CHAPTER 18: AN INSPECTION OF PROGRESS

POV: Gideon Sterling

The late afternoon light faded rapidly outside the arched dormer windows of the attic suite, giving way to deep dusk.

Downstairs, I could hear the faint sound of Harlan’s car pulling back into the driveway, the crunch of gravel marking his return from town. He would be busy in his study for the next hour reviewing paperwork, completely oblivious to what was transpiring under his own roof.

I stood by the heavy mahogany desk, the screen of my tablet glowing in the dimming room. The Echo app sat open, displaying the thread of encrypted messages from my "sweet boy"—the frantic, desperate pleas for discipline sent late at night, the vulnerable confessions, the waist photo showing that crescent birthmark on his hip.

I locked the tablet and laid it face down on the desk.

Ten minutes ago, I had passed Callum on the stairs as he finished putting away the linens. His lips had still been faintly swollen, his cheeks flushed, his hazel eyes wide and submissive as he refused to meet my gaze directly. I had given him a single, casual instruction in passing—to come up to the third floor to clean the guest suite before dinner.

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the door. Three precise taps.

"Enter," I called out, my voice flat and commanding.

The heavy door swung inward. Callum stepped into the room, holding a small cleaning caddy with wood polish and rags. He wore dark, fitted jeans and a soft gray sweater, but his posture was rigid, his shoulders high with tension.

He reached back to close the door behind him.

"Lock it," I rumbled.

Callum’s breath hitched. His hand trembled as he reached up and turned the brass deadbolt. The heavy click echoed sharply through the silent room.

"Bring the caddy here and set it down," I instructed, remaining standing beside the master desk, my arms crossed over my broad chest.

He moved across the woven Persian rug with quick, delicate steps, setting the caddy down on the edge of the desk. He didn't dare look up at my face; his eyes stayed fixed on the floor, his breathing shallow and rapid.

"Look at me, Callum."

His chin tilted up slowly, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. The sheer vulnerability in his expression was breathtaking—a intoxicating blend of sheer nervousness and absolute, unquestioning surrender.

"You've been remarkably quiet since I left you in the linen closet," I said smoothly, stepping around the desk to narrow the distance between us. "Carrying out your tasks. Keeping your mouth shut, just like I commanded."

"Y-yes, Commander," he whispered, his chest heaving under his sweater.

"Good," I rumbled, stopping directly in front of him until my heavy boots were inches from his sneakers. "Which means it's time for an inspection of your progress. To see if your online vows hold true in person."

Callum swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as his pulse thrummed against his skin. "What... what do you want me to do, sir?"

"Drop to your knees."

The order fell like an iron weight between us.

There was no hesitation in his movement. Callum’s knees buckled instantly, his body sinking down until his knees pressed firmly into the dark wool of the rug directly at my feet. He rested his hands on his thighs, his posture straight, his face upturned to accept whatever I required of him.

I looked down at him from my full height, a fierce, possessive satisfaction surging through my chest. Here, in the very room Harlan had set aside for his old military comrade, his only son was kneeling at my feet, trembling for my approval.

I reached down, my large hand cupping the side of his jaw, my thumb resting over his cheekbone. The heat of his skin burned against my palm.

"Recite them," I commanded quietly. "The vows you sent me on Echo three nights ago. Word for word."

Callum’s lips parted, a shudder running through his slender frame as he felt the heavy pressure of my hand holding his head up. He swallowed, gathering his shaking voice.

"I... I give up my control to you, Commander," Callum whispered, his voice trembling but clear. "My mind is yours to guide. My body is yours to command. I will obey without question, submit without hesitation, and accept whatever discipline or praise you deem fit."

"And who do you belong to?" I demanded, my thumb dragging down to press firmly against his lower lip, recalling the impression I had left there in the garage.

"To you," Callum choked out, tears of intense emotional overload rimming his eyes, though he kept his gaze locked on mine. "Only to you. Under this roof... anywhere you want me."

The absolute trust in his voice was absolute, raw, and completely unvarnished. He wasn't playing a game. He was laying his entire dynamic at my feet, trusting me implicitly to dominate him, protect him, and keep his secret.

"Good boy," I praised softly, the low rumble of my baritone making him close his eyes and lean his face directly into my palm. "A remarkably sweet, obedient boy."

I slid my hand down from his jaw to wrap around his neck, my thumb stroking his thrumming pulse point while he kneeled before me, completely helpless and entirely mine. The dynamic was sealed, no longer confined to encrypted screens or stolen hallway touches, but cemented right here above his father's head.

"You may get up now," I murmured, releasing my grip on his neck.

Callum rose unsteadily to his feet, his cheeks burning a bright, delicious crimson as he smoothed down his sweater, his hazel eyes shining with a deep, lingering devotion that told me he would never belong to anyone else.