Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 222

Chapter 220

“Happy New Year, Micah.”

His smile appeared—small, reckless, yet somehow piercing straight through me. Without hesitation, he closed the distance and wrapped me in an embrace.

I should have pulled away. But I didn’t.

For a fleeting moment, it was nothing but warmth, breath mingling, and the steady beat of our hearts. Then he lifted his head and pressed a soft, brief kiss to my lips—too sincere to ignore.

I stood frozen. I neither pulled him closer nor pushed him away.

When he stepped back, a wave of guilt rose, thick and sudden, catching in my throat. “Goodnight,” I managed, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Goodnight, Sir.”

He vanished into the guest room, the door clicking shut behind him.

I remained rooted in place, staring down the empty hallway, wondering when self-control had morphed into a kind of punishment.

Barely halfway through peeling off my clothes and sinking into a pit of self-pity, a gentle knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Micah standing there—naked, hair tousled, eyes wide and uncertain.

“What are you doing, Micah?” I asked, my tone more weary than angry.

He glanced past me into the room, then back at my face. “I’ve never seen this door locked before, Sir.”

I frowned. “And?”

“You never kept me away before.”

Before I could answer, he stepped forward and kissed me again.

“Micah—”

He cut me off, pressing another kiss to my lips, this one more desperate.

“Stop,” I whispered, gripping his wrist gently. “You should go back to your room.”

His head shook, breath uneven. “Then tell me you don’t want this.”

I opened my mouth, but the words refused to come.

Taking my silence as consent, Micah wasted no time. He moved closer, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. His lips crashed against mine—hungry, demanding—as if trying to consume every thought and memory I held. The heat of his body pressed into me; his hands roamed over my chest, trembling with a mixture of longing and desperation.

I searched for words to stop this, but my rebellious body betrayed me. When he dropped to his knees, hands pulling down my briefs with fierce determination, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the familiar sensation—the warmth of his lips wrapping around me, the wet heat of his mouth. Instinctively, my hips thrust forward, pushing deeper into his throat as I watched him choke on me. Pleasure surged, threatening to overwhelm.

Oh, yes, baby boy…

The echo of those words in my mind jolted me back to reality—the memory of Noah hitting me like a punch to the gut—a sharp reminder of the pain and betrayal Micah’s touch couldn’t erase. I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away with surprising force.

“Stop,” I gasped, my voice raw with emotion. “We can’t do this. Not now. Not ever.”

He leaned in again, eyes bright and pleading. “Don’t reject me, Sir. You want me. Let me give you peace…” I held him there, one hand resting at the nape of his neck, trying to steady us both.

“That’s enough, Micah,” I said finally, my voice rough.

For a moment, he didn’t move, just stared at me with that blend of defiance and hurt that always cut straight through me. Then he nodded, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Sir.”

He stood and turned toward the hallway, pausing at the door. “You don’t have to lock it next time. I won’t try again unless you ask me, Sir. And you know you will.” His voice was soft as he walked away.

I stayed there a long while, staring at the space he’d just left behind, my heart still pounding. Then I closed the door and leaned against it, the ache in my chest heavier than before.

—

Chapter 221

Aiden

Christmas had come and gone, leaving behind a wreckage I wasn’t sure I’d recover from. What was meant to be a restful break had instead become a silence that gnawed relentlessly at the edges of my sanity.

By the time the new term began, I thought I’d rebuilt my walls high enough. I was wrong.

Seeing Noah every day—on the field, in the gym, at practice—was pure torment. I hated how close he was, yet I hated the distance between us even more. He was everywhere I looked, a living reminder of every bad choice I’d ever made.

I missed him in ways I couldn’t even name. His ridiculous excuses to drop by my office. His half-naked ambushes in the locker room. The way he’d smirk when I lost patience and he knew it.

Now, whenever he glanced my way, I had to look away. I couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t looking back. I couldn’t survive it if he was.

Preparation for the next game came fast—drills, meetings, more drills. The Wolves barely caught their breath before we hit the road again, heading north to face the Denver Falcons.

The team bus was as loud as ever—laughter, music, boasting about girls and grades. I sat near the front, pretending to study stats while fighting the urge to watch the reflection of one player in the window.

Noah sat halfway down the aisle, earbuds in, hood up, pretending not to notice me. His act was about as convincing as mine.

Every bump in the road, every half-heard laugh from his seat pulled at me. The memory of our last away game—the bathroom door, the way his body trembled against mine—flared like heat behind my eyes.

I gripped the folder in my lap tighter. If only things were different. If only he weren’t engaged.

It surprised me Lexie hadn’t found a way onto the bus. I wouldn’t have put it past her.

He got up once to use the bathroom, brushing past me in the narrow aisle. The touch was nothing—a ghost of contact—but it hit me like a spark on dry grass.

My pulse surged. My hands clenched. He didn’t even look at me, and maybe that was worse.

I told myself not to speak, not to look, not to breathe in the same rhythm he did.

But each passing second made it harder to resist.

If I lost control, I’d lose everything I had left.

The Wolves finished the game like a storm. Against every ounce of my better judgment, Noah was back on the field by the next quarter, helmet on, adrenaline drowning out common sense. He played like a man possessed. Every run was sharper, every throw cleaner, every tackle louder. The crowd loved it.

I hated it.

He should have been benched after that hit, but try telling that to a kid who equates pain with loyalty. He made the winning drive anyway—cutting through two defenders, scoring, sealing the game. The noise afterward was deafening.

In the locker room, the air was thick with sweat and the sharp scent of champagne spray. The boys shouted, music blared, towels flew. Everyone was high on victory.

Lexie appeared at the doorway, all bright smiles and perfect hair, calling his name like she owned the place. He laughed weakly, still in his pads, bruised and shining with effort.

Before she could reach him, I stepped in. “Hart, I need a word with my player.”

Her smile faltered. “Oh. Of course, Coach.”

Noah blinked at me, caught between confusion and disbelief. “You—uh—want to talk to me now?”

“Yes,” I said evenly. “Now.”

Lexie squeezed his arm and backed away, throwing me a glare that could have killed a lesser man. As we stepped aside, the noise faded to a dull roar. It was just us, the echo of victory still humming around the lockers.

He looked at me, eyes still bright from the field. “You gonna congratulate me or yell at me?”

“Neither,” I said. “I’m going to make sure you’re not concussed.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” I muttered, stepping closer. “That hit nearly took your head off. You should have sat out the rest of the game.”

He lifted his chin, defiant, meeting my gaze. “You know I don’t quit.”

Was that a subtle challenge?

“And you know you’re supposed to follow orders.”

Silence stretched between us. His breath still came quick from adrenaline; mine wasn’t much steadier.

“I don’t care who you’re trying to impress,” I said finally, voice low. “Outside this team, you can screw up your life however you want. But on my field—you listen. You hear me?”

His eyes flicked to mine, and all the things we hadn’t said in weeks slammed into the space between us. The same pull, the same charge, still alive beneath all the anger.

“Yes, Sir,” he said softly.

That word again—packed with obedience and challenge all at once.

I stepped back before I did something reckless. “Get checked out by the med team before you leave.”

He nodded, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told me he’d heard everything I hadn’t said.

As I walked away, my pulse still pounding, one thing was clear—whatever line I thought I’d rebuilt was already gone again.