Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 191

Chapter 191

Aiden

“What are you doing here? Have you lost your mind?” His voice cut sharply from behind me, low and tense, just as the restroom door slammed shut.

I didn’t turn around. My hands remained pressed flat against the sink, knuckles paling as though gripping the porcelain could somehow steady my racing heart. “Shouldn’t you be out there, shaking hands, flashing that victory grin?” The words came out harsher than I intended. I closed my eyes tightly and forced a breath through clenched teeth. “I’m not trying to insult you. I mean it—you’re supposed to be up there for hours, doing photos and interviews.”

“I already handled most of it,” he replied, his footsteps scraping softly against the tile floor. His reflection appeared in the mirror, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I told the staff I needed a break. They thought I was about to be sick and sent me back here. It’s quieter.” His eyes flickered with a hint of defensiveness. “I didn’t know you were hiding here.”

A bitter laugh threatened to escape me. Part of me wished he had followed me in.

“I’m terrible with crowds,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Welcome to the club,” I said dryly, letting out a short, humorless chuckle.

The silence between us thickened, heavy and suffocating, as if the air itself had been sucked out. My fingers curled tightly around the folded paper tucked in my pocket. I hadn’t even needed to use the restroom—I just couldn’t bear another moment of seeing Lexie draped on his arm like a prize, hearing his laughter directed at her instead of me.

“I hate this,” he finally broke the silence, voice low and raw. “I don’t even care about the trophy.”

“You should,” I said, my voice rough as I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m genuinely happy for you, Noah. You earned it. You earned everything you have now, I’m sure of that.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Aid—”

“Coach,” I interrupted sharply, lowering my voice. “We’re not alone. Someone could walk in any second.”

“If my reputation wasn’t at stake, I wouldn’t give a damn who saw us,” he admitted quietly.

“You don’t even realize what that would cost you,” I hissed. He was too young to understand the weight of what he was risking, and I was too old to let him ruin himself for me. “I don’t want to hear you say—”

“Shut up,” he cut me off, his voice suddenly rough and commanding.

My eyes snapped to his. That defiant look—chin raised, jaw clenched—always spelled trouble. Always made my blood run hot. My boy.

He stepped forward. I instinctively stepped back. “Don’t,” I warned, but my body betrayed me—my arousal pressing thickly against the front of my slacks, impossible to hide.

That glint in his eyes—part challenge, part hunger—made my breath catch. In two quick strides, he was in front of me, hands cradling my face, mouth crashing against mine. I folded instantly. God help me, I folded so fast.

The moment his tongue slid against mine, weeks of distance shattered like fragile glass. All my restraint, every bit of guilt, vanished. I backed us into the stall, locking it with a sharp click just as he started fumbling at my belt. By the time he freed me, I was already gasping through clenched teeth at the feel of his hands.

A flicker of conscience flashed—a reminder that this was my player, my student, the Heisman winner—but then his mouth closed over me, and everything else burned away. “Christ… your mouth…” My head thudded back against the partition. Nothing should feel this good.

He gasped, unable to reply, and that sound made me drive harder. “Get your hand on yourself,” I barked, slapping his ass until my palm burned. “Stroke that beautiful cock and tell me who owns you.”

“You… you’re the one who owns me, Coach,” he stammered, voice trembling.

“Damn right I do,” I snarled.

His body clenched around me, heat and slick gripping me as I thrust. “Come on. Milk me. Take it all.”

“Fuuuck!” he shouted, far too loud, but I couldn’t stop. His release spattered across the wall, the stall, the edge of the toilet as he convulsed. His body clamped down on mine, pulling me over the edge.

I held his hips tightly, burying myself as deep as I could, spilling into him with a guttural groan. My forehead pressed against his shoulder blades as we trembled together, locked in that reckless, frantic closeness.

When I finally pulled back, a slick trickle slid down his inner thigh. I swiped my fingers through it, pushing the wetness back inside with a quiet, appreciative noise. “Clean up, but leave it messy,” I murmured. “I want my cum dripping out of your hole while you smile for the cameras and play their perfect model boy.”

He shuddered, turning his head to look back at me, eyes dark and wild. For a fleeting moment, I almost said something real—something honest—but the sound of footsteps outside the stall snapped me back to reality.

We straightened our clothes in silence, the heat still crackling between us, the danger humming like a live wire beneath our skin.

And just like that, he was gone again.