Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 103

Chapter 103

Noah

I had never truly understood. Sure, I knew Mr. A was a force to be reckoned with—powerful, respected, even feared by many—but I had no idea he was actually sought after in places like this. The fact that Masters like Hale had been watching him, studying his scenes and videos, ignited a fire inside me. Aiden had filmed himself with others before, had shared scenes with different submissives. How had I missed all those videos? And what did that cryptic comment about Master “joining them” even mean? He hadn’t mentioned a word to me. Not that he needed my permission, but if he was going to dominate others and become a big name in a place like this, didn’t I deserve to know? I was jealous—there, I said it. That damn contract forbade sex with anyone else, no sharing allowed, which meant no other woman could ever lay eyes on my Master, no submissive but me could breathe the same air as him, and he wasn’t allowed to boss anyone around except me.

So when Master Hale invited him to perform with other submissives, my mind instantly spiraled into panic. Two ugly, loud thoughts took over.

First: being alone with Hale? Absolutely not. The way that man looked at me—as if I were already on the menu—sent chills down my spine. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, and none of those thoughts were ones I wanted near me.

Second: if Aiden touched someone else up there, if he reminded himself what a “real” submissive was supposed to be—trained, polished, perfect—then what? Would he realize how much better that felt? How much easier, safer even? Like Micah. I remembered the name—the one he cherished.

Not on my watch. No way.

I knew how irrational it was, how possessive and scared I felt. A voice inside screamed that I’d already gone too far, that letting him drag me into this would break me in ways I might never heal from. But none of that mattered. Logic, fear—they were drowned out the moment I pictured him touching anyone else. It made me physically sick.

And so, here I was. Leashed, trembling, staring out at a room full of strangers eager to see me crumble. Yes, I wanted to run. My knees shook uncontrollably, my chest was so tight I struggled to breathe. But the only thing holding me together was him. Just him. Aiden’s hand resting on me, steady and grounding, was all I had left.

He guided me onto the stage. My legs felt foreign beneath me, but somehow I obeyed. The bench awaited—big, solid, wrapped in black leather and heavy straps. It looked like something out of a nightmare, or maybe a twisted fantasy. Probably both.

He pressed me down over it. The cold leather pressed against my chest, and the first strap snapped tight around my wrist, making my stomach plummet. Then another strap. My ankles were buckled down, spread wide. Heat rushed to my face. Everyone was watching. Everyone could see everything.

My throat tightened painfully. My eyes stung with tears. By the time the last buckle clicked into place, I could no longer hold back. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut and surrendered—not to them, but to him. To my Master.

Terrified out of my mind. Humiliated beyond words. Shaking all over. But still his. Always his.

The entire room fell silent, as if everyone had leaned in simultaneously. My chest tightened so much it hurt. Aiden leaned close, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing my ear.

“How many points have you earned today?” His voice was calm, steady, as if he wasn’t about to put me on display for the entire world.

My throat was dry, the word barely escaping. “Seven.”

He nodded, as if he’d expected it. “Seven points. That means thirty-five hard strikes. Crop or cane. Or…” He paused, and my stomach dropped. “…you can take whatever number I decide, with the whip. It won’t break you, but it will sting. Deeply.”

My voice trembled, but he nodded, satisfied. Then he stepped back, and I wanted to scream for him to stay.

The first crack split the air like a gunshot. The lash bit into my back, and I jerked so violently the straps rattled. The burning sensation shot from my spine to my throat, and a sound tore out of me before I could swallow it down. Gasps rippled through the room, but I barely registered them.

Another strike. Then another. Each one snapped sharply, searing my skin, coursing through me like wildfire I couldn’t escape. I whimpered, begged softly under my breath, the leather trailing over my thighs, my ass, my shoulders, again and again.

The rhythm was merciless in its consistency—every time I thought I could brace myself, it came again, and again, and again. The crowd wasn’t laughing or mocking me. They were watching, silent and hungry, hanging on every sound I made as if it were part of the performance.

Minutes? Hours? I had no idea. My face was soaked, my throat raw, my entire body electric. Somewhere in the midst of it, the pain began to shift. It blurred at the edges, the sting melting into something distant. My cries softened into broken whimpers, then into sobs that barely felt like my own.

And then… nothing. No panic. No shame. The straps held me firmly, Aiden’s presence kept me grounded, and everything else just slipped away.

I was gone.

The last thing I felt before darkness swallowed me was his hand on me—steady, grounding, safe. Then everything went black.