Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Noah

The instant the blindfold was drawn over my eyes, everything around me shifted. The gentle glow that had filled the room vanished completely. The warmth in Aiden’s gaze, once so tangible, faded into nothingness. The ceiling above, the bed beneath me, even the contours of my own body blurred into distant shadows, strange and unfamiliar. Left behind were only sounds—the rustling of fabric, the soft brush of skin, the steady rhythm of breath—and the cold, unyielding presence of restraints.

I was utterly vulnerable. Exposed. Naked beneath the dimness. My arms were bound tightly above my head, my legs spread wide and secured firmly. Nothing separated me from him but the thin air he allowed me to breathe. And with all that, a deep, gnawing fear settled inside me.

I knew I shouldn’t feel this way. I thought I wanted this—at least, I told myself I did. A reckless, desperate part of me had longed for this kind of surrender ever since I first grasped what it meant. Yet the truth was harsher—I wasn’t ready. Not truly. Because I’d never been able to handle restraints well. Not when they were real. Not when they echoed the past I’d tried so hard to forget.

I took a shaky breath, my heart hammering in my chest. My skin prickled, cold as ice against the heat of my panic. The darkness, the silence, the helplessness—they should have sent me spiraling into chaos. They had before. From dusk until dawn. That’s how long my father had left me once. No food. No water. Just a locked closet and the muffled sounds of the world moving on without me. I was only six years old.

Back then, I’d screamed until my voice was hoarse. Kicked and clawed at the door until my nails bled. But no one had come. Just like the time he shoved me down the basement stairs, or when he caught me crying and hissed, “Stop your fucking whining. You’re not a faggot, are you?” Just like every time he punished me for speaking out, for being weak, for simply existing. He never struck me where others could see, but he made sure I felt every blow. He didn’t teach me discipline. He taught me fear.

Maybe that’s why, now, with Aiden close but just beyond my reach—my hands and feet restrained, my vision stolen—my instincts screamed at me to run. To fight. To escape before the darkness consumed me completely.

I tensed without realizing it, straining to lift my arms, to pull my legs together. Nothing budged. I was trapped. My heart faltered.

“Breathe, Noah,” Aiden’s voice came softly, his fingers tenderly brushing through my hair, his thumb tracing a gentle line across my forehead.

Just two simple words. But the moment he spoke them, something inside me shifted. This wasn’t the cold cruelty of my father. This wasn’t a locked closet or a basement or a slap in the dark. This was Aiden—my Master. Though I couldn’t see him, I could feel him—his voice, his touch, the steady warmth of his presence wrapping around me like a shield.

My heart slowed its frantic pace. The fear didn’t disappear—it morphed. It became something heavier, wilder, electric. Excitement. Desire. Calm.

It made no sense. But all I could feel was that strange, irrational peace that comes from trusting someone to hold you down rather than break you apart.

I never trusted my father. Not once. But I trusted Aiden. God help me, I did. And I had no explanation why. Maybe it was the way he looked at me—as if I were something precious and dangerous all at once. Maybe it was how he never touched me without intention. Maybe it was how he only punished me when I had truly earned it. Or maybe it was simply that he saw the part of me I’d spent years burying—and never flinched.

I drew in a steadying breath and let my head fall back against the pillow. I was his now. Whatever came next… I wanted it.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, steady, just above my ear.

Before I could even think, I nodded. “I trust you,” I whispered.

Something shifted in the air between us. Those three words unlocked something deeper, darker, and I felt it in the tension in his body, in the soft sound of leather as he reached for something.

“I told you this was a reward,” he murmured. “And it still is.”

I felt the familiar drag of leather against my bare skin—smooth, deliberate, unmistakable.

The strap.

My breath caught sharply.

He didn’t strike me—at least, not yet. Instead, he let the leather slide lightly across my chest, barely grazing my skin at first. Down over my ribs, along the inside of my thigh.

I squirmed beneath his touch.

It was maddening.

I barely had time to brace myself.

The first hit landed squarely across my chest.

I gasped sharply, an involuntary sound, arching against the restraints, but I couldn’t move. My wrists pulled against the belt, my legs locked wide open, utterly vulnerable. I was his.

The sting blossomed seconds later—a wave of fire. But before I could even think about crying out, his mouth was on me.

Soothing.

Worshiping.

He licked the red welt across my chest, kissed the skin around it, bit softly near my collarbone—like an apology and a promise all at once. My whole body hummed with sensation. I didn’t know what to feel anymore—only that I couldn’t bear to have it stop.

Then another strike came.

This one lower, across my ribs.

“Agh—” I whimpered, biting my lip. The sting was sharp; it burned, but beneath it was something else—something dark and electric curling low in my belly, a dangerous surge of pleasure flooding every nerve ending and settling right at my cock.

I felt his tongue again—hot, wet, maddening—as he kissed the spot better, letting the anticipation build anew.

I never knew when the next strike would come—I couldn’t see, I couldn’t move. All I could do was feel. And that was the part that broke me—somewhere between pain, heat, and the blindfolded silence, I realized something terrifying…