Crossing Lines Chapter 23

**Noah**

Despite my commitment—my promise to follow this through, to explore how deep the rabbit hole went for him—my body hadn’t gotten the damn memo.

The second he said it—*“Undress for me”*—some internal alarm flared bright red like a freaking firetruck.

*What?*

Just that. One word, shrill and panicked, flashing behind my eyes like a glitch in the matrix.

He repeated it, calmly. Deadly calm.

"Take your clothes off. Everything. Slowly. I want to have a taste of you."

And wouldn’t you know it—there came my pride, barging in like an idiot with a chip on its shoulder.

"I’m not some piece of meat… *Sir*."

He didn't blink.

"You are, if that’s what I need you to be." His voice was steel wrapped in silk. "But this isn’t about tasting your body, Noah—it’s about tasting your obedience. From now on, you will do as I say to the best of your ability. Take it or leave it. There’s no in between. Do you need to rethink your previous choice?"

I didn’t.

I’d already made it.

When I signed that contract.

When I walked through that hotel door.

When I followed him here instead of running the other way.

I was nervous as hell—but I still lifted the hem of my shirt. Clumsy. Hesitant. Like my hands didn’t quite belong to me, but I didn’t stop.

The music helped. Slow jazz, easy rhythm, like it was guiding me—giving me something to anchor to while my world tilted sideways.

*Ok, here we go.*

I reached down to unlace my sneakers and—*fuck*.

Why the hell hadn’t I worn loafers?

Bending down in some kind of graceful motion was apparently harder than it looked. I tried to stay smooth, swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music, but the second I went for my laces, my balance went on strike. I had to grab the dresser to keep from tipping over like a drunk flamingo.

Nice. So sexy...

I peeked up—Aiden’s expression hadn’t changed. He was just watching. Not judging. Not helping. Just waiting.

Testing.

*Alright then.*

I kicked one shoe off a little more deliberately this time, trying to turn it into a move—like maybe it had been part of the show all along. (It had *not*.)

The second shoe was easier. I managed not to trip over it, which felt like a win.

I peeled off my clothes one piece at a time. My shirt. Then socks. Then jeans. My fingers snagged on the zipper. My knee knocked the side table. Real smooth, but I kept going, because what was the point of all this—of the contract, the rules, the punishment, the ache—if I was gonna half-ass it? If I was gonna play it safe?

Coach didn’t believe in safe.

He believed in *all or nothing.*

And for reasons I didn’t fully understand yet, I wanted it all.

I was stripped to my boxers now. The part where everything felt more than just exposed—it felt vulnerable. Raw. The kind of vulnerable that made my spine twitch and my chest tighten, but not because I wanted to stop.

Because I wanted to *belong*. I wanted him to look at me and see more than a brat who pushed back…. I wanted him to see that I could obey, even if I had to drag myself through every damn discomfort zone to get there.

Like I was doing right now.

I stood there in my boxers, heart pounding like I’d just run drills in the Texas heat. My skin burned, not from embarrassment—okay, maybe a little—but mostly from the weight of his eyes on me.

He was still seated, legs spread, one arm draped over the recliner’s armrest like a king watching some gladiator audition for his life.

I swallowed hard. I guess this was the part where I made it sexy.

*Cool. Sure. Easy.*

I let my fingers run slowly up my thighs—more for effect than any actual seduction skill—and hooked them around the waistband of my boxers.... This was it. One deep breath.

*You can do this. You signed the damn contract. You want this. All of it.*

Even the part where your dignity packs its bags and leaves the building.

I slid them down slow. Not too slow—I didn’t want to make it weird. Just enough to show I was trying. Committing. Following the beat. Every second, I felt like an idiot on a stage without a spotlight. Naked. Literally. Figuratively. Emotionally.

I stepped out of them and stood there—bare, flushed, a little shaky, and somehow… proud?

Because I hadn’t chickened out.

Because I’d followed through.

Because when I looked up, Aiden’s eyes had darkened—not just with lust, but with approval.

And that hit me harder than anything else tonight—I’d stripped for him.

But more than that?

I’d obeyed.

“That wasn’t so bad for your first time,” he rated my performance. “I would’ve liked to see your back—the curve of your spine leading to that sexy ass of yours. I’m sure next time you’ll do much better, baby boy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The sound of those words never stopped turning me on… or filling me with comfort and peace. I wanted to hear them from his lips until the end of time.

“Sit down, Noah,” he commanded.

I walked toward the couch across from him, but he raised his hand to stop me.

“Submissives are not authorized to use my furniture unless I say otherwise.”

*Are you for real right now?*

I almost argued. Almost took offense. But one look at his expression told me everything—he was dead serious. And no amount of sass would change that.

After all, he was my Master. I was his submissive. And in this world, I existed only to serve and obey him.

I hesitated, unsure where to go, but he didn’t give further instructions. So I made the only choice that felt like the peace he spoke about—I lowered myself to the floor, settling at his feet, eyes lifting to take in his gorgeous, godlike features as I waited.

When no orders came, I nuzzled against his legs—mind spiraling. Should I touch him? Kiss his shoes? Offer something?

I shifted uncomfortably, desperate for direction. For a signal.

“Is there something the matter, Noah?” he asked, finally, catching my tension.

“Sir… you told me to sit, but it feels like a test. Like you’re expecting me to do something—or offer something—and I don’t know what. And it’s making me nervous.” I paused, then added, “Am I supposed to ask you what to do? Or figure out ways to please you myself?”

Aiden looked down at me with something between compassion and pride.

“My beautiful Noah…” He brushed his fingers along my jaw.

“Why would you need to ask or guess what to do… when I can simply take what I want? You are my submissive. Your freedom is in knowing that no one in the world will ever be able to please me the way *you* do.”

“And how do I know that, Sir?” I asked, heart twisting at the idea that someone else might.

“Because you are mine. And whatever I might want or need—I will take it from you. That way, you never have to worry if you’re enough or adequate. You’re not in control. I am.

And because of that, you will always please me. Always serve me just right.”

And just like that, something shifted inside me.

*Everything* shifted.

I didn’t have to strive. Didn’t have to compete or prove myself or wonder if I was doing enough. Not here... All I had to do was sit at my Dominant’s feet, trust him… and surrender.

And that thought alone made me feel fulfilled. Cared for. Needed.

And very aroused.

Before I realized it, my head had drifted to his lap, where it stayed—in perfect peace—as Aiden gently ran his fingers through my hair. At that moment, he could’ve put a knife to my throat and I wouldn’t have moved to save my life.

I was safe, and exactly where I needed to be.