Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Noah

The days seemed to merge into one another, forming a steady, unchanging rhythm I found myself unwilling to disrupt.

Each evening unfolded in the same familiar way, and strangely, that predictability became something I craved. I’d hop on the bike Aiden had given me and ride through the quiet streets of town. Once I reached his place, I’d park the bike in the usual spot just outside his garage and slip inside with the key he’d entrusted to me.

By this point, I knew the routine by heart. The moment I stepped inside, I’d shed my clothes, folding them with care before kneeling at the edge of the living room rug. My gaze would drop to the floor, hands resting gently on my thighs, waiting patiently. I stayed like that until I heard his footsteps approaching down the hallway. Then, I’d lace my fingers behind my back and stick my tongue out playfully—like a loyal dog eager for a reward.

Sometimes, he’d run a hand through my hair. Other times, I’d just catch a low, approving “Good boy.” Either way, that simple gesture sent a rush of satisfaction straight to my chest.

After that, I’d wait for him to settle in his chair while I chose the music for the night. Oddly enough, this part required more effort than I expected. “Just study this book,” he’d told me. “One chapter a day.” Seemed simple enough, right? But honestly, I’d never put this much thought into picking a playlist before.

Once the music was set, I’d prepare his drink—always to his exacting standards. Then came dinner. Sometimes, I’d just set the table while he cooked, but more often, we’d cook together. I was slowly learning his favorite dishes, like the pan-seared salmon with garlic-lemon butter he adored. Getting it just right was a challenge, but I could tell when I nailed it by the subtle smile he gave before taking his first bite.

After dinner, I’d take care of whatever he needed—doing the laundry, sweeping the kitchen floor, or reorganizing his bookshelves by genre and height. Occasionally, I’d read to him. He had a fondness for history books, the kind I never would have picked up on my own, but found surprisingly engaging once I gave them a chance.

But the part I looked forward to most came on weekends.

Usually, Aiden would lie back next, spreading himself out with his hands behind his head, waiting for me to wash him. As strange and humiliating as it might sound—one grown man bathing another—I found myself eagerly anticipating the privilege every single day.

I’d kneel beside him, reverent, my heart pounding and my cock twitching against the side of the tub as I admired his body. I’d caress him almost in a trance, moving slowly and deliberately. The sponge would glide over his broad shoulders, down his arms, across the defined ridges of his chest and stomach. I’d massage slow circles along his back, trace the curve of his hips, and follow the length of his thighs. Every inch of him was flawless—hard muscle and smooth skin—the kind of body you didn’t just look at, but wanted to worship.

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4:40 pm P P ·

Crossing Lines