Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 76

Chapter 76

Aiden

Jealousy gnawed at me, sharp and relentless.

And, yes, I’ll admit it—I was a little drunk.

The urge to tear that perfect, preppy little head right off her shoulders wasn’t exactly something I was proud of. But the moment he shot me that look… damn. It was like a challenge I couldn’t ignore.

There he was, dancing with Miss Polished Cheer Captain like she was the crown jewel of the night. Yet his eyes—those fierce, hungry eyes—were locked on me. So I made sure my message was impossible to miss.

Slowly, deliberately, I let my gaze drop to his mouth. I brushed my thumb across my own lower lip, a silent reminder of exactly whose lips he’d be tasting tonight. A quiet warning: he belonged to me.

And then, I saw it.

That barely noticeable twitch of desire. The subtle shift in his stance. The girl grinding against him might as well have been invisible. That reaction wasn’t for her—it was meant for me. I could feel it even from across the room, smell it through the heavy mix of beer and sweat. My Noah. My boy.

But then, he disappeared upstairs with her, and my heart just stopped.

No.

He wouldn’t be that reckless. Not after everything we’d built. He wouldn’t throw it all away just to prove a point. Just to rub it in my face that he could.

My chest tightened, heart pounding so hard I thought it might shatter my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to storm upstairs, drag him out in front of everyone, and take him home where he belonged. My mind was spinning, spiraling dangerously out of control.

If he crossed that line… if he went too far… I’d have no choice but to let him go.

And it wouldn’t be just his loss.

I’d be broken beyond repair.

Cursing under my breath, hating every second of this stupid game, I yanked my phone from my pocket and typed the only words my frantic mind could muster.

You can’t fuck her.

I began pacing, the walls of the frat house suddenly closing in on me. I needed space—somewhere I could breathe. Somewhere Noah could come to me without an audience, if I could convince his stubborn ass to show up. The basement popped into my head. Every frat had one: part storage, part “private party” zone, usually with a couple of old couches and a locked keg or two. Not exactly romantic, but private enough for what I had in mind.

Still, none of that mattered if he didn’t answer.

I checked my phone again, heart sinking. Nothing.

Then—the three little dots.

Said the man who’s been fucking my mouth all week and flirting all night…

My jaw clenched. Are you jealous? I shot back.

I’m not fucking jealous, I’m pissed! You’ve kept me from coming all week. My damn balls hurt! I’ve done every damn thing you wanted, and what do you do? You cancel our Friday to hang out with a bunch of posers, ignoring me all night—

Something inside me shifted. The anger, the jealousy—they were still there, sharp and burning—but now they mingled with something far more dangerous. Possession. Need.

I closed the distance, pressing him back against the cold cinderblock wall.

“You’re here,” I said, voice low and steady, “because you’re mine.”

His eyes flared, but he didn’t back down. “And you’re mine,” he shot back, his voice almost a growl.

The tension broke. We collided, mouths crashing together with fierce hunger, hands clawing at each other like desperate predators. His back hit the wall with a thud, my fingers tangled in his hair, his nails digging into my arms. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was raw, savage, consuming—both of us taking, neither willing to let go first.

We tore into each other like we’d been starved for weeks, not hours. His hands roamed—my shoulders, my chest—clawing at my shirt until the fabric stretched taut and I yanked it over my head. My own hands hooked under the hem of his tee, pulling it up and off, revealing warm skin flushed from the party and from me.

I crushed my mouth to his again, tasting the bitter sharpness of beer mixed with something sweeter—his defiance, still lingering on his tongue. My palms slid down over the defined lines of his abs to the waistband of his jeans. I didn’t bother with subtlety. I popped the button and shoved my hand inside, gripping him tightly, feeling the shudder ripple through his body.

He groaned into my mouth, hips jerking against my touch as his fingers fumbled with my belt, every movement rough with urgency. I didn’t care.

I wanted him just as badly—wild, reckless, as if we’d burn the whole damn place down just to feel this again.

His jeans hit the floor. Mine followed.

The little voice of reason—a faint whisper now—warned me this was a terrible idea. I’d had too much to drink to fully grasp the risk we were taking, the situation we were throwing ourselves into. But I forgot where we were, forgot everything except the need burning between us. I pushed him back onto the couch, kissing him hard enough to bruise, swallowing every sound he made. His hands slid lower, squeezing, pulling me closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between us.

We were undone. Reckless. Too consumed to even notice the sound of footsteps on the stairs—until it was already too late.