CHAPTER 14: CORNERED IN THE GARAGE

POV: Callum Miller

"Callum, go out to the garage workshop and fetch the heavy socket set from the main bench," Harlan barked from his study door, not even looking up from his tablet. "Gideon needs it for the generator work later."

"Yes, sir," I answered quickly, eager for any excuse to leave the main house.

The tension hanging in the hallways had become unbearable since my early morning encounter with Gideon in the kitchen. Every shadow seemed to stretch, every distant footstep made my chest tighten. My mind remained locked in a feverish, agonizing loop—oscillating wildly between trying to convince myself that Gideon's stern, authoritative demeanor was just his natural military background, and fearing that he was the shadowy figure commanding me through Echo.

I hurried down the covered walkway connecting the main house to the detached garage. The cool afternoon rain had slowed to a steady, damp drizzle, filling the air with the smell of wet earth and diesel fuel.

I pushed open the heavy side access door of the garage and stepped inside.

The workshop was dimly lit, bathed in cold gray light filtering through the high, reinforced windows. The air was thick with the scent of motor oil, copper, and aged oak. Rows of heavy power tools hung along the back pegboards, and the sprawling wooden workbench stretched across the far wall, cluttered with iron clamps, steel vices, and toolboxes.

I let out a soft, shuddering breath, wrapping my arms around myself as I walked toward the far side of the room.

Just grab the socket set and go back inside, I told myself, stepping up to the heavy oak workbench. Keep your head down. Don't look at him. Don't think about it.

I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the metal handle of the black molded tool case.

CLICK.

The sharp, heavy thud of the garage access door closing echoed through the wide room.

My heart instantly slammed into my ribs. I froze, my hand locking on the tool handle, my body stiffening as a sudden, paralyzing chill rushed down my spine.

CLACK.

The mechanical deadbolt turned in the lock.

Slow, heavy footsteps began to move across the concrete floor—measured, deliberate, and entirely unhurried.

CREAK.

The sound of rubber soles against sealed concrete matched the exact, terrifying cadence I had heard overhead in the dark of my bedroom the night before.

I turned around slowly, my back pressing hard against the edge of the heavy wooden workbench.

Gideon Sterling stepped into the pale gray light streaming through the window. He had pulled off his outer jacket, wearing a dark fitted t-shirt that stretched tightly over his massive chest and broad shoulders. His cold, storm-gray eyes were fixed dead on me, unblinking and devoid of hesitation.

"C-Captain," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper against the vast silence of the workshop. "I... my father sent me to get the tool set for you. It's right here."

Gideon didn't reach for the toolbox. He didn't slow his stride.

He crossed the remaining floor space in three long, imposing steps, stepping directly into my personal space until the toes of his heavy boots almost brushed mine. The physical heat radiating off his massive frame hit me like a solid wall, thick with the scent of pine, rain, and raw leather.

I instinctively tried to pull back, but my lower back slammed flat against the edge of the workbench. I was trapped.

Gideon raised both hands, planting his broad palms flat on the thick oak bench on either side of my hips, completely boxing me in. His towering frame blocked out the light, casting a massive, inescapable shadow over my entire body.

"Sir?" I choked out, my throat so tight I could barely draw air. My hands gripped the wooden edge behind me, my knuckles turning stark white as my legs began to tremble uncontrollably beneath my jeans. "Is... is something wrong?"

Gideon tilted his head down slightly. His dark jaw was set in a firm, uncompromising line. He didn't answer right away, letting the heavy, suffocating weight of his presence press down on me until I felt utterly microscopic beneath his gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in closer.

His face dipped down toward the side of my neck. I could feel the intense, hot rhythm of his breath against the sensitive skin beneath my ear, making every hair on my arms stand straight up.

He leaned in until his lips almost brushed the rim of my ear, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly, silk-soft baritone that vibrated straight into my skull.

"You look even sweeter in person, handsome."

The world shattered.

My lungs completely seized. The air was sucked entirely out of my chest as a blinding, electric shockwave tore down my spine, radiating straight into my core. My eyes went wide in pure, unadulterated shock, my mind fracturing as the final piece of the puzzle slammed violently into place.

The word. The voice. The unmistakable, possessive cadence.

Commander.

It wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't a stranger parked down the road. It wasn't a nightmare born of panic. The man who had been guiding my darkest, most shameful secrets online, the man whose voice I had listened to under my covers while squirming in heat, was standing right here—trapping me in my father's workshop.

"G-Gideon..." I gasped, a pathetic, trembling sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.

"Captain," Gideon corrected softly, his voice carrying the firm, undeniable steel of absolute authority.

Without moving his head away, he lifted his right hand off the workbench. His large, calloused palm reached out, wrapping firmly around the left side of my waist—his heavy fingers digging directly into the soft flesh right above my hip, pinning me effortlessly against the wooden bench.

I let out a ragged, desperate whimper, my head falling back against the wooden frame behind me as my knees buckled. His hold on my hip was unyielding, grounding me, asserting total, physical ownership over my trembling body.

"I asked you a question on Echo last night, sweet boy," Gideon rumbled against my ear, his thumb pressing firmly into my side, sending a wave of liquid heat straight down between my thighs. "And I don't recall getting a proper answer."

"I... I..." I couldn't form words. My brain was completely unraveled, spinning in a vortex of sheer terror and explosive, uncontrollable surrender.

"You were squirming at that dinner table for me, weren't you?" Gideon murmured, his tone smooth, dark, and utterly dominant. "Knowing I was sitting right across from you. Knowing I was right above your head."

"Y-yes..." I sobbed softly out of breath, unable to lie, unable to pretend anymore. My hands let go of the bench and clutched helplessly at the fabric of his dark shirt near his waist, clinging to him simply to stay upright. "Yes, sir... yes, Commander..."

Gideon’s grip on my waist tightened slightly, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

"Good boy," he whispered, his rough voice making my core ache with an unbearable, agonizing need. "Under this roof, you belong to your father during the day. But the second my eyes are on you, Callum... you answer to me. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Captain," I whimpered, trembling beneath his heavy hand, completely surrendered to the authority pinning me in the dark.