Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61

091

Aiden

The way Noah looked at me in that moment… it was as if he needed me to be present for every second of the storm that was about to break. Not despite the pain he was feeling, but because of it. His gaze pulled something out of me—something raw and rarely revealed—a fierce urge to hold him close, to kiss away the weight pressing down on him, to take on his burden as if it were my own.

But I knew that the shadows tormenting him wouldn’t vanish with gentle words or soft caresses. Left unchecked, those demons would gnaw at him relentlessly until they dragged us both into the darkness.

So I had to confront them first.

Even if it meant hurting him.

Even if it hurt me even more.

“Over here,” I said quietly, guiding him toward the spanking bench.

He paused for just a heartbeat, tension visible in the stiff set of his shoulders under the dim light. I placed a steady hand on his back, firm but reassuring. “This is for your own good. It helps you avoid straining or tensing in ways that could make things worse.”

His eyes locked onto mine, searching for doubt or resistance, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he allowed me to position him—kneeling on the padded platform, chest lowered, arms reaching forward to grip the front bars. I fastened the straps around his wrists first, snug without cutting off circulation, then secured his ankles. The leather creaked softly as I tested the restraints.

“Comfortable enough?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir,” he answered, voice steady but quiet.

“Good. Now, remember—this isn’t a test of endurance. I don’t want you pretending to be tougher than you are or ignoring your safeword. If I ever realize you needed to use it and didn’t—because I will notice—this session ends immediately. And so does our contract. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I smoothed my hand down his back, feeling the tension there. “You can stop this at any time. All you have to do is say the word. You’re safe here. I’ll always be watching over you.”

Tonight, those words felt heavier, more meaningful than usual. I meant every one of them. This wasn’t just discipline—it was something deeper, something I hadn’t done in a long time. A form of therapy spoken in the language of leather and trust.

I crossed to the wall and picked up the flogger. The familiar weight settled in my hand, the leather falls soft but purposeful between my fingers. It had been years since I’d used it like this.

Turning back, I caught Noah’s gaze—nervous, but steady.

“That’s right, Noah. Keep your eyes on me. I want to see your face, read your expressions, understand what you need every moment.”

I started gently. A slow, deliberate swing sent the leather slicing through the air before it landed with a whisper of sting across his shoulders.

He flinched—just a little—at the first strike, a sharp breath catching in his throat before he steadied himself.

Another strike followed, then another, the rhythm settling like a pulse as he gasped between impacts. At first, he seemed awkward, torn—like he was still questioning why he had asked for this. But as the warmth from the flogger bloomed across his skin, his focus shifted. He began to anticipate the next blow rather than resist it.

“Don’t hold your breath, Noah,” I murmured.

He tried to obey but slipped into a rough pattern—holding his breath until the strike landed, then exhaling sharply before drawing it back in. When I increased the pace, his breath hitched on every inhale and escaped in small sobs on the exhale.

I slowed again, letting the flogger drift lightly over him so he could feel the contrast—the sting and the caress mingling on his skin. My fingertips traced down his spine.

“Breathe with me,” I whispered, setting a steady rhythm. “Don’t fight it.”

Gradually, the tension in his shoulders began to ease. His breathing synced with mine.

“Be free of it, Noah. If you want to give me something tonight, give me this. Share the burden.”

His shoulders trembled. A sharp breath escaped him, then a choked sound as tears spilled down his cheeks.

I stayed close, voice low and steady. “Let me take it.”

The sound broke into a sob, and finally the words came—ragged, uneven.

“I don’t… I don’t deserve this.” His voice cracked. “I can’t protect them… I’ll let you down too…”

“You won’t,” I said firmly but gently. “Not with me.”

I lifted the flogger again, pausing to let him breathe before continuing in slow, deliberate strokes. He no longer resisted. His head bowed forward, shoulders slackened, body yielding to the rhythm.

Then, quiet but devastating, he whispered, “You’ll see me the way I see myself, because I hate who I am—I hate me, Sir… I hate myself…”

Those words hit harder than any strike I could deliver.

I set the flogger down and unbuckled the restraints without a word. The moment he was free, I pulled him up into my arms. He didn’t resist—just sagged against me, his head resting on my chest, breath ragged and tears flowing freely.

“You’re not who you think you are, and you’re not what anyone else might have said you are, Noah. Look at me… You’re incredible, you’re beautiful—you’re one of a kind,” I murmured against his hair. “And I’m not going anywhere, baby boy.”

We stayed locked like that, my arms wrapped around him, until his breathing evened out.

Whatever it took to keep him from breaking like this again, I would do it—even if I had to hold his shattered pieces together myself.