CHAPTER 24: THE FORCED WORKOUT

POV: Callum Miller

The heavy, metallic smell of iron weight plates and damp concrete hung thick in the air of the basement home gym.

I was still trembling from the encounter in the study, my lower lip sore from Gideon’s bruising press, my core burning with an intolerable heat. But before I could even catch my breath, my father had summoned us both down to the lower level. Harlan stood at the foot of the stairs in his rolled-up sleeves, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in his hand, watching me with a critical eye.

"Look at you, Callum. You're pale, fidgety, and slouched over like a leaf," Harlan said, shaking his head with a stern sigh. "Living on campus has made you soft. Gideon, I want you to take him through a real tactical conditioning block. Put some discipline back into his spine before the semester kicks into high gear."

"Understood, Harlan," Gideon replied smoothly, stepping into the middle of the rubberized mat.

Gideon peeled off his dark polo shirt, tossing it onto a nearby weight bench. My breath hitched immediately. He stood there clad only in a tight black compression tank top and tactical cargo trousers. The massive, cut slabs of muscle across his back and chest were fully on display, mapped with faint white scars and damp with a light sheen of sweat from his own morning routine. He looked overwhelmingly dominant, filling the basement with an oppressive physical presence.

"Drop down," Gideon barked, his low voice echoing off the concrete walls with sharp military authority. "Fifty wide-grip push-ups. Hands flat, body locked straight. Go."

My stomach turned to liquid, but with my father standing three feet away in the doorway, I had no choice. I dropped to my hands and knees on the hard rubber floor, extending my legs back and bracing my toes.

"One," I gritted out, lowering my chest toward the mat.

"Lower," Gideon commanded instantly.

He didn't just watch. He stepped directly over me, straddling my hips with his heavy combat boots planted wide on either side of my waist. The sheer proximity of his massive frame suspended above me made my pulse spike out of control.

As I pushed up for the fifth repetition, Gideon leaned down and slammed one broad, calloused palm flat against the small of my lower back, pressing down with immense force.

"Keep your core tight, cadet," Gideon rumbled loud enough for Harlan to hear, but his heavy fingers spread wide over my spine, dragging lower until his palm rested directly against the top of my waistband.

The heat of his hand burned straight through my thin athletic shirt. Every time I lowered my chest, his palm slid up my back; every time I pushed up, his fingers dug firm into my hip bone, physically guiding my hips into alignment. The hidden sexual authority of the touch was suffocating. Under the guise of correcting my form, his hand was marking me, claiming my body right in front of my father.

"Look at that form, Harlan," Gideon said smoothly, his thumb pressing hard into the dip above my tailbone, sending a sharp shockwave of needy heat straight to my groin. "He softens up the second pressure is applied. He needs constant, firm correction."

"Keep at him, Gideon," Harlan agreed, taking a slow sip of his coffee, completely blind to the agonizing power dynamic playing out beneath him. "Don't let him slack off for a second."

"I won't," Gideon growled softly into my ear as he bent lower, his deep chest brushing my upper back as I struggled through number twenty. "You hear your father, sweet boy? You don't get to slack off. Push."

"Twenty-one..." I gasped out, my arms shaking violently, my chest heaving against the floor. "Twenty-two..."

"Squeeze your core. Stay firm for me," Gideon whispered, his hand sliding off my lower back and dropping straight down to clamp firmly around my left waist, squeezing the meat of my hip so hard my eyes watered.

"G—Gideon..." I whimpered under my breath, my voice drowned out by the thrum of the basement ventilation fan.

"Up," Gideon commanded sharply, pulling his hand back as I finished the set and collapsed onto my knees, my chest heaving, my skin drenched in a sudden slick coat of sweat. "On your feet. Pull-up bar. Now."

My legs felt like lead as I pushed myself up and walked beneath the steel bar mounted to the joists overhead. I reached up, gripping the rough foam handles.

"Twenty reps," Gideon ordered, stepping up directly behind me.

I pulled myself up, my chin barely clearing the bar before I dropped back down. On the third rep, my arms gave out, my body swinging helplessly in the air.

Instantly, Gideon moved in behind me, closing the distance until his front was pressed completely flush against my back. His massive, sweaty arms reached up, his large hands clamping over my ribs and waist to hoist me bodily upward.

"Pull, Callum," Gideon growled into the back of my neck, his heavy chest crushing against my shoulder blades, his thick thighs bracketing mine.

As he lifted me toward the bar, his huge hands shifted down, his fingers sinking deep into the sides of my waist, squeezing possessively with every upward thrust. I could feel the hard, unyielding shape of his body pressed tight against my lower back, his heavy breath hot against my damp hairline. Every rep was a agonizing mix of physical exhaustion and overwhelming sexual dominance. He was literally lifting my weight, forcing my body to move at his exact pace while Harlan watched from the doorway.

"Ten," Gideon counted loudly, his grip tightening so hard on my waist I let out a loud, breathless gasp that sounded entirely like a whimper. "Eleven. Keep those legs still. Don't squirm."

"I... I can't..." I sobbed softly, my vision swimming as my muscles burned to ash.

"You can," Gideon whispered roughly against my ear, his broad chest rising and falling heavily against my spine. "You obey me. Pull."

He thrust me up for the final rep, holding me at the top of the bar for three agonizing seconds while his hands squeezed my hips with absolute, possessive strength. When he finally let me drop, my knees completely buckled, and I fell forward onto the rubber mat, panting wildly, drenched in sweat, and utterly unraveled by his touch.

"Good effort," Harlan noted from the door, turning toward the stairs. "He looks thoroughly broken in. Keep him moving, Gideon. I'm going upstairs to answer a call."

"I'll make sure he finishes the routine, Harlan," Gideon replied smoothly, his dark gray eyes tracking my trembling, sweat-slick body on the floor with dark, hungry satisfaction.