Chapter 3

I stared at the glowing phone screen, the single line of text burned into my retinas.

I told you to be a good boy. Why didn't you answer my text?

I backed away from the locked door as if the wood itself might catch fire, sinking down onto the edge of my mattress, my room was cold, dark, and silent, save for the muffled sounds of the old house settling around me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against my forehead to force my mind to make sense of what was happening.

It couldn't be him, it was a coincidence, a sick, twisted twist of fate that made no sense at all. Marcus was my father's old military buddy, he was a grown man, a hardened veteran, someone my dad spoke about with absolute respect and yet, how would someone like that be gay, every detail lined up like a series of locks clicking into place the physical presence, the massive shoulders. The scar near his collarbone and now, the exact same commanding tone delivered directly to my phone while he sat just one floor below me.

My fingers trembled as I looked down at the screen again, the chat window was still open. DomDaddy’s profile picture, a collarbone-to-waist crop of a heavily built man with a faint white line near his neck stared back at me in high resolution.

I sucked in a shaky breath and typed out a reply, my hands sweating against the glass casing.

Who are you?

I hit send.

For two whole minutes, nothing happened, the green light at the top of the app stayed solid, indicating he was online. Then, three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, indicating he was typing. 

The dots disappeared, then they reappeared.

Finally, the message popped up.

You already know who I am, handsome and you know better than to play dumb with me.

A sharp shudder ran straight down my spine, i threw the phone onto the blanket as if it had bitten me, my breathing came in short, ragged gasps, i stood up, pacing the small width of my bedroom. The floor under my feet felt unstable, my whole life, the quiet, predictable routine of being the straight, unremarkable nineteen-year-old son living under his father's roof was disintegrating around me in real time.

Above me, the floorboards creaked, i stopped dead in my tracks, my head snapping toward the ceiling, the attic guest room was directly above my bedroom, slow, deliberate steps moved across the floor overhead. One, two, three steps, stopping right near the hatch that led down to the main hallway landing.

I held my breath, listening into the darkness.

The heavy footsteps moved again, this time descending the steep wooden stairs of the attic. They reached the carpeted hallway right outside my bedroom door.

I stood frozen in the middle of my room, every muscle in my body pulled taut like a bowstring. Someone was standing right on the other side of the wood.

Then came a soft, single knock against the door panel.

"Kid," Marcus’s low voice drifted through the thin wood. 

  "Open up."

My throat locked. "I'm... I'm sleeping," I lied, my voice sounding weak and high-pitched even to my own ears.

"No, you're not," Marcus replied smoothly. "Your light was on under the door a second ag, unlatch the lock."

"My dad's downstairs," I whispered desperately, taking a step backward away from the door.

"Your dad takes heavy sleep medication after his night shifts, and you know it," Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave lower, settling into that familiar, quiet authority that made my knees feel weak. "He won't hear a thing, now open the door, or we can talk about this out in the hallway where the floorboards creak much louder."

 If he stayed out in the hall, if my dad somehow woke up and found his old squadmate standing outside his son's locked bedroom door at one in the morning, everything would blow up.

I took two slow steps forward, reached out a trembling hand, and turned the brass lock.

Click.

I pulled the door open an inch, keeping my body hidden behind the frame.

Marcus stood in the dimly lit hallway, towering over me, up close, without the dining room table between us, his sheer physical size was overwhelming. He wore dark grey sweatpants and the same black t-shirt, his broad shoulders practically blocking out the light from the hallway window behind him. His dark eyes fixing on me with an intensity that made me want to drop my gaze to the floor.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way with a single, gentle press of his palm against the wood, he didn't force his way in violently; he simply moved into my space with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he wouldn't be stopped, I was so powerless to stop him and honestly, I didn't want to.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, but he didn't lock it, he just turned to face me, taking up half the room.

"You're shaking," Marcus noted quietly, stepping closer until he was standing less than two feet away from me.

 "What are you doing in here?" I managed to squeeze out, pressing my back against the wall next to my closet. "You shouldn't be in my room."

Marcus looked down at me, his sharp gaze tracing the line of my collarbone, down over my plain grey t-shirt, and down to my bare feet, the look wasn't rushed, It was a deliberate, evaluating sweep that made my skin flush with a burning, intense heat.

"I asked you a question on the app," Marcus said softly, ignoring my protest entirely. " when I give you an instruction, I expect a direct answer."

My breath hitched in my throat, hearing those exact phrasing the exact tone he used in his midnight messages spoken aloud in his real, deep voice, sent a rush of sensation straight through me. It was terrifying, but underneath the panic, a dark, traitorous pulse of excitement flared up inside my belly.

"You... you're DomDaddy," I whispered, the words finally leaving my mouth, saying it out loud made it real, it stripped away every layer of denial I had been hiding behind for the past three weeks.

His large, calloused thumb gently brushed against the side of my jaw, his warm skin rough against mine, the contact was brief, lasting barely two seconds, but it sent an electric current straight down my spine.

" You," Marcus murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute dominance, "are the boy who’s been taking pictures for me in this very room."

"You look a lot smaller in person than you do on that little screen," Marcus added, his thumb tilting my chin up just a fraction of an inch so I was forced to look directly into his dark eyes. "More vulnerable, more obedient."

"I'm not..." I tried to protest, but the lie died in my throat.

Marcus stepped even closer, his chest nearly brushing against mine, his massive frame shadowed me completely, trapping me between his body and the hard wall behind me.

"Don't lie to me," he commanded quietly. "You've been craving this for weeks, you wanted a man to take control, you wanted someone to tell you exactly what you are."

He leaned down slightly, his mouth coming close to my ear, his warm breath fanned across my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps down my neck.

"Tomorrow morning, your father is going to leave for his five-day fishing trip," Marcus whispered, his low voice vibrating straight into my ear canal. "He asked me to stay here and watch the house while he's gone."

Marcus pulled back slowly, looking down at my flushed face with a calm, dark satisfaction. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen once before sliding it back out of sight.

"Get into bed," Marcus ordered softly, pointing a thick finger toward my mattress. "And don't close your eyes until I tell you to."

Before I could process what he meant, my own phone lying face up on my bedsheets four feet away vibrated loudly.

The screen lit up with a single line from the app.

 Tell me what you're going to do when we're all alone tomorrow.