Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 101

Chapter 101

Noah

The moment the man stepped forward to greet us, a strange flutter stirred in my stomach, twisting it into knots before he even uttered a word. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his silhouette commanding attention like some dark emperor draped in a midnight silk suit. His presence filled the room so completely that even Aiden, who usually exuded sharp confidence, seemed to sharpen even more just standing beside him. “Mr. Hale,” the attendant had said, but the man corrected softly, his voice rough yet smooth, like gravel rolling over velvet. “Master Hale.”

Of course. Why settle for the mundane “Mister” when you could embrace the full-on Bond villain vibe with a title dripping in power?

Hale’s eyes flicked over me briefly but with a sharp intensity before settling on Aiden, curling into a slow, knowing smile that did nothing to calm the storm raging inside me. Then, with deliberate grace, he extended a hand, the ring on his finger catching the light and flashing like a blade. They exchanged a few words I couldn’t catch—my mind was too busy trying to steady my breath, to remember how to exist in this moment.

And then the doors swung open.

Holy. Shit.

The Dominium wasn’t just a club. It was a different realm entirely.

Rich velvet draped from the ceiling in deep blood-red waves, while the walls were lined with mirrors that caught every flicker of candlelight, multiplying it tenfold in a dizzying dance of reflections. The space seemed infinite, like an underground cathedral not built for worship but for spectacle. In one corner, a roulette wheel spun lazily; nearby, poker tables buzzed with sharply dressed men, cigars curling smoke into the air like lazy serpents. And then, the stages—oh God, the stages.

The largest stage rose at the center, bathed in soft amber light. A man stood there—not just any man, but a Master—his hands expertly weaving lengths of black rope into intricate knots. The ropes looped around the wrists, thighs, and chest of a submissive figure suspended halfway in the air. The rope gleamed under the lights like living art, and the sub’s body arched in complete surrender, every sound swallowed by the quiet murmurs of an audience watching in reverent silence.

Smaller stages ringed the edges, each a snapshot of something simultaneously obscene and breathtaking. A measured spanking echoed, the crack of leather bouncing off the velvet walls. Two subs moved like dancers, bending and twisting with a grace that belonged on Broadway—if only it weren’t for the chains glinting around their necks. In another corner, a pair tangled together in something raw and intimate, so charged that I had to turn away before my face betrayed me with heat.

And then, every pair of eyes in the room seemed to lock onto us. Or maybe just him. The atmosphere thickened with stares—curious, appraising, amused. My chest tightened beneath the mask, my pulse pounding like a war drum in my ears.

Noah, breathe. This is fine. Totally fine. You’re not standing half-naked in a cock pouch with a leash around your neck. Nope. Not every nightmare rolled into one. Just keep moving. Pretend this is normal. Pretend you belong here.

Except I didn’t. Not in this world where every gesture dripped with authority, where men like Mr. A and Hale carved out kingdoms with nothing but their presence. I felt small—so small—like a misplaced joke on the wrong movie set.

And then Aiden tugged the leash down.

“Knees,” he murmured.

I froze for a heartbeat before obeying, dropping onto my hands and knees. The marble floor was cold and unyielding beneath me; the first shift of weight already grinding mercilessly into my kneecaps. Crawling didn’t just sting—it gutted me. My pride screamed with every inch as Aiden led me deeper into the Dominium, my body tethered like a shadow at his feet. My palms slid against the polished stone, shoulders burning, humiliation washing over me in relentless waves.

I thought I might never recover from that moment… until we passed others.

Later, Aiden and Hale settled at a private table that radiated importance. I knelt at Aiden’s feet, the leash coiled neatly in his hand, my body both exposed and shielded—a silent shadow listening as they spoke.

Hale’s voice was smooth but commanding. He spoke of the club’s history, its exclusivity, its reputation. How safety came before everything. Every member vetted. Every Dom and sub scrutinized, records checked, health exams mandatory. No exceptions. No risks tolerated. This wasn’t chaos. It was order—strict, absolute, deliberate.

My jaw nearly dropped. I’d thought this was all just play, some freaky game for leather-clad weirdos. But this was a world with its own laws, sharper and stricter than anything outside those doors. A world where my master fit perfectly, his calm dominance gleaming beneath the chandeliers, every eager sub in the room stealing glances at him.

Boys, girls—didn’t matter. Those without Masters orbited him instinctively, eyes bright, bodies leaning subtly his way, as if gravity itself bent toward him, hoping he would choose them next.

Right, you wish, fuckers.

With all their experience, they were just lost. Wandering sheep.

And me? I was the one at his feet.

That’s why—beneath the humiliation, the fear, the desperate urge to run screaming—something else burned inside me. Thrill and, holy shit, pride. Fucked up and probably unhealthy, but pride nonetheless. Because out of all the people in this velvet-drenched circus, I was the one walking beside Aiden. Me. Chosen. His.

Even if I was one sarcastic comment away from being skinned alive for points tonight.