Crossing Lines Chapter 27

**Noah**

I woke up naked, tangled in warmth, pain, and the steady rhythm of another man’s breathing.

My brain tried to start its usual morning sprint—panicking, bracing, fighting—but everything felt... muffled. Muted. As if my body had reached a decision my mind hadn’t signed off on.

I didn’t move.

I just lay there, still tucked in his arms, my back to his chest, his hand resting—possessively—on my waist.

Sometime during the night, he’d changed. Now he wore only a tank top and black athletic shorts, and somehow, that made it worse. More intimate. More *normal*.

I turned slowly in his arms, just enough to see him. His eyes were closed, but even in sleep, he looked...

*Unreal*.

He had one of those faces that felt sculpted, not born—like the gods took their time with him, running fingers over stone until it softened into sin. A square jaw that could’ve been chiseled out of granite, with the faintest shadow of stubble that made you want to run your fingers across it just to feel the scrape.

Full, perfectly shaped lips—somewhere between cruel and kissable—often pressed into a line of restraint that hinted at just how much he was holding back. His cheekbones were sharp, proud, unapologetically masculine—like they’d been built to carry the weight of every stare.

His dark hair was tousled now but still perfectly framed his face. Controlled but touchable. Dangerous.

It wasn’t fair, really.

To look that good and still be the one in charge. To tempt my confused senses with feelings and emotions a straight guy shouldn’t have.

To make me doubt if I was even straight at all.

I exhaled shakily and tried to pull away—but winced the second I moved.

*Fuck*.

The bruises from last night flared across my ass and thighs. Not a gentle soreness. A real, deep ache that sent a pulse of arousal directly to my gut.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

*What the hell is wrong with me?*

I’d been punished. Whipped. Ordered to kneel. Denied orgasm. And yet…

My cock was hard again. *Already*.

I thought about practice. The locker room. The shower. How the hell was I going to explain this to anyone? I couldn’t. I’d have to hide the marks. Shower late or early or alone. Pull my shorts up higher. Pretend I hadn’t spent the night stripped bare and broken at my coach’s feet.

But my thoughts shattered the moment I felt it.

His erection. Pressed against my stomach. Thick. Hot—I stopped breathing.

I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that it was there… or the fact that I wanted it to be.

My hand twitched, desperate to move. To touch myself. Or him. Or anything… but I stayed frozen, shaking slightly with restraint and aching in all the wrong places.

He stirred behind me, and I tried to calm my breathing. It didn’t work.

Aiden shifted, groaning softly. His voice, when it came, was still rough with sleep.

“If it were the weekend,” he murmured, “I’d show you how to take care of that.”

My face went hot.

He pulled away just enough to sit up and swing his legs off the bed. He didn’t look at me when he stood. “But we have practice in an hour.”

He padded toward the bathroom, casual as ever. And I was left in bed, panting like I’d just run drills.

At the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. “Go make coffee. One scoop per cup. Toast. Two eggs, over medium.”

Then he disappeared into the shower, and I sat there, still rock hard, still aching, still humiliated—wondering what the hell was happening to me and why I didn’t want it to stop.

The kitchen was spotless—because of course it was. Every cabinet, knife, and countertop placed with military precision. I hesitated at the coffee machine before finding the scoop. One scoop per cup. Two cups.

Toast went in next. I cracked the eggs into the pan as carefully as if my life depended on the yolks not breaking. Maybe it did.

By the time Aiden emerged from the shower, clean and composed in a black T-shirt and joggers, I’d plated everything and set it on the table.

He didn’t say a word. Just walked up beside me, looked at the coffee, the eggs, the toast, and nodded once. “Sit. You’re allowed to eat with me this morning.”

I tried not to show the wave of relief that hit me. I took my seat across from him.

We didn’t talk. Just ate.

Well—he ate. I mostly tried not to stare at him over my mug while my thoughts swirled like a hurricane. My body was a confused mess of pain and craving. My chest was tight from the silence. My pulse never slowed.

But still, I obeyed.

I ate what he gave me. I didn’t complain. I didn’t question, and somehow… that felt good.

When we finished, he stood, bringing both plates to the sink. “Get dressed. Athletic wear. Bring your cleats—we’ll start at the gym.”

“Yes, Sir.” The words came out of my mouth before I thought about them. Automatic. Natural.

And when I glanced up, I caught a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes…. Just before he turned away.

****

The weight room was already buzzing by the time we got there—steel clanking, guys grunting, music pulsing low through the speakers.

Aiden walked in like a shadow with purpose. Calm. Focused. Lethal.

Me? I felt like a grenade with the pin half-out.

We were barely two steps through the door when he barked, “Mercer. Warm up. Five sets of clean and press. Then deadlifts.”

He didn’t say it cruelly. He didn’t yell.

But every head turned anyway.

My name wasn’t the only thing they’d heard. It was the tone—that clipped command that carried no room for question. Like I was a soldier. A subordinate. A problem.

I nodded once and moved to the rack, ignoring the way half the room was staring and the other half was already whispering.

My body still ached from last night. My thighs burned from the position he’d held me in. My ass was raw. I couldn’t even look him in the eye without remembering the crop.

And now he wanted five full sets?

On *bruised legs*?

I loaded the bar.

“Want me to spot you?” a voice said beside me.

I turned. It was Keon.

He offered a subtle smile. Calm. Warm. Like he saw something I didn’t even know I was showing.

“I’m good,” I said quickly.

He didn’t push. Just stayed nearby.

I made it through two sets before Aiden passed by and muttered, “Back straight. You’re lifting like you’re afraid of the weight.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve said, but he didn’t say it to anyone else.

By the fourth set, I was drenched in sweat, and my legs were screaming.

“You gonna let him talk to you like that?” Miguel said behind me, voice low and teasing. “Looks like Coach’s got you on special treatment.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, lucky me.”

But I saw Aiden’s eyes flicker toward us. Just for a second.

Then he snapped, “Mercer. Again. From the top.”

I froze.

Miguel blinked. “The hell for? He’s already—”

“Miguel.” Keon’s voice, quiet but firm. “Leave it.”

Miguel raised his hands in surrender but shook his head as he walked off. “Damn. No mercy from the Mercer.”

Everyone laughed and I wanted to disappear, or explode.... Either would’ve felt better than standing there, surrounded by the weight of everyone’s attention and the growing fire in my chest.

I wanted to say something. Snap back. Fight… Anything to look like I wasn’t just taking it, but I didn’t, because I knew if I opened my mouth… I’d fail.

Not just the drill.

The contract.

*Him*.

So I lifted the damn bar again and let them all watch.