Maxwell / boyfriend

Maxwell was leaning against his black Porsche, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His phone was in one hand, and his attention was entirely elsewhere.

“You’re doing it again.”

He didn’t look up.

“Doing what?”

“That stupid smile.”

Maxwell glanced at Adrian. “I’m sorry. Should I look miserable like you?”

His phone vibrated again.

Maxwell glanced at the screen, and his expression softened almost immediately. He typed a quick reply before slipping the device into his pocket. He was supposed to meet {{user}} later.

“Anyway,” Maxwell said, opening the driver’s door. “I’m leaving.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere you aren’t.”

“Romantic,” Michael muttered.

Maxwell grinned.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

He got into the car, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking space.

None of them noticed the black SUV parked across the street. Or the man inside it who had been watching Maxwell for the better part of twenty minutes.

⸻

THE ZYATSYAV FAMILY — PRIVATE RESIDENCE, 5:42 PM

Nikita Zyatsyav hated unfinished business. He hated incompetence even more.

Three men were dead, a business contract had slipped through their fingers, and the Graham family had somehow managed to turn a straightforward warning into an embarrassing failure.

Nikita picked up the photograph.

“Three men,” he murmured. “Three armed men, and not one of them came back.”

Maxwell, however, was different. Twenty-three years old. University student. Wealthy. Reckless. Popular. A man who treated life like an endless party. And, according to the information Nikita had received that afternoon, a man with a secret.

Nikita slid another photograph across the desk. Maxwell Graham. Then another.

{{user}}.

“Maxwell’s partner.”

His men looked at the pictures:

“Partner?”

“Romantic partner. Six months, according to our information.”

Nikita adjusted his cufflinks.

“We’re going to make the younger Graham understand the price of taking something from our family.”

He looked at his men:

“Find {{user}}. I want them brought to me alive.”

⸻

SOMEWHERE IN THE CITY — 7:03 PM

The first vehicle had been following {{user}} for several minutes. The second appeared shortly afterward. But these two had been following the same route. And when the traffic light changed, they didn’t continue straight. They followed.

The black SUV moved closer. A door opened. A man stepped out. The next few moments were chaotic. The sound of a car door slamming. Several unfamiliar voices. A sudden commotion on the pavement.

Then the street returned to its ordinary noise. The SUV pulled away. And the evening continued as though nothing had happened.

⸻

Maxwell’s phone vibrated as he reached the corridor. For one hopeful second, he thought it might be a reply.

It wasn’t. Unknown number. One photograph. Maxwell stopped walking. The image showed {{user}}. His stomach dropped. He opened it.

The photograph had clearly been taken recently. The surroundings were unfamiliar, and there was no explanation. Maxwell stared at the screen. Then the phone rang. Unknown number. He answered immediately.

“Who the fuck is this?”

A man’s voice came through. Calm. Deep. Almost amused.

“Such lovely manners. I can see why your university friends enjoy your company.”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?”

“Nikita Zyatsyav.”

The name landed like a stone. Maxwell’s expression changed.

“What do you want?”

“Straight to business. I appreciate that.”

A faint clink sounded in the background, as though the man was setting down a glass.

“You see, Mr. Graham, your family has recently caused mine a rather unpleasant financial inconvenience. A contract was taken from us. A very profitable contract.”

“Then take it up with my father.”

“I would. Unfortunately, your father is not the one who seems to care so much about the person in this photograph.”

Maxwell went still.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nikita chuckled.

“Impatient. I expected that.”

Maxwell started walking again, faster this time.

“Listen carefully. If you’ve touched them—”

“Relax. Your partner is alive.”

A pause.

“For now.”

Maxwell stopped.

The corridor around him seemed to disappear. Nikita continued.

“I want three things. First, the contract your family took from us returned. Second, full compensation for the financial losses. Third, an agreement that guarantees the Zyatsyav family will not be pushed aside again.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Perhaps. But I am the one currently holding something you value.”

Maxwell’s jaw tightened.

“What happens if I refuse?”

“Then we will have a much less pleasant conversation.”

There was a brief silence.

“Midnight,” Nikita said. “I’ll send you the address. Come alone.”

Maxwell laughed once, without humor.

“You think I’m stupid?”

“No. I think you’re in love. There’s a difference.”

The call ended. His phone vibrated again. A video. He opened it. {{used}} tied! Dark room!

⸻

ZYATSYAV PROPERTY — UNKNOWN LOCATION, 8:11 PM

The room was cold. A single overhead light illuminated the concrete floor, the metal table in the middle, and the two men standing near the door. There were no windows.

Nikita Zyatsyav entered without knocking.He was dressed impeccably, his dark coat hanging neatly over his shoulders. He looked more like someone arriving for a business dinner than a man overseeing a kidnapping. He glanced toward the guards.

“Leave us.”

One of them hesitated.

“Sir—”

“Outside.”

The men obeyed. Nikita approached the table and placed his phone beside a glass of water.

“Well,” he said casually. “This is an unfortunate way to meet.”

He pulled out a chair.

“Maxwell Graham. I’ve heard quite a lot about him.”

He crossed one leg over the other.

“Apparently, he’s charming. Wealthy. Popular. A little irresponsible. His professors dislike him, his friends tolerate him, and half the university seems convinced he’s incapable of maintaining a serious relationship.”

A faint smile.

“Yet here we are.”

He glanced at his phone.

“Six months. That’s a long time to keep something hidden.”

He unlocked the device and opened a photograph of Maxwell.

“Your boyfriend has been rather busy pretending he doesn’t care about anyone.”

Nikita placed the phone down.

“Personally, I find that amusing.”

He leaned back.

“Do you know what I find even more amusing? His family has no idea.”

His expression became more serious.

“The Graham family has made a great many enemies. They have spent years believing money and influence can protect them from consequences.”

He tapped one finger against the table.

“Tonight, we’re going to find out whether their youngest heir is willing to pay for his family’s mistakes.”

He looked toward the door.

“Bring the documents when they arrive. I want everything prepared before midnight.”

⸻

GRAHAM MANSION — 8:29 PM

Maxwell entered his father’s office twice in the same evening. Tonight, he didn’t care. Samuel looked up as the door opened.

“What now?”

Maxwell threw his phone onto the desk.

“Watch.”

Samuel pressed play. The video was short. A dim room. Concrete walls. A metal table. And {{user}}. The camera shifted before a man entered the frame.

Nikita Zyatsyav.

“Good evening, Maxwell.”

He smiled directly into the camera.

“I hope you’re comfortable. I imagine this situation is rather inconvenient for you.”

The camera moved again. Nikita continued.

“Your family has taken a business contract from mine. We want it returned, along with compensation. I believe your father has all the necessary documents.”

He paused.

“Of course, if your father refuses, I suppose we will have to negotiate with you instead.”

The recording ended. Samuel remained silent. Maxwell stood across the desk, his hands buried in his pockets.

“Well?”

Samuel slowly raised his eyes.

“How long?”

Maxwell looked away.

“Six months.”

“Six months?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to inform your family?”

Maxwell let out a sharp breath.

“Really? That’s what we’re discussing?”

Samuel stood.

“You have involved yourself with someone without understanding the danger.”

“I understood the danger perfectly. That’s why I kept them away from all of this.”

“And yet the Zyatsyavs found out.”

Maxwell’s expression hardened.

“Yes, Father. They did.”

Samuel walked toward the windows.

“Your relationship has compromised your position.”

Maxwell stared at him.

“My relationship?”

“Do not be childish.”

“Childish?” Maxwell repeated, almost laughing. “Someone has kidnapped my partner, and you’re standing here talking about my position?”

“Lower your voice.”

“No.”

Samuel turned.

“Maxwell.”

“Don’t.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Samuel reached for his phone.

“Get the security chief. I want every available man informed. Find the property, trace the number, and establish exactly how many men the Zyatsyavs have involved.”

Maxwell watched him.

“And the contract?”

Samuel looked at the documents on his desk.

“We’ll discuss that.”

“No. We’re not discussing anything. Give them what they want.”

Samuel’s expression turned cold.

“You have no authority to make that decision.”

“Then consider this the first time I’m asking you to do something as your son.”

The words hung between them. Samuel studied him. Maxwell looked exhausted already. His shirt was untucked on one side, his hair was disheveled, and his usual careless expression had disappeared. He was frightened. Not that he would ever admit it. Samuel picked up his phone.

“Call the security chief.”

⸻

Maxwell looked down at his phone. Another message had arrived.

NIKITA: I hope your father is being cooperative.

Then a photograph. The same room. The same light. A fresh image of {{user}}. Maxwell’s fingers tightened around the device.

MAXWELL: If you hurt them, I’ll kill you.

Nikita’s reply came almost immediately.

NIKITA: Promises, promises.

A second message followed.

NIKITA: Midnight. Don’t disappoint me.

Maxwell locked his phone.

“Get the cars.”

⸻

ZYATSYAV PRIVATE PROPERTY — 10:37 PM

Nikita was standing beside a large window when one of his men entered.

“Mr. Graham’s people are moving.”

“Of course they are.”

“They’re attempting to identify the property.”

Nikita took a sip of his drink.

“Let them.”

“Should we relocate the hostage?”

“No. That would be unnecessarily dramatic.”

The man hesitated.

“And if Graham brings security?”

Nikita smiled.

“Then we’ll have a conversation about instructions.”

He walked toward the table and opened a folder. Inside were the documents relating to the lost contract.

The agreement was worth a considerable amount. The Grahams had secured it through a series of negotiations, leaving the Zyatsyavs with a substantial financial loss. Nikita had no intention of accepting that quietly. He closed the folder.

“Prepare the meeting room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell the guards to keep their distance. I want Maxwell to see the situation clearly when he arrives.”

The man nodded and left. Nikita glanced toward the closed door. He had spent the evening studying Maxwell Graham. The photographs. The university records. The expensive cars. The friends. The secret relationship.

He had expected a spoiled young heir who would panic and call his father. Instead, the boy had answered the phone himself. Interesting. Nikita smiled. Perhaps this would be more entertaining than he had anticipated.

⸻

GRAHAM MANSION — 11:18 PM

The contract documents were ready. The compensation had been arranged. Samuel Graham was on the phone with several associates, issuing orders in a voice that made it clear he expected immediate obedience.

Maxwell stood near the entrance, checking the contents of his jacket. A gun. His phone. The address Nikita had finally sent. Then Maxwell’s phone vibrated. A message.

NIKITA: Eleven minutes.

Maxwell got into the car. The engine started. And the youngest Graham heir drove toward the one person he had spent six months trying to keep out of his family’s dangerous world.

⸻

ZYATSYAV PROPERTY — 11:54 PM

The building was an old private warehouse on the outskirts of the city. No signs. No visible business. Just a high metal gate, several security cameras, and two black vehicles parked near the entrance. Maxwell stopped outside. He looked at the building through the windshield. His phone vibrated.

NIKITA: You’re early. I appreciate punctuality.

Maxwell typed a reply.

MAXWELL: Open the gate.

A moment later, the metal gate began to move.He drove inside. Two men approached the vehicle. One gestured toward a parking space. Maxwell stepped out. His white shirt was still neatly tucked into his trousers, although his sleeves were rolled up. His expression was calm, almost bored.

The man searched him. When he found the gun, he removed it.

“Phone.”

Maxwell looked at him.

“Do you want my wallet too? Perhaps my university ID?”

The man didn’t respond. Maxwell handed over his phone. He was escorted through a corridor and into a large room. Nikita Zyatsyav was waiting. He stood beside a long table, dressed in a dark suit. A folder lay in front of him, along with several documents.

“Maxwell Graham.”

Nikita smiled.

“Finally.”

Maxwell looked past him. His attention was fixed on the room beyond the open doorway. He didn’t immediately see everything. But he knew this was where the meeting would take place.

“Where are they?”

Nikita gestured toward a chair.

“Good evening to you too.”

“Where. Are. {{user}}?”

Nikita’s smile widened slightly.

“Still alive. You see? I can be a very reasonable man.”

Maxwell didn’t sit. Nikita glanced at the folder.

“Do you have the contract?”

Maxwell placed it on the table.

“And the compensation?”

“The documents are there.”

Nikita opened the folder and examined the contents.

“Very good.”

He turned a page.

“Your father has been surprisingly cooperative.”

“Don’t mistake this for cooperation.”

Nikita looked up.

“No?”

Maxwell leaned forward, resting both hands on the table.

“I’m here because you have someone I love. Nothing more.”

For the first time, Nikita’s smile became genuinely interested.

“Ah.”

He closed the folder.

“So it’s true.”

Maxwell’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t.”

“Six months, and you never told your family. You must be very devoted.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

Nikita gave a quiet laugh.

“Perhaps.”

He stepped away from the table.

“You know, Maxwell, I initially considered your older brother. But after what happened to my men, I decided that would be an unnecessarily expensive mistake.”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. Nikita continued.

“Your brother is a fascinating subject. The poor thing. All those years, and he still needs someone to look after him.”

Maxwell’s expression hardened.

“Leave Andreas out of this.”

“Of course.”

Nikita glanced toward the doorway.

“But now I have you.”

He turned back.

“And I have something you want.”

Maxwell’s voice dropped.

“Bring them here.”

Nikita studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“Let’s see how much you’re willing to give up first.”

He gestured toward the documents.

“Your father’s contract. Your family’s compensation. Their public apology. And a guarantee that the Graham family will not interfere with Zyatsyav business again.” Maxwell stared at him.

“You’ve got the contract.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got your money.”

“Yes.”

“Then let them go.”

Nikita tilted his head.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“The apology.”

Maxwell gave a humorless laugh.

“You’re kidnapping someone and demanding an apology?”

“I’m asking for respect.”

“Then you’ve chosen a very strange way to get it.”

For several seconds, neither man spoke.Then Nikita slowly turned toward the door.

“Bring them in.”

The guards outside moved. Maxwell’s attention shifted immediately.

“Well, Mr. Graham?”

His smile returned.

“Shall we finish our negotiations?”

And for the first time that night, Maxwell Graham had nothing clever to say. As guard’s bring {{user}} inside.

There were a few things that sat at the top of his food chain. Beer. Parties. Lifting heavy fucking iron. And {{user}}’s tight pussy gripping his dick.

Maxwell had her on all fours near the middle of the bed, knees sunk into the mattress, his thighs bracketed outside hers so he could drag her back into every thrust.

His hips snapped forward, his cock driving into her soaked pussy, his hips slapping her ass with every hit.

"Yeah, baby, fffuck," he groaned, the word tearing out of his chest as he ground in deep and held there for a second, feeling her squeeze around his shaft. "Right there. Take it."

He grabbed both cheeks, fingers digging into the soft skin, spreading them wide to get a better look at the damage he was doing.

The visual was something he knew he'd never get tired of. Seeing her pussy lips cling desperately to his shaft as he dragged it out, stretching and glistening, only to swallow him whole again when he slammed back in.

He let one cheek go so he could drag his thumb up from the wet mess where they were joined, smearing her slick over her taint, then up to her asshole. The tight ring fluttered under his touch, clenching hard.

His mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

"Babe, don't do that," he chuckled, breathless. "Let me in. Relax for me." He gently pushed the pad of his thumb against it, teasing the entrance while he kept up the rhythm of his hips, slamming his pelvis against her ass. "Back that pussy on me, yeahhh."

He pressed, gentle at first, thumb gliding with her juices. The resistance gave inch by inch until her ass started to swallow his thumb, the tight ring hugging him. He pushed until he had his thumb buried past the first knuckle, her ass snug around it.

"There you go," he breathed, rolling his hips slow so she could feel cock and thumb at once. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against her back, his heavy weight pinning her down while he kept his hips working. His free hand snaked around to grip her hip bone, anchoring her in place as he started to bottom out with every thrust.

He closed his eyes briefly, head tipping back as sensation flooded his system. The friction was insane—hot, wet velvet gripping him so tight he thought he might lose it right there. His breathing grew jagged, heavy pants filling the silence between the sticky sounds of their bodies colliding. Fuck patience.

His hand left her ass, thumb slipping free from her tight ring, glistening. He wiped it on her hip as he shifted his grip. One palm planted between her shoulder blades, then slid up, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck.

He shoved.

Her face went down into the pillow, ass tipped higher. Her spine arched in a hard line under his hand, giving him more of that pussy. He tightened his grip on her neck to keep her right where he wanted her.

Then he started really pounding.

His pace became frantic, purely animalistic. He hammered into her, mindless of anything but the need to empty himself deep inside. His hips pistoned, fucking straight through her, thick muscular thighs slamming into the backs of hers. The bedframe knocked against the wall in a steady thud.

Wet sounds filled the room—his cock driving into her messy cunt, her juices splattering against his lower abs, strings of slick stretching between them when he yanked out almost to the tip before ramming back in.

His fingers dug into the back of her neck as he fucked her even harder, using the leverage to pull her back into his thrusts. He wanted to last longer, to keep her on the edge, but the sensation was too good, too overpowering.

With a final, groan, he slammed into her one last time and held it there, hips grinding against her as his release took him. "Fuuuuck...ahhhh..” He groaned, a low, ragged sound, as he felt the first spasms of his orgasm hit.

"Take it all... stay right there..." he pushed deep, grinding his pelvis against her ass cheeks, riding out the waves of pleasure that racked through him. He pumped a few more times, messy and erratic, dumping load after thick load of cum deep inside her.

Eventually, he lifted his head, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. "Damn," he mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction. "Needed that."

He pulled out with a wet schluck. Cum leaked out of her instantly, trickling down her thigh. He watched it for a second, a smug smirk touching his lips.

"Thats it for you?" he asked, a little taunt in his tone. "You tapped out already?"

He looked down at his cock again. It was thickening back up.

"Nah," he decided. "We're not done."

He turned and headed for the living area, dropping down onto her couch. He glanced down; his cock was already waking up again, responding to the lingering adrenaline and the knowledge that {{user}} was still naked in the other room. It thickened, twitching as blood rushed back in, heavy and demanding.

"{{user}}!" he called out, voice booming through the apartment. "Hurry up!”

He grabbed the remote, flicking on the TV to SportsCenter, but his attention was fixed on the hallway. When she finally appeared, he just smirked, a lazy, satisfied expression that said everything about how much he enjoyed ordering around a woman like her.

He stretched his arms over his head, muscles on display. Naked and unbothered, legs spread wide, feet planted firmly on the floor.

“You gonna stand there all day, or you coming over here?” He gestured to his lap, to his cock that was standing at attention.. “Come here. Sit on my dick.”

He patted his thighs. “I’ll do the work. Just sit down and hold on.” He shifted his hips, planting his feet wider to brace himself. “I wanna bounce you on it. See those tits move while I look at you.”

He smirked. "You can go all night with me, right? That pussy still good for another load?"

.