Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 218

Chapter 216

Aiden

The club was bathed in a golden glow, as if I’d stepped into another realm—soft light shimmering against rich velvet, crystals dangling low enough to brush with a fingertip, and the air thick with laughter, smoke, and the scent of expensive perfume. The Dominium never did anything quietly, especially not on New Year’s Eve. Every table sparkled with glassware and polished silver, while each stage boasted its own mesmerizing act—slow, hypnotic, and provocatively elegant.

Micah knelt beside my chair, leash in hand, his posture flawless. Even surrounded by curious eyes, he seemed composed, almost serene.

“I thought you might feel intimidated,” I whispered softly.

“No, Sir,” he replied, voice low and confident. “I’m still the most beautiful disaster in the room.”

I smirked. “And the cockiest, too, I see.”

He grinned up at me, completely unfazed. “You’re with me, Sir. Right now, I’m the envy of everyone here.”

I caught the waiter’s attention. “Two more drinks, please.”

Micah cocked his head slightly. “For courage or celebration, Sir?”

“For silence,” I answered.

His smile widened. “Fiiiiine, Sir.”

Around us, glasses clinked, champagne sparkling like liquid gold. I played my part—smiling, nodding, speaking only when addressed. Calm. Controlled. Commanding.

Micah pressed his cheek gently against my thigh, the leash catching the low light. On instinct, I ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re behaving,” I remarked.

“I’m trying to impress you, Sir,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to try.”

His eyes met mine, catching the red glow from the stage lights. “O-M-G! Is that a compliment, Sir?”

The music swelled, a new act beginning on the main stage—two dancers entwined with ropes, moving slowly to jazz. Someone called my name, pulling me back to the present. I rose smoothly, nodding once.

“I’ll be right back,” I murmured.

“Yes, Sir.” Micah leaned forward, and I pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before turning away. He remained there, leash in hand, waiting like the devoted soldier he aspired to be.

The bathroom was mercifully empty and quiet. I leaned against the cool tile wall and finally let my mask slip.

For the first time that night, I exhaled deeply.

The ache hit immediately—dull, familiar, and relentless.

I didn’t want to look at any more pictures of him with her. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. Yet my hand moved on its own, reaching for my phone, driven by instinct rather than reason. Not the social feed this time—just my private folder filled with happier memories, the one I should have deleted months ago.

I opened it, and there he was.

Noah. Laughing into my camera. Sleeping tangled in my sheets. Kneeling in soft light, eyes closed, trusting me completely.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

He looked so young. So alive.

A breath caught in my throat before I could stop it. One tear slipped free. Then another.

I pressed my fist against the wall, jaw clenched, staring at the reflection in the mirror—a stranger in a perfect suit.

All night, I’d played the role: the unshakable Dom, the man everyone wanted to please. But here, behind a closed door, his face glowing from a tiny screen, I was just what I’d always been—someone desperately trying to appear strong while everything inside unraveled.

Outside, the countdown began. Ten seconds, then nine. Cheers erupted, music rose.

I wiped my face, locked the phone, and adjusted my collar.

Time to perform again.

The act itself was second nature.

I’d done it countless times before—the pattern, the tension, the breath. Micah loved suspension and ropework, loved the drama of it. The crowd always responded.

I’d learned shibari years ago—each knot a language, every pull of the rope a word suspended in the air. My hands moved instinctively, weaving and crossing, tracing lines down his shoulders and over his back. The ropes formed a tapestry of red and gold against his skin, the pressure leaving faint marks that would fade by morning.

Micah’s breathing matched mine—steady, trusting. Each touch from my hand was a silent promise: I wouldn’t let him fall.

When the final pattern locked in place, I stepped back. The stage lights caught the silk cords, making them gleam as the rigging lifted. Slowly, fluidly, Micah’s body rose from the floor until he hung weightless—exposed, beautiful.

The audience murmured, drawn closer. Some reached out, fingertips tracing the intricate pattern I’d created, following the silk lines binding him. A few let their hands wander, testing the warmth of his skin, the curve of muscle beneath the ropes—feeling his smooth chest, pinching his nipples—marveling at the tension beneath the cords as if touching a living sculpture.

I stood still, letting them. This was part of the performance: admiration, temptation, restraint.

One woman caught my eye—a stunning blonde in a designer gown studded with tiny diamonds. She hesitated, eyes flicking toward me in silent question. When I gave a brief nod, she extended a perfectly manicured hand and wrapped her fingers lightly around Micah’s soft cock, giving it a gentle tug. Micah moaned, growing erect as she began to stroke him, agonizingly slow.

Jealousy burned in my throat, but I stayed motionless. Detachment was demanded by the act.

Micah’s eyes never left mine.

He didn’t need to speak; I could read everything he wanted to say in the tremor of his breath, in the way his body tensed and relaxed with each stroke. Need. Trust. The small ache of devotion between us that could never become anything else.

I watched that young, beautiful man—the face of an angel and the fire of a little devil—moaning and gasping at every touch, savoring every moment of the sensual assault.

The club was a symphony of pleasure, with men and women eagerly tormenting Micah, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of his suspended form. They stroked him mercilessly, drawing gasps and whimpers that only fueled their own arousal and his.

It wasn’t until I saw Micah’s expression—his bound hand’s fingers stretching, beckoning me—that I realized he was silently pleading for me to come closer. To touch him, to claim him openly by taking his body right then and there. To send everyone off the stage and fuck him raw for the crowd’s amusement, marking him as my submissive and granting him the peace he so desperately craved.

But I couldn’t do any of that. There was no peace left in me to give.

I smiled at him with a pride I knew he’d understand, letting him know I was pleased—giving him everything I could, perhaps more than I ever would again.

Chapter 217

Noah

The drive back to the mansion was a blur of noise and exhaustion. Everyone was loud, giddy, and worn out. By the time we stepped inside, half the guests were barefoot, laughing their good-nights in the hallway.

Lexie leaned against me, cheeks flushed from wine. “That was perfect, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Oh God, Noah!” she muffled a scream, though I was pretty sure half the floor heard. Luckily for her, I wanted them to know, too.

That might keep William off my back for a while, I thought.

I kept my thumb moving as she rode my hand through orgasm, moaning and writhing beneath my touch.

Grateful for how quick and easy it had been, I kissed her belly with a smile, ready to call it a night.

“That was so good,” she purred. “But I really want to have you in my mouth now, babe. It’s your turn to feel good.”

I was about to protest when she added, “Then I promise we can wait… Plus, I know you need your energy for your football finals. I don’t want your coach hating me.”

She had no idea.

The mention of Aiden—demanding, taking all my energy for himself—had my dick perking up, but not for the reason she thought.

I began lowering my briefs, pulling out my growing erection.

“Damn,” she said, eyes wide. “I’m a lucky girl. Baby, you’re so hard…”

“See what you did to me?” I said, stroking myself to keep hard. Technically, I wasn’t lying. Her talk of Aiden had made me hard and wishing it was me sucking his cock right now. “You sure you want to do this?”

She said nothing, just smiled mischievously, gathered her hair into a ponytail, and sank to her knees. Her tongue swirled around my cock like savoring the last lick of an ice cream cone, eyes flickering through her lashes.

The sight of her shattered the fantasy, and I felt my erection start to fade. Before it completely softened, I gripped her ponytail tightly and guided my cock into her mouth. Her lips stretched wide, and she gagged, eyes watering as she struggled to take me in.

“Relax your throat,” I commanded, echoing the exact words Aiden had once used on me. I knew it was wrong, but I closed my eyes, letting the memory of him consume me. “That’s it. Just open up and let me in.”

The sound of my own voice, mimicking his, sent a jolt through my body. My cock twitched in her mouth. I was transported back to his office—remembering the feel of his thick cock hitting the back of my throat, the way he praised me, the time he knelt before me, mouth hot and eager. The flood of memories and sensations was overwhelming. With a few more harsh thrusts, I came undone, spilling into her mouth.

I panted, riding the waves of my orgasm as she swallowed and sucked me clean. When I finally pulled away, she wore a big smile, her adoration clear—reminding me how much of an asshole I was.

I held her close then, as every wrong feeling a lover should have crashed over me all at once—anger, guilt, self-loathing, grief. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to make it mean something, but all I felt was how far away I was from where I should have been and how low I had fallen.

She giggled softly, brushing her fingers over my chest.

“That was wonderful,” she whispered. “I should go before anyone catches me.”

I managed a small smile and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “It really was wonderful. Sorry if I was a bit rough…”

“I’m guessing you’re the intense, dominant type, huh? I like it!”

Ha! Me, the dominant type…

I smiled at the irony, and she grinned back. “Happy New Year.”

“Goodnight, Lex.”

She kissed my cheek, still glowing, then wrapped herself in her robe and slipped out into the hall, humming softly.

When the door clicked shut, the silence hit me hard.

I leaned back against it, then slid down to the floor, covering my face with my hands. The tears came fast—hot and bitter.

Everything I’d tried to fix kept breaking in new ways, and I didn’t know how to stop any of it.