Crossing Lines Chapter 29

**Noah**

The locker room buzzed with a tension no one dared name. When I stepped into the showers, a few guys clapped my shoulder or nodded in that awkward way dudes do when they’re not sure if they’re impressed or concerned. None of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

Miguel strolled over, towel slung around his neck and the type of holy-shit grin tugging at his mouth. “Damn, Blake. I don’t know what shocks me more—your Terminator endurance, or Keon growing a spine right in front of us. Drama 101 came early this semester.”

I let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “It’s fine. I’m the charity case, remember? Coach needs me to perform like a beast or else it’s his ass.”

Miguel raised a brow. “Well, beast mode achieved. Still… he was working you like you owed him rent. You good?”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Good, 'cause we’re heading into town later. Pizza, soda, public humiliation about today—standard team bonding. Come with.”

I shook my head. “Can’t. Maybe next time.”

Miguel rolled his eyes like he didn’t believe me for a second. “One of these days, Blake, I’ll crack that broody lone-wolf act. Until then, I’ll save you a slice. Don’t make me eat your pepperoni.”

I gave him a sideways glance, trying not to laugh. “That sounded way more threatening than you meant.”

“Or exactly as threatening as I meant,” he said with a wink, and sauntered off.

The ride back to Coach’s house was silent. I stared out the window, watching trees blur by, sweat dried and itching beneath my shirt—but that wasn’t what had me squirming in my seat. I kept seeing it.

Aiden and Keon. Alone.

The door closing.

The look on Keon’s face when he walked out.

What the hell had happened between them? My stomach twisted. I wasn’t supposed to care. But I did.

When we pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t hold it in. “What did you do with Keon?” I asked, trying—and failing—not to sound like a jealous freak.

Aiden’s eyes flicked to mine. “That’s none of your business.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. I swallowed it down and nodded, keeping my mouth shut as we walked inside.

The second the door shut behind us, he turned to me. “From now on,” he said, voice cool and unreadable, “the moment you enter this house, you strip.”

I blinked. “What?”

“If your marks prevent you from showering at the gym, you clean up here. Immediately. No wandering. No lingering. Clothes off. Straight to the shower.”

My pulse skipped. “Yes, Sir.”

His eyes swept over me, slow and deliberate, then he stepped aside. “Go.”

I didn’t hesitate. But as I headed toward the bathroom, my mind wouldn’t let go. Not of the bruises. Not of the pain. Not of Keon’s name echoing in my skull like a siren I wasn’t allowed to answer.

The water was too hot, but I didn’t turn it down. I stood beneath the spray, palms braced against the tiles, head bowed, trying to cool the fire inside me. My muscles throbbed from practice, my shoulders screamed, and the sting across my ass was a silent echo of earlier punishments. I was grateful for the pain. It grounded me. Reminded me I’d survived.

But it wasn’t the ache that kept me here, trembling. It was everything else. Keon had stood up for me. Miguel had invited me out. And Coach—Aiden—had made me feel more seen, more wanted, than anyone ever had, while treating me like shit.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. It was exhausting trying to analyze it all….

The sound of the shower door sliding open startled me. My eyes flew open just as Aiden stepped in, steam curling around his body like it worshipped him. He was already naked, droplets clinging to his chest, tracing down the lines of muscle and smooth skin.

*God.*

I stiffened instantly, heart hammering, heat rising fast and uncontrollable.

"Turn around," he said, voice low but firm. He took the sponge from my trembling hand. "Hands on the wall."

I obeyed without a word, placing both hands against the slick tile, my breath catching as I felt him step closer behind me. His hand ran across my shoulder blades, slow and careful. The sponge followed, warm and soft, lathering along my spine, circling each tense muscle until I groaned.

He didn’t speak. Just kept working. Down my back. Along my sides. Over my hips. I gasped when his leg slid between mine as he kicked them open with his bare foot. I felt so exposed and vulnerable, with him behind me, naked and spreading me open at will… But when the sponge brushed my ass—the sensation both soothing and sinful—I fully relaxed under his touch. He lingered there, fingers replacing sponge for just a second—just long enough to make my knees buckle slightly. Then he ran it down between my legs, bold and unhurried, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

"You did well today," he murmured. His hand slid between my thighs, nudging me open further. The sponge moved slowly, washing me with precision, but it felt like something else entirely.

"This is your reward for your trust," he said, so close I could feel his breath.

He turned me around. I was fully hard. Helpless. His eyes trailed down, admiring my erection. He ran the sponge down my chest, then lower, circling my navel, grazing the aching line of my cock without touching it. My breath hitched. My body leaned into his on instinct.

Then, finally, his lips found mine. Soft. Controlled. The kiss deepened slowly, like he was tasting me for the first time, deciding whether I was everything he wanted. His hand slid to my jaw, guiding me, then to the back of my neck, keeping me close.

I whimpered into his mouth. It wasn’t a sound I’d meant to make, but I didn’t care anymore. His tongue met mine, teasing, demanding, and the moment stretched—long, hot, and utterly consuming. I forgot where we were. Forgot *everything*.

He broke the kiss with a soft nip at my bottom lip. Then whispered, "Rinse. And meet me in the bedroom."

And just like that, he stepped out, leaving me shaking, flushed, and harder than I’d ever been in my life.