CHAPTER 23: CLAIMING IN THE STUDY

POV: Callum Miller

The high-pitched whine of Kaelen’s sports car tearing down the gravel driveway faded into the distance, but the hot, poisonous knot in my gut refused to loosen. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely set the folded bath towels down on the hall console table. Every inch of my skin felt flushed, buzzing with a volatile mix of leftover jealousy, humiliated possessiveness, and the agonizing physical ache Gideon had built inside me since midnight.

I couldn't stand being out in the open hallway where Harlan might walk by. I needed darkness, quiet, and a place to collect my shattered composure.

I slipped into my father’s private study, retreating into the cool shadow of the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves. The room smelled of old leather bound volumes, polished walnut, and pipe tobacco. I leaned my lower back against the heavy wooden bookshelf, pressing my cold palms against the edges of the carved shelves, trying to slow my ragged breathing.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Kaelen Vance leaning against Gideon’s truck…his shameless gaze sliding down Gideon’s broad chest, his hand hovering inches from Gideon’s hip, offering himself up without a second thought.

He touched his truck. He looked at him like he could just take him.

"You're breathing too fast, Callum."

The low, gravelly baritone cut through the quiet dark like a physical blow. My eyes snapped open.

Gideon was already inside the study. I hadn't even heard the heavy oak door open, but he had followed me in. With absolute, practiced military silence, Gideon reached behind his back and clicked the heavy brass lock into place. The solid thud of the bolt sliding home echoed through the dim room, sealing us off from the rest of the house.

Gideon turned, his massive frame blocking out the faint light from the frosted window. Dressed in his dark tactical shirt, his corded forearms exposed and veins standing out under tanned skin, he looked like a predator closing in on trapped prey. He didn't say a word as he crossed the floor in broad, deliberate strides, his heavy boots making no sound against the Persian rug.

Before I could draw another breath, Gideon stepped directly into my space, trapping me flush against the hard mahogany bookshelf.

"Gideon…" I gasped out, my voice hitching.

"Commander," he corrected, his voice dropping into a raspy, dangerous whisper that rattled straight down my spine.

He planted one massive, calloused hand flat on the wooden shelf right beside my head, his broad shoulder looming over me, blocking out the rest of the world. His gray eyes were dark, intense, and blazing with an unyielding authority that pinned me in place faster than any physical restraint.

"You were very vocal on the porch," Gideon murmured, his thumb catching my chin and forcing my face up so I had no choice but to look him dead in the eye. "Standing there, glaring at Vance like you wanted to tear his throat out. Mind telling me what that display was about?"

"He was... he was touching your truck," I stammered, my mouth instantly dry, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt. "He was looking at you like... like he could just have you. He was throwing himself at you, Commander."

"And that bothered you?" Gideon asked, his thumb pressing harder into the notch beneath my chin, tilting my head back until my throat was completely exposed.

"Yes," I breathed, tears of pure frustration and desire pricking the corners of my eyes. "Yes, it bothered me. You're... you're mine. I mean…I'm yours. He has no right to talk to you like that."

A slow, dark smirk cut across Gideon’s sharp jaw, filled with fierce, possessive satisfaction. "Say it properly, sweet boy."

"I'm yours, Commander," I sobbed out softly, my hands instinctively reaching up to grip the heavy fabric of his polo shirt at his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Only yours. Please."

"That's right," Gideon growled into my ear, his breath hot and heavy against my skin. "You belong to me. Every soft inch of you under this roof is mine, Callum. Not his. Not anyone else's."

Before I could process the words, Gideon tilted my jaw back further and claimed my mouth in a heavy, bruising, utterly ruinous kiss.

A choked whimper exploded out of my throat straight into his mouth. The kiss wasn't gentle or hesitant; it was a ruthless, dominant marking of territory. His tongue pushed past my parted lips, demanding complete surrender, tasting me deeply while his massive right hand slid down my torso, his thick fingers digging into my hip bone right through my denim jeans.

Gideon pressed his entire body flush against mine, pinning my chest, hips, and thighs hard against the solid mahogany shelf behind me. I could feel the sheer, unyielding weight of him, the hard muscle of his chest crushing my lungs, the intense heat radiating through his clothes. I melted instantly, my knees buckling under the absolute sensory overload, but Gideon’s heavy grip on my hip held me upright, refusing to let me drop.

"Mmmph... Commander..." I moaned against his lips, my fingers desperately twisting into the fabric of his shirt, my entire core throbbing with a sharp, agonizing wave of heat.

Gideon pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his lips brushing against mine, slick and hot, as he panted into my mouth. His gray eyes were dark black in the dim study light, blazing with absolute ownership.

"Look at me, Callum," he commanded roughness into my mouth.

I forced my heavy eyelids open, trembling violently, staring up into his fierce gaze.

"No one else touches what belongs to me," Gideon growled low, his voice a dark, rough vibration against my lips. "No one else gets your tears, your whimpers, or your posture. Do you understand me? You beg for my hand, and my hand only."

"Yes, Commander," I whimpered, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as my body shivered against his frame. "Only you. Please... I'm yours."

"Good boy," Gideon rumbled, sliding his heavy thumb over my swollen, slick lower lip, pressing down hard until I gasped. "Remember that the next time someone tries to talk to what's mine."

He gave my hip one final, possessive squeeze that left a lingering ache through my denim, reminding me exactly who controlled every breath I took. Slowly, deliberately, Gideon stepped back, releasing my chin. Without his massive body holding me against the shelf, my legs wobbled so badly I had to catch myself on the wooden ledge behind me.

Gideon turned, calmly smoothed down the front of his tactical polo, and walked toward the heavy mahogany door. He unlocked the bolt with a quiet click and opened it, stepping out into the hallway without looking back, leaving me alone in the dark study, breathless, marked, and utterly ruined.