Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 121

Chapter 121

Noah

The day we had been anticipating for so long was finally here.

༠:་

I felt a bit deflated when Aiden sent me home at midday. Tonight was the big donor dinner, and he was buzzing with a mix of nerves and excitement. Me? Not so much. I couldn’t have cared less about mingling with wealthy people in expensive suits. Trying to impress them? No thanks. That just wasn’t my scene.

Says the same guy who spent last night nearly naked at a BDSM poker table.

…Yeah, let’s just not go there.

The more I replayed that night in my mind, the more tangled and confused I became. None of it felt normal. None of it felt like me. I wasn’t the type to crave attention or public displays of affection, let alone the things I had done. Public sex? Crawling around on a leash? Taking hits from a riding crop like some kind of show pony? And damn, I’d done it all. Worse yet, I’d enjoyed it.

What the hell was wrong with me? Was I broken? Were normal people supposed to get off on humiliation in front of a crowd? Because the moment I thought about it—kneeling at his feet, his voice cutting through the noise, everyone watching—I got hard again. Rock hard.

Yeah, I had feelings for Aiden. That much was clear by now. But was that all this was? Some insane chemical reaction? And if it was, was it even worth it?

My chest tightened, and I finally pulled in a deep breath. I opened my sad excuse for a closet and stared at the suit hanging there. My brand-new suit. The one he had chosen for me. The one he made me try on. The one he stripped me out of afterward, like I was his personal Ken doll—or some ridiculously expensive escort.

Still, I put it on.

A crisp white dress shirt, spotless and perfectly pressed. A black jacket tailored just right, hugging my shoulders instead of drowning me. A dark blue tie, matching our college colors, knotted neatly beneath my throat. Polished shoes gleaming under the light. Even my hair was slicked back with actual product, not just water and my fingers.

I looked at my reflection.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I kinda look… hot.”

Sharp, but still young. Like a shiny new penny in a pile of gold coins.

The walk to the sports complex felt surreal. Usually, the place reeked of sweat and turf. Tonight, it was like stepping into a different world. Our starting point was the team locker rooms—we were supposed to meet there and head out together. When we filed into the main hall, it wasn’t a hall anymore. It had been transformed into a five-star restaurant setup.

Rows of tables draped in white cloths. Crystal glasses lined up like soldiers. Flickering candles. Fresh flowers. They had polished every inch of the place until it gleamed. Even the field outside looked brighter this weekend, the white lines so sharp they almost hurt your eyes, the turf shining as if brand new.

The donors and boosters were already filtering in—diamonds sparkling on wrists, designer watches catching the light, perfumes heavy and floating through the air. I tugged at my collar, trying not to choke.

Then the girls arrived. Cheerleaders gliding gracefully on heels, dresses hugging every curve. Other students—the popular ones, the ones everyone wanted to be seen with.

And me? Yeah, I noticed. I still appreciated a nice smile or a good pair of eyes. But my body didn’t respond the way it used to. My chest didn’t tighten. My cock didn’t twitch.

I should have been soaking it all in. Instead, I found myself thinking—none of them were him.

God, I could barely remember the last time I’d slept with a girl. Wait, yes, I did. It was during that trip when I tried to make Aiden jealous… Goddamn it, even then… But before that? Not that I was some kind of slut, but I’d always been popular with the girls—and, honestly, they’d been pretty popular with me too. My cock used to scream every time a hot girl walked by. Cheerleaders. Girls in school. Even my sister’s friends—yeah, not my proudest moments, but to be fair, I wasn’t the chaser. They came to me.

That was… until the day I saw Aiden in the showers.

“Damn,” Keon muttered, adjusting his tie. “This feels weird as hell. Like we’re about to strut down a runway instead of the field.”

“Tell me about it,” one of the linemen groaned. “I didn’t sign up for America’s Next Top Model.”

A few of us chuckled, the tension easing slightly. And then—

He walked in.

He strode into the room with Coach Daniels at his side, both dressed in tailored suits. And Jesus Christ. I thought the black leather Master look had been deadly, but this? This was an entirely different kind of lethal. Sharp lines, perfect fit, confidence radiating off him like it was woven into the fabric itself. His jaw was clean-shaven, his hair slicked back, and his eyes burned with that calm fire that always made me want to kneel.

My mouth went dry. My cock twitched inside my pants, the traitor that it was, and I fought not to shift awkwardly in front of the guys.

Miguel, of course, didn’t even try to hide it. He let out a low whistle. “Goddamn. If he isn’t God’s gift to Armani.”

I wanted to kill him… or maybe myself.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And worse—I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

The staff began calling us into line, pairing us off and readying us to enter the main hall. My heart pounded in my ears—not from the donors, the lights, or the pressure—but from one man in a suit who owned every inch of me without anyone else knowing.

Let the show begin!