by Onley James
“Roll over. It’s Daddy’s turn,” Gideon growled.
Cal shivered, rolling onto his back. Gideon peeled his hoodie over his head and flung it across the room. Cal couldn’t help but reach out to touch the carved muscles of Gideon’s abdomen, his fingers tracing the vee of his hips. Gideon didn’t remove his shorts, just pushed them down and out of the way as he straddled Cal’s chest, trapping his arms at his side. “Open up for me, dirty boy.”
Cal let his mouth fall open, and once more, Gideon fed him his cock, but there were no shallow thrusts this time. He had one hand on the mirror and the other knotted in Cal’s hair as he fucked deep into his throat, cutting off his air supply until he was lightheaded, his thoughts scattering like leaves as he gripped Gideons thighs, legs twisting as he fought against his brain’s lack of oxygen, forced to trust that Gideon really did know just how much Cal could take.
Gideon took his time, playing with Cal, slapping his cock against his face one minute, fucking into his throat the next. He used him until his jaw ached and his eyes swam with tears, but Cal loved it —the pain and the warmth that spread through him each time he thought of how much Gideon wanted him. He didn’t have to think of anything. He only needed to obey, and he was so good at that. Gideon said so.
“That’s it, baby. Just relax. You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. You were made to submit to me. Just me. My perfect boy.”
Cal whimpered, staring up at Gideon, helpless. If he could have gotten hard again, he would have. Gideon pulled free of Cal’s mouth, jerking himself hard as he locked eyes on Cal, making him shiver. Cal closed his eyes as Gideon’s muscles tensed, his whole body seizing as he came, painting his cum across Cal’s face and lips and tongue before dipping it back into his mouth to let Cal suck him dry.
After a few minutes, Gideon collapsed beside him before rolling over and cupping Cal’s face. “You did so well. Are you okay?”
The tenderness in Gideon’s words caused a lump to form in his throat, and he could only nod. After Gideon cleaned them both up, he leaned over Cal. “Look at me.” Cal’s lids felt heavy, but he did as Gideon asked. “I’m going to fix this. I’ll never let anybody take something from you. Ever. Do you believe me?”
Tears filled Cal’s eyes once more as he nodded. “Yes. I believe you,” he lied.
“Good.”
Cal wanted to believe Gideon could fix this, but his power and reach only extended so far, and the people at Roosevelt seemed like they’d stop at nothing to make sure Cal paid for his father’s sins. Still, he loved Gideon, and he loved that Gideon loved him enough to make these kinds of promises. Cal had to just let go of the idea that he could go to Harvard like his mother or even have a college education. Gideon would never let him fall, would never leave him homeless or stranded.
Maybe Cal could just be Gideon’s boy… Maybe that was enough.
It might have to be enough.
“Are you all satisfied?” Gideon asked, looking across the conference room table at the members of the board. “Have you all satisfied your bloodlust by ruining the life of a nineteen-year-old boy? Or will you not be content until he’s sitting in a prison cell?”
Rosalind, for her part, looked confused. “I just returned from Greece, Leo, so I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“By the smug look on Roger’s face, I’m sure he’d be happy to fill you in,” Gideon said, doing his best to control his fury. “No? Alright. While you were away, these fools accused Callum Whyte of cheating on his SATs and then alerted the College Board of his supposed honor code violation without first informing me or even providing a single bit of evidence to substantiate these allegations.”
Rosalind’s perfectly manicured brows rose, and she looked at him for a long moment before giving the others around the table a disgusted look. Gideon agreed. It was disgusting the way these people treated Cal. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right, and Gideon was going to fix it, even if it meant burning the school to the ground. The antics of these people had gone on for far too long. They thought their money made them bulletproof, immune to the rules the rest of them were forced to live by, but Gideon would ensure that wasn’t the case, not when it came to Callum.
Jerome leaned back in his seat, his expression confused. “What has your knickers in such a twist, Leo?” the man asked, waving a hand dismissively, as if the matter was trivial. “Seriously, what do you care about this boy or his plight? You have less than a week, and then you no longer have to concern yourself with the likes of our little school. Nobody would fault you for simply bowing out now. You’ve done more than your fair share.”
Gideon shook his head, pacing around the table like a panther circling its prey. “I’m not bowing out of anything. I don’t give a single fuck about this school, but watching a bunch of geriatrics tear apart the future of a young man who did nothing to harm any of you turns my stomach.” Gideon knew he was ranting, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d had the audacity to come after somebody he loved, somebody who belonged to him, body and soul, and he wanted them all to pay.
“Gideon, please—” Jerome started, but Gideon cut him off.
“You’re vultures, picking apart an already rotting carcass. Do you think this boy’s life has been easy since his father went to prison? His father’s actions left the boy orphaned and homeless. He almost died out on the streets, and yet, despite all you’ve attempted to do to this young man, he’s managed to maintain the highest grade point in the school, has tested in the 99% percentile on his SAT scores, and received more academic scholarship offers than anybody else in the last ten years of the school.”
“You, yourself, have had the boy in detention almost daily. You have to admit that doesn’t look good, Leo,” Roger said with a smirk.
“I’ve kept him in detention because he’d been attacked on numerous occasions. Recent events aside, you all have to admit, before his father ruined his life, he was popular, well-liked, good at sports, and friends with your grandchildren. Each of you has likely welcomed this boy into your house at least once. He was the poster boy for Roosevelt Prep, yet you’ve now set about ruining the one shot he had at piecing together some semblance of a life for himself going forward.”
“You make a passionate plea,” Roger said, tone bored. “But the fact remains, we didn’t need to discuss this with you. You are the interim headmaster. We spoke with both Evelyn Abernathy and the proctor, who confessed to being coerced into taking the boy’s test for him. I don’t understand what exactly you think we should have done, and, quite frankly, I don’t understand your interest in this boy.”
Gideon needed to calm down. He wasn’t behaving rationally. He was acting like a jealous lover and not an impartial advocate. “My interest is that, once upon a time, I was this boy. I know exactly how quickly you all turn on a person once you realize they are no longer one of yours. I’ve gotten to know Callum over the last few weeks, and he isn’t a cheater. He’d have no reason to cheat on his SATs when his records show that he’s been out-performing other students since sixth-grade.”
“You said it yourself,” Rosalind reminded him. “The boy’s world has fallen apart since his father went to prison. Perhaps he didn’t want to take a chance of tanking his test when he had other things on his mind? It wouldn’t be the first time a teenager tried to take a shortcut.”
“Callum isn’t a shortcut kind of kid, but that does lead me to wonder about how Douglas Shea, a grown man, was so easily coerced into taking the boy’s SATs for money? While we’re on the subject, why exactly does a school with one of the most difficult entrance exams in the state need to have a proctor on the payroll? I was doing a bit of research, and we seem to have a staggeringly high number of children on independent learning plans given that this is an International Baccalaureate school. Care to explain that to me?”
Gideon hadn’t had time to research anything, but he trusted that Cal hadn’t been lying to him when he said that several studen
ts were on independent learning plans. Gideon had every intention of looking for himself as soon as he left the boardroom.
Jerome scoffed. “Leo, we don’t get involved in the day-to-day activities. You know that. But this was important enough that Evelyn felt we needed to make the final decision. We have a man who was willing to implicate himself by coming forward. What else could we do except tell the College Board? Aren’t we obligated to do the right thing?”
“In that case, I’m assuming that you’ve relieved Mr. Shea of his duties? If you were willing to destroy Mr. Whyte’s already precarious future, presumably Mr. Shea received a similar fate?”
Jerome cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Evelyn assured us that Mr. Shea was written up per policy and that he will be closely monitored going forward. She didn’t believe it necessary to fire the man over one slip-up.”
Gideon’s blood boiled. “Oh, yes. We wouldn’t want to ruin his prospects, even if you lot have no problem throwing Mr. Whyte into the fire for one perceived slight. An unsubstantiated slight, I might add, regardless of what you’ve been told by Abernathy.”
Rosalind’s hand went to her chest. If she’d worn pearls, she’d have been clutching them. “Leo, what’s done is done. Move on. You can’t save every orphan and ne’er-do well. You’ve clearly gotten too close to the situation. You’ll realize we did the right thing when you’re back on the board and out of that office. This will all go back to being somebody else’s problem. Grant wouldn’t have wanted you getting yourself involved in the day-to-day affairs of the school. You have too much history there. You lack the impartiality needed for the job.”
“With all due respect, Rosalind, I don’t give a fuck what Grant would have wanted. Grant’s gone, and he left me to make my own decisions, including who I give his money to. If we can’t come to some kind of agreeable resolution to this situation, I have no problem pulling his donation. If this is the kind of behavior you’re comfortable with, I no longer wish to be associated with this school. See how well you survive without that ten million a year.”
Roger lurched forward, pointing one crooked finger in Gideon’s direction. “Listen here, you little shit, we’ve tolerated your impertinence for far too long. I have no idea what Grant saw in you, but I suspect it lies beneath your belt buckle. Don’t think you can walk in here and threaten us with money. You think we can’t replace your funds? You aren’t the only one with money. Hell, getting rid of Whyte’s brat will probably net us millions in alumni donations. Take your money and your bleeding heart and go. I am done being lectured by the likes of you.”
Roger stood on wobbly legs, barking an order at his nurse who sat quietly reading a book in the corner. She stood, leading him to the walker he’d left beside the door. The others soon followed, throwing looks back over their shoulders, until only Gideon and Rosalind were left. She placed a hand on Gideon’s arm, gripping him with surprising force given her age. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing. I do. But you don’t want to make enemies of the people in this room. You have more to lose than you think.”
There was no missing the threat in her words. Gideon stared her down, his voice icy. “Excuse me?”
She released him, petting her hand over the sleeve of his blazer in an almost motherly gesture. “Don’t misunderstand me, Leo. I’m trying to help you. Grant was my dearest friend. We had no secrets between us. You’re more alike than I imagined. Part of me is glad he didn’t live long enough for you to break his heart, but another part, a vengeful, wicked part who always wanted something more with him wishes just the opposite. I always told him you weren’t worthy of him, but maybe it was him who wasn’t worthy. He clearly didn’t see the real you.”
Gideon had no idea what the woman was talking about, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention anyway. This cryptic conversation was some kind of warning, but he didn’t have time for her riddles or innuendo. These people had too much time on their hands. They lived for the drama and scandal. Gideon didn’t have that kind of time. “Speak plainly, Rosalind.”
She laughed delicately. “That’s not really my nature. I will say this. Your boy should have never set his sights on Harvard. Had he aimed just a smidge lower, he probably would have walked away from this with only minimal damage. You know how protective Roger is of his grandson.”
Roger’s grandson? Matteo… That little shit who’d spit on Callum. Of course. But what did it matter if Callum got into Harvard? It wasn’t as if they only accepted one person a year…
Before he could fall any further down the rabbit hole, Rosalind’s words penetrated past Gideon’s concerns for Cal. “Your boy.” She’d called Callum his boy. He did his best to control his facial expression, even as his pulse stuttered. Did she know something, or was she fishing?
“I don’t know what you’re implying about my student—” he began only to be cut off.
Her smile was as dazzling as it was cruel. “Oh, now, let’s not play games, dear. You’ll lose. Let this go, and maybe I’ll see what I can do about fixing this mess. I know a few people at Yale and Dartmouth. I don’t know if I can get his scholarships back, but we both know he doesn’t really need the help financially anymore, right?”
Gideon clenched his teeth until his jaw muscle ticked. “Careful, Rosalind.”
She scoffed. “No, Leo. You be careful. You think you’re removing the target from your boy’s back, but all you’re doing is widening the scope. Don’t put yourself on our radar, or you might find we have enough ammunition to take you both out.”
Gideon’s nostrils flared. “I’d watch what you say about me. Unlike Callum, I’ve got the funds to spend several lifetimes suing each and every one of you for slander.”
Her expression was full of mock pity. “We both know you won’t do that. Do you really want to ruin this boy’s life anymore than you already have by getting him caught up in a much filthier type of scandal than paying for grades?”
Gideon didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want to be arrested for strangling an old lady. He turned on his heel and left, making his way to his office before slamming the door and locking it. He went to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer where his predecessor kept his booze stash. He opened the lid and took a swig, letting the whiskey burn its way down his esophagus to his stomach.
This whole thing had to do with Cal getting into Harvard? It seemed so stupid. It couldn’t be about the scholarship. Matteo’s family had been inheriting money for so long, the last person who’d worked in their family had probably died a century before Roger was born and he was Methuselah old. But Rosalind hadn’t said paying for tests. She said paying for grades. Were the teachers on the take here as well? What the hell was really going on at this school?
He pulled up Matteo’s records, studying his file. He had lower grades than Cal—though not by much—but he had an independent learning plan filed, giving him extra time on tests as well as one on one consideration for tests. His SAT scores were also lower than Cal’s by almost eighty points. Gideon texted Cal that he’d be home late and to order dinner for himself, then pulled up a blank spreadsheet and started entering the data into the columns.
Once finished with Matteo’s file, he started pulling the records from the other forty-nine kids in the senior class. When Gideon finished with the seniors, he moved onto the junior class, a clear pattern forming in the numbers. By the time he flipped his office light off, it was dark outside, but he had sufficient evidence to cause the board to change its mind. He just needed Shea to recant his bullshit confession, and they could all move on with their lives once and for all.
As soon as Gideon texted Callum that he was on his way home, Cal shot into motion. It was a twenty-five minute drive from the school, especially at this time of night. He went to the box in the closet, flinging it open before he stopped short, blinking at the box of toys. There were so many. Dildos, vibrators, plugs, restraints, paddles, something that looked suspiciously like a sex swing…a w
hip. Cal’s cock stood at attention at the sight of the curled braided leather.
Holy shit.
Would he ever be brave enough to let Gideon use that on him? He shook the thought away, looking for his baby boy collar. But then his eyes caught on something else. With his fingers trembling, he pulled a collar free, but not the one he’d been looking for. This one was a thick leather collar with a long chain attached to a steel loop.
Cal removed the chained collar and a few other items, tossing them on the bed, before stripping and putting on the collar. He dropped to his knees in front of the bed, placing his hands behind his back, then lowered his head and waited. He hoped this is what Gideon wanted, what he liked. He needed him to like it. Gideon was all he had.
As soon as he heard Gideon’s key in the lock, his heart rate shot up and his hands started to shake like his blood sugar was low. Except, he’d checked just moments before, and his sugars were in an acceptable range. It was just nerves…or excitement. Would he always be this excited to see Gideon? Would he be mad Cal dipped into the toy chest without permission? Fuck. Maybe he’d already made a mistake.
Gideon’s footsteps paused just inside the doorway, his keys stuttering across the entrance table. Cal could feel the heavy weight of Gideon’s stare, could see him kick his shoes off at the door and hear him hang up his jacket. If Gideon didn’t do something soon, Cal might actually have a heart attack and die.
Gideon disappeared into the bathroom and then went to the kitchen, opening the fridge and removing something. What was he doing? Had Cal gotten it all wrong? Was Gideon simply carb loading before he punished him for his disobedience, or was he drinking water to properly scold him? Finally, Gideon crossed the floor to where Cal knelt. He crouched before him, making a vague noise as he wrapped Cal’s chain around his fist.
“What’s this, little bird? You’ve been playing in the toy box, I see.”
