a hand. “Punctual as ever.”
“Maxim.” Nikolai takes the hand, the grip firm on both sides. “I appreciate you making the time.”
They sit. Xander remains standing near the door, a silent presence.
A waiter appears, pours mineral water, and disappears again. No menus. The meal will come when it comes, or not at all. This is not a lunch. It is a negotiation that happens to include food.
They exchange the expected pleasantries first—mutual acquaintances, the recent quiet along certain borders, the weather.
Nikolai lets the ritual play out. Rushing a man like Maxim only signals weakness. When the water glasses are half empty, Nikolai sets his down and leans forward slightly…
“I would like to progress the talks we began,” Nikolai says. “With a view to entering into an agreement on the west side and the border terms we discussed.”
Maxim’s expression does not change. He waits.
“There is a condition,” Nikolai continues. “I want your help taking down the Rossini clan. Not a warning. Not a temporary push-back. I want them wiped out entirely. Their product, their people, their money routes. Gone.”
Silence settles over the table. Maxim shows almost no emotion, only the faintest narrowing of his eyes as he turns the request over.
Maxim has built his own territory the same way Nikolai built his…
by removing problems rather than managing them indefinitely.
He understands exactly what is being asked.
“This is a matter that will require some consideration and thought,” Maxim says at last. His voice remains even. “The Rossinis are not a small inconvenience. Moving against them at that scale carries consequences for everyone who shares a border with their operations.”
Nikolai holds his gaze. “My offer will not remain on the table forever. I need to deal with the Rossini family. I will do it with you or without you. But if I do it without you, then who knows what could happen next along the lines we have been discussing.”
The tension between them thickens.
Two pakhans measuring the cost of alliance against the cost of refusal. Xander shifts his weight near the door, the only outward sign that the air has changed.
The tension eases only when the door opens again and a young man steps inside. Milo is young, early twenties by the looks of it, dressed simply but expensively. He moves with the quiet confidence of someone who has long since stopped being impressed by dangerous men.
“Milo,” Maxim says. “A delight as always.”
Maxim’s entire posture softens a fraction as the boy approaches. He rises, kisses his cheek, and introduces him with a formality that still carries genuine warmth.
Nikolai stands as well, offers a polite greeting, and watches the small, automatic ways Maxim and Milo orient toward each other—the brief touch of fingers, the shared glance that needs no words.
Something settled and real exists between Maxim and Milo, built in the middle of the same world of knives and territory that Nikolai has never tried to share with anyone.
The thought arrives uninvited… whether the same could exist with Theo.
Nikolai pushes it aside for later.
They finish the meeting without returning to the Rossini question. The food arrives and is mostly ignored. When the plates are cleared, Nikolai stands again.
“Get back in touch when you have an answer,” Nikolai tells Maxim. “I will be waiting.”
He bids Milo a polite good day, nods once to Maxim, and turns toward the door. Xander falls into step behind him.
Maxim’s voice follows them...
“A good young man in your life will help you negotiate more patiently, Nikolai.”
Nikolai glances back, expression neutral.
“I am my own man,” Nikolai says. This isn’t the time for banter.
Outside, the alley feels brighter after the dim private room. Nikolai climbs into the SUV.
Xander starts the engine. And as the vehicle pulls away, Nikolai’s thoughts turn inward…
Maxim’s remark lingers longer than it should. A good young man. Patience. The image of Theo in the coffee shop, his bare wrist, careful smile, the flicker of heat when he promised discipline.
Everything rises clearly in his mind.
It might be time to find this young man’s location and deliver exactly what he told him was coming his way.
Nikolai looks at Xander. “Where is the boy now?”
The report comes through within the hour. Theo has left the coffee shop and taken a cab across town to a discreet address Xander’s man recognizes as a private Little club—one of the quieter ones that operates behind an unmarked door and keeps its membership list tightly controlled.
Nikolai takes a blacked-out town car himself. He parks half a block away, engine off, windows opaque, and settles in to wait.
The street is ordinary enough in daylight: brownstone facades, a few trees, the occasional delivery van. No one gives the dark vehicle a second glance.
Nikolai leans back against the leather and lets his thoughts turn over what the location tells him.
He knows a little about the DDlg scene. Enough to recognize the signs when they appear.
He has always considered himself a Daddy Dom in the ways that matter—protective, demanding, possessive, the kind of man who expects obedience and rewards it on his own terms.
Nikolai has never invested much time in the more formal trappings or the community side of it. His dominance has always simply existed, natural and unapologetic, rising to the surface whenever a boy responded to it.
Most boys never lasted long enough for the dynamic to deepen.
With Theo it is different. His intelligence is obvious. The sharp eyes, the careful questions, the way he catalogues every room he enters.
Yet beneath that competence sits a clear, hungry submissive streak.
The way he presented his ass and asked to be disciplined. The way Theo’s breath caught when Nikolai’s hand settled around his throat. The flush that rose the moment he promised future correction for the missing bracelet.
It makes sense now in a way it did not before.
The Little club is simply the place where that side of him is allowed to breathe without the masks he wears everywhere else.
Nikolai watches the entrance. Theo emerges a little after three, dressed in the same clothes he wore at the coffee shop.
A young man with soft features and a pastel cardigan walks out with him.
They exchange a brief hug on the sidewalk.
Theo smiles—genuine, unguarded for a moment—then turns and starts walking alone in the opposite direction from the main avenue.
Nikolai starts the engine and follows at a crawl, staying half a block behind. The boy does not look back. Theo’s posture is relaxed, almost thoughtful, as if the hour inside the club has settled something in him.
Nikolai lets Theo cover two more blocks before he accelerates smoothly and pulls up alongside him. The rear window lowers…
“Get in the car, Theo.”
The boy freezes for half a second, his eyes widening when he recognizes his voice.
Then Theo obeys.
The door closes. Nikolai does not give the boy time to speak. He reaches across, draws a black silk blindfold from the console, and ties it firmly over his eyes. The knot sits secure against the back of his head.
“Not a word,” Nikolai says. “Not if you value your life.”
He drives in silence, taking a circuitous route that ends in a private underground parking structure three levels below a nondescript office building he controls. The concrete space is empty, fluorescent lights casting hard white pools across the oil-stained floor.
Nikolai parks in the center bay, kills the engine, and steps out.
He opens Theor’s door, takes his arm, and guides him out onto the cool concrete.
Theo stands still, blindfolded, breathing a little faster now.
Nikolai wastes no time. He reaches for the front of his jeans, pops the button, drags the zip down, and yanks both denim and cotton briefs to his ankles in one rough motion.
The air of the garage is cool against Theo’s bare skin and Nikolai can see his body react. Nikolai turns Theo so he faces the front of the town car and presses a firm hand between his shoulder blades until his upper body rests across the warm bonnet.
From the inside pocket of his coat he removes a thick, heavy butt plug and a small bottle of lube. He coats the plug thoroughly, spreads his cheeks with one hand, and presses the tapered tip against his entrance.
Theo’s breath hitches and he lets out a shocked gasp.
Nikolai pushes steadily, watching the plug disappear inch by inch until the flared base sits flush against him.
Another low groan escapes the boy’s throat, half protest, half pleasure.
Nikolai does not give Theo time to adjust fully. The next item is a compact shock stick, the kind that delivers sharp, controllable bursts rather than continuous current.
Nikolai tests it once against his own palm, then sets the tip against the fullest part of his right ass cheek and triggers a short pulse.
“Owww!” Theo cries out, body jerking against the metal.
The sound is perfect—pain and arousal tangled together. Nikolai delivers another pulse to the left cheek, then a third lower, closer to the sensitive sit-spot.
Each time Theo’s hips twitch and a fresh rush of pre-cum becomes visible on his cock head.
“You will always obey me,” Nikolai says, voice calm and absolute. “That includes wearing my bracelet. Every day. Without exception.”
Theo’s voice comes out tight, still trying for defiance even with the plug seated deep and the shock stick resting against his skin…
“I’ll d-d-d-do as I p-p-p-p-please,” Theo spits, desperate to show some defiance. Or perhaps he simply wants more?
Nikolai’s mouth curves. He answers the resistance the only way that matters. The shock stick lands again—short, sharp, precise—then his open hand follows, delivering three hard spanks across the same marked flesh.
Nikolai alternates without pattern: pulse, spank, pulse, two spanks, a longer pulse that makes Theo cry out louder. The concrete walls throw the sounds back at them.
Theo’s legs begin to tremble. The show of resistance cracks.
“I’ll obey,” Theo gasps. “I will… Daddy, I’ll obey. I promise to be a good boy. I’ll d-d-d-do whatever you say. Mmmmmmph.”
The word lands exactly where it should.
Nikolai takes the small remote for the plug out of his jacket and switches the vibrations on at a medium setting. The sudden internal buzz draws another broken moan from Theo.
Nikolai leans down so his mouth is close to his ear.
“When you are good, you get rewarded.” He continues the circuit—shock stick, open-handed spanks, the steady thrum of the plug inside him—building and easing in deliberate waves.
Theo’s body finally loses its last coordination. His cheek is pressed to the bonnet, fingers splayed uselessly across the dark paint, breath coming in ragged sobs that are no longer purely pain.
When the orgasm finally hits it is violent.
Theo’s entire body locks, thighs shaking hard enough that Nikolai has to steady him with a hand on his hip, a long broken cry echoing through the empty garage as he comes completely undone across the metal and shoots pure-white cum across the car’s immaculate paint.
Nikolai gives Theo only a few seconds to ride it out before he switches the plug off, pulls him upright, and guides him unsteadily into the back seat of the town car. He collapses onto the leather, jeans still tangled around his ankles, the plug still seated.
Nikolai climbs in after him only long enough to settle the boy on his side and check the blindfold remains secure.
“Keep it on.”
Theo’s voice is small, dazed. “Where are you taking me?”
Nikolai closes the door, returns to the driver’s seat, and starts the engine. His eyes meet the rear-view mirror where he lies blind and marked and still trembling.
“Be quiet, boy” Nikolai says. “You’re in my world now…”