Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 202

Chapter 202

“Then let me be that,” he whispered.

My chest ached. It was madness. Weakness. But I was too tired to fight it anymore.

“A scene,” I said finally. “Just one.”

Micah smiled, small and trembling. “Yes, Sir.”

And as he rose to his feet, I let myself fall back into the only thing I still knew how to do-pretend control while I came undone.

The crowd parted as Master Hale led us to the stage. A low hum rolled through the room-anticipation, reverence, hunger. The spotlights shifted to crimson and gold, glancing off the chrome restraints at center stage.

Micah followed me in silence, head bowed, bare chest gleaming under the lights. The leather straps at his wrists caught fire in the reflection. He was flawless-every movement fluid, trained, reverent. For a moment I almost believed the mask of power I’d put back on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hale announced smoothly, “a gift to all who remember what control truly looks like-Mr A.”

Applause thundered, distant, unreal.

I turned to Micah. “Positions.”

He obeyed instantly, stepping to the post, spreading his legs just wide enough, fingers curling around the rings fixed to the beam. The sound of the cuffs snapping shut echoed like a heartbeat. His shoulders rolled back, offering himself up to me.

I drew the flogger from the table-long leather tails, soft as silk, deadly as memory.

The first strike landed like breath, barely sound, just the whisper of contact. The second drew a sigh from him. By the fifth, the rhythm found me. Each swing built a tempo-controlled, precise, merciless.

The crowd melted away.

All I could see was skin, light, and the trembling of someone who trusted me enough to break. The whip fell again and again, the sound mixing with the pulse in my ears.

Noah.

I blinked, and for half a heartbeat it wasn’t Micah’s back but his-blonde curls, golden skin, the curve of muscles I knew by touch. The illusion jolted through me, a knife of longing I couldn’t hide,

Micah’s breath hitched. “Thank you, Sir,” he whispered between strokes, voice rough and breaking.

I braced myself, breathing slow to steady the tremor in my hands. “I’m going to use a heavier tool now,” I warned, my voice low. “Can you take stronger blows, Micah?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Sir. I trust you. Use me however you need.” His words were cracked but resolute.

“Good.” I bent down and pressed a kiss to his brow; his cheek brushed mine as he closed his eyes. “I want you looking at me for each strike. Count them aloud.” I reached for a thicker, heavier flogger from the rack-leather loops heavier in my grip, a different kind of weight.

“Safeword?” I asked before the first fall.

“Stockholm, Sir,” he answered without missing a beat-soft, certain. The place he said he would never go back to; it was also the anchor between us. I

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6:14 pm P PE

Chapter 202

nodded once.

“One,” he breathed. “Two. Three.”

The blows came then, harder, their sound a drumbeat against skin. Each strike set a new rhythm. He counted, steady-each number a tether pulling me from the edge of whatever I was about to lose.

The numbers blurred. His voice dissolved into moans, the crowd into static. The flogger fell faster, harder-each strike an exorcism, each mark a confession I could never speak.

By the time I stopped, his skin shimmered red and gold under the lights, his body trembling in perfect surrender, as tears rolled down his face.

I stepped closer, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades, grounding him. “Breathe,” I murmured, the word meant as much for me as for him.

When he turned his face toward mine, eyes wet, lips parted, the whole room roared in approval.

They saw power.

They saw mastery.

They didn’t see the truth.

Because the only thing I felt was empty.

I unclipped his cuffs and he slid down into my arms, whispering, “Thank you, Sir,” against my throat.

The crowd erupted again. But inside, all I heard was the echo of another voice, the one that used to call me Sir, but loved me as Aiden as well.

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