10. Theo
THEO
Where is Nikolai taking me?
Does he know who I am and what I want?
Is he about to…
Suddenly, the car slows and stops.
Theo hears the engine cut, then the solid click of Nikolai’s door opening. A moment later his own door swings wide and cool air brushes his bare thighs.
Nikolai’s hand closes around his upper arm—firm, guiding, inescapable—and he draws Theo out of the back seat.
His jeans and briefs are still tangled around his ankles. The thick plug remains seated deep inside him, a constant, heavy reminder of everything that happened in the garage.
With the blindfold still tight across his eyes, every other sense sharpens.
Theo feels the shift from leather to concrete underfoot, the slight unevenness of the ground, the open space around him. Somewhere nearby a car passes on a street he cannot see.
The knowledge that he is exposed—ass still marked, plug base possibly visible, jeans useless around his ankles—sends a sharp flush of erotic humiliation straight through Theo.
Anyone could be watching.
The thought should terrify Theo. Instead it twists low in his belly and makes him hard all over again.
Nikolai does not speak. He simply steers Theo forward.
A few careful steps, then the metallic sound of a key in a lock, the heavy swing of a door, and the soft thud as it closes behind them.
The outdoor air disappears. Theo stands still and listens hard…
No traffic. No voices. No distant city noise.
Only the quiet of a sealed space and the soft sound of Nikolai’s shoes moving across what feels like polished wood.
Nikolai circles Theo slowly. Theo tracks the movement by the faint shift in the air and the low rhythm of his breathing. Then Nickolai’s mouth finds his. The kiss is deep and unhurried, claiming, the same controlled intensity he showed on the rooftop balcony.
Theo’s hands stay at his sides. He lets Nikolai take what he wants, the plug shifting inside him with every small movement of his body toward him until Nikolai eases it out with a squelchy popping sound.
When Nikolai finally pulls back, his fingers go to the knot of the blindfold. Silk slides away. Light floods in. Theo blinks hard, adjusting…
He is standing in a wide, elegant hallway. High ceilings. Dark wood paneling. An antique console table with a single silver tray for keys.
The floor is polished hardwood that gleams under soft recessed lighting. Everything about the space speaks of old money and quiet elegancy, the kind of townhouse that has stood for a century and will stand for another.
It is nothing like the empty shell apartment Nikolai took him to before.
This place is lived in. Real. His.
Nikolai watches Theo take it in, expression unreadable.
“Pull your jeans and briefs up,” Nikolai says. “We have standards around here…”
Theo obeys at once, face still hot. The denim scrapes over the tender skin of his ass. He buttons and zips with fingers that are not entirely steady, then follows him deeper into the house when he turns and walks away.
The kitchen is large and open, all oak cabinets and a wide island of dark stone. Slithers of light pour through tall windows that look onto a quiet, tree-lined street.
Nikolai moves with the same unhurried certainty he shows everywhere else. He fills a kettle, measures coffee for himself into a heavy ceramic press, then reaches for a small saucepan.
Theo stays near the doorway, watching, the platinum bracelet still missing from his wrist and the memory of his warning about it still vivid.
He watches Nikolai pour milk into the pan, heat it carefully, then tip it into a mug. A light dusting of chocolate sprinkles follows. The domesticity of the gesture is so unexpected that Theo’s throat tightens.
Nikolai carries both drinks to a deep leather couch set in the corner of the kitchen—worn, comfortable, clearly used often—and sits. He nods at the space beside him.
“There,” Nikolai says, his voice clear and low.
Theo crosses the room and settles onto the soft leather. Heat blooms across his face, but he keeps his eyes on the mug Nikolai places in his hands.
Hot milk. Chocolate. Exactly the kind of drink a Little might ask for after a hard play or kink session...
The thought lands with quiet force.
Nikolai sees that part of him. He is answering it without making it a performance, and Theo is all there for it.
They sit in silence for a short while. Nikolai drinks his coffee black and strong. Theo cradles the warm mug and lets the sweetness settle on his tongue.
Outside, leaves move in a light breeze. Inside, the only sound is the soft tick of an unseen clock.
Finally Nikolai sets his cup down and turns toward him.
“I have a lot to tell you about myself,” Nikolai says.
The words are simple. Measured. But the weight behind them is unmistakable.
Theo’s breath catches. He looks at him properly… at the controlled lines of his face, the dark eyes that have already seen him come apart more than once, the quiet authority that never needs to raise its voice.
Nikolai is not playing a short game. He is not treating Theo like a temporary distraction or a one-night conquest.
The empty apartment, the secret casino, the careful way he has tested and claimed his body, the decision to bring him here—to the real place—all of it points to something larger.
Nikolai likes him.
Truly likes him.
The realization hits hard enough that a soft gasp leaves Theo’s throat before he can stop it.
Heat rushes up his neck.
His fingers tighten around the mug.
Everything inside his chest tilts at once.
Tracker’s message is still waiting to be answered on his closed laptop: Banking details. Offshore reserves. Crypto.
Serious business. Risky business too.
The clear instruction to strip this man of his money and deliver the information without delay. Theo has spent years treating targets as puzzles to solve and paydays to collect.
Distance was always the rule.
Never get close enough for feelings to matter.
Now he is sitting on a leather couch in Nikolai’s actual home, still wearing the residual marks of his discipline, a butt plug freshly removed, and drinking the exact comfort this dark Daddy chose for him, while he prepares to open the door to the parts of his life he has kept hidden.
The job has just become infinitely more complicated. Theo forces himself to meet his eyes. He keeps his voice steady even though his pulse is racing.
“I’m listening,” he says. “And I’m not scared. Tell me everything…”
But inside, the conflict is already sharpening into something Theo is not sure he can control.
Theo stands alone in the upstairs bathroom, the door closed behind him, both hands braced on the cool edge of the marble sink. The mirror shows him a flushed face, slightly mussed hair, and eyes that still carry the sharp edge of everything he has just heard downstairs.
Nikolai did not use the words Bratva, pakhan, or mafia.
He didn’t need to.
The careful way Nikolai spoke about operating far outside ordinary laws, about the kind of work that required absolute loyalty and left no room for weakness, about enemies who disappeared when they became inconvenient… every sentence painted the picture clearly enough.
Nikolai is Russian mafia, Theo is sure of it. High enough that the city itself rearranges itself around his decisions. Dangerous in a way that makes his previous targets look like soft corporate schlubs and white collar criminals, even if that wasn’t how he saw them at the time.
Theo is in deeper than he has ever been.
The thought settles cold and heavy. Even if he wanted to walk away right now—delete the Tracker messages, abandon the job, disappear—he is no longer certain it would be possible.
Nikolai has brought Theo into his real home. He has already claimed his body more than once. And he is preparing to tell Theo even more.
The exit ramps are closing one by one.
And yet another calculation runs quietly underneath the fear…
This changes the price. Tracker wants banking details, offshore reserves, crypto.
The target is not some mid-level executive with a gambling problem.
This is a high-status, high-risk man whose money is almost certainly protected by layers most people never see.
The danger to Theo is real. And the value of the information is therefore higher.
Theo feels like he can renegotiate. Demand more.
Tracker, or whatever the hell his real name might be, will have little choice but to cave to his demands if they want results. The thought is clinical, professional, the part of him that has always survived by treating every job as a transaction.
Theo turns on the tap, washes his hands slowly, and watches the water run clear. Then he dries them on a thick white towel, draws one steadying breath, and opens the door.
Nikolai is standing directly outside. He is leaning against the opposite wall of the wide landing, arms loosely folded, watching the door as if he expected his exact timing.
Theo’s pulse jumps.
“It’s time for a bath,” Nikolai says, voice calm. “Then bed.”
Heat floods Theo’s face. The words are simple, domestic, yet they carry the same quiet authority he used when he ordered him into the car.
Theo feels the Little part of himself stir in response—the part that wants to be taken care of, directed, held—and the blush deepens.
“How do you know about that side of me?” Theo asks, the question slipping out before he can stop it.
Nikolai’s mouth curves, not quite a smile.
“I have ways of finding everything out,” Nikolai answers. He steps forward without another word, slides one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and lifts him as if he weighs nothing.
Theo’s arms go around Nikolai’s sturdy neck on instinct. He carries Theo easily up the remaining curve of the wide, winding staircase.
The wood is polished and dark, the banister smooth under his trailing fingers. At the top Nikolai turns into a large bathroom that feels nothing like the sleek ensuite he expected.
The tub is deep and freestanding, and the powerful taps ensure it fills quickly with steaming water. Thick bubbles rise in soft white mounds. Two bright yellow rubber ducks bob near the far edge. Soft lighting glows from wall sconces.
Nikolai sets Theo on his feet only long enough to undress him. He works with the same unhurried precision he shows in everything else: jeans, briefs, the rest of his clothes folded neatly aside.
When Theo is bare Nikolai lifts him again and lowers him carefully into the hot water.
Bubbles close over his skin.
The heat sinks deep into sore muscles and the residual marks on his ass.
One of the rubber ducks bumps gently against his knee. Theo sinks lower, the water lapping at his collarbones, and feels something inside his chest loosen.
“Mmm, this is good,” Theo says, already feeling himself relax.
“As it should,” Nikolai answers. “Now, allow me…”
Nikolai rolls up his sleeves, kneels beside the tub, and begins to wash Theo. His hands are strong and sure, but the touch is deliberate, almost tender.
Nikolai soaps a soft cloth and moves it in slow circles across Theo’s shoulders, down his arms, over his sensitive pinks nipples.
Theo’s breath shortens as his nipples stiffen. The care is so complete, so focused on his comfort, that his body responds before his mind can catch up. His hips shift under the water, a small, involuntary roll of pleasure.
Nikolai notices...
“It’s okay,” Nikolai says, voice low near Theo’s ear. “You can play with yourself while I wash you. While I massage your shoulders and your front, you can play with that hard little cock and make it shoot.”
The permission lands like a key turning.
Theo’s hand slips between his own thighs under the cover of the bubbles. He finds himself hard and his cock more than ready to be stimulated and pleasured.
Nikolai continues exactly as he promised: firm, rhythmic strokes along his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots at the base of his neck, then lower, soaping and massaging the firm curves of his pecs with slow, thorough attention.
Theo’s fingers work faster and faster. The combination of Nikolai’s hands and his own, the warm water, the soft squeak of a rubber duck against the porcelain, the knowledge that he is watching and allowing—everything tightens at once.
“Daddy!” Theo gasps, his eyes shut and sweat dripping from his brow in the heat.
Theo bucks his hips high and cums with a quiet, broken sound, thighs pressing as the bubbles fall off, his free hand gripping the edge of the tub while the orgasm rolls through him in long, deep waves.
Nikolai does not stop the gentle washing until the last tremor fades.
Only then does he reach for a large, fluffy white towel. Nikolai helps Theo stand, water streaming down his body, and wraps the towel around him with careful thoroughness. The fabric is soft and warm.
Nikolai lifts Theo once more, cradling him against his chest, and carries the young man out of the bathroom and down the short hallway toward the bedroom.
Theo rests his head against his Daddy’s shoulder, still floating in the afterglow, the platinum bracelet still missing from his wrist and the complicated truth of who his Russian Daddy truly is still settling deeper into his bones…