Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Aiden

The cab reeked faintly of old fries and stale cigarette smoke—the kind of lingering odor that no amount of air fresheners dangling from the rearview mirror could erase. Outside, the campus streetlights flickered past in long, uneven strips of light, casting fleeting shadows over my lap as we made our way through the quiet night. Each passing glow marked another mile between me and the party I’d just left behind.

I’d stepped away to protect us both, or at least that’s what I told myself. But the truth gnawed at me: I couldn’t stop replaying the way Noah had looked at me just before I walked out. That kiss—soft, tentative, and completely unguarded—held no challenge, no fiery passion. It was pure feeling. He had acted from the heart, not desire, and that terrified me. Because I knew I could grow accustomed to that. Too accustomed.

If Noah chose to walk away once our trial period ended, I feared it would shatter me in ways I wasn’t ready to face. And if he stayed? That might be even worse. The boundaries I’d carefully drawn—coach and player, Master and submissive—weren’t meant to bend under the weight of something so complicated. If we let those deeper emotions slip in, the two worlds we inhabited would crash together and obliterate everything we’d painstakingly built.

We could never be seen in public. Not without destroying our reputations. Mine would vanish the moment anyone found out, and he’d lose his scholarship in the fallout. Beyond all that, there was the age gap—fifteen years between us. I was past my prime; his was just beginning, filled with all the glory I’d never have again. Sooner or later, he would move forward, leaving me stuck in place.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Micah hadn’t been older than Noah when it started. He was simply more experienced, more at ease with his submission. But once feelings began to surface, I knew it was doomed. Better to end things before either of us said something we couldn’t take back. I let him go, convincing myself it was the right choice.

But I wasn’t ready to let Noah go—not yet. Not now.

Still, I needed to slow us down. Keep us inside the boundaries I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cross. More control, more distance where it mattered most, less risk. I told myself it was for his safety. But a small, selfish part of me knew it was for mine as well.

By the time the cab pulled up outside my apartment, I’d already made up my mind. Tomorrow, we’d return to structure. Keep things clean; keep everything contained. I could play the long game.

Even though every nerve in my body screamed to throw the rules aside and claim him completely.

I was awake before seven the next morning, despite the late night. Habit, maybe. Or the kind of restless that no amount of sleep could fix.

The drive back to campus was smooth and quick at that hour; the streets were still hushed and empty. My car sat where I’d left it, parked outside the frat house, the hood dotted with tiny beads of condensation from the cool morning air. A couple of guys were slouched on the porch, clutching Gatorades and looking like they’d survived some brutal battle. One of them gave me a nod when he recognized me. I kept my face neutral, unlocked my door, and drove off without slowing down.

On the way home, I stopped at the market—eggs, bread, coffee. Nothing fancy. I took my time wandering the aisles, pretending I wasn’t stalling. But as I pulled into my driveway, I saw that he was already there.

Noah stood just inside the open door, helmet hanging from his bike’s handlebars, completely naked except for the morning light bathing his skin. His head was bowed in perfect submission.

I killed the engine and sat for a moment longer than necessary, drinking in the sight. He looked good like that—obedient, still, as if he’d been waiting just for me.

“Morning, Sir,” he greeted me as I stepped inside, his voice calm but carrying an undertone I couldn’t quite place.

“Morning,” I replied, setting the groceries down on the counter. “You know the drill, Noah.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He moved quickly, efficient despite the faint stiffness of a hangover lingering in his shoulders. The rich scent of coffee filled the air just as the first soft notes of a slow, low guitar melody began playing somewhere nearby. His movements were sharp, polished, almost eager.

Neither of us mentioned the night before.

When he returned, blindfold in hand, I took it from him, letting my fingers brush his temple as I carefully slid it over his eyes.

I tightened the blindfold to block out every sliver of light. “Hands behind your back,” I instructed, stepping close enough to feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath. “Follow my touch. Nothing else.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I guided him forward with a gentle hand at the small of his back. His steps were cautious but sure—the kind of obedience born from trust, not fear. I kept him just close enough to a table edge or doorway to sense the shift in air, but never allowed him to make contact.

When we stopped, I brushed my fingers lightly across his wrist. “Identify the room.”

He inhaled deeply, tilting his head toward the faint hum of the refrigerator. “Kitchen.”

“Good. Step forward three paces. Turn left.”

For the next half hour, we moved like this—my voice and touch his only guides. Each time my hand settled on him, I felt the tension in his muscles ease, his body surrendering a little more. And every time I stepped back, I felt a pull to stay, as if his body craved my hands, my presence, my touch. Just seeing him there—naked, vulnerable, utterly at my mercy—hungry for anything I might give him, was enough to make me hard as stone.

Luckily, he couldn’t see that.

And that’s when the thought struck me. I had never known Noah to be this compliant, this eager to prove himself. It was time to test that trust. Time to make this much more interesting.