Crossing Lines Chapter 35

**Aiden**

He dropped to his knees like a soldier awaiting execution—shoulders tense, breaths shallow, anger still simmering just beneath the surface. But he obeyed. He presented.

That alone spoke volumes.

I took a moment to steady myself, to release all the emotion I was holding back. The relief, the fear of losing him, as well as the anger and jealousy still consuming me. I didn’t want to punish him angry—God knew I’d promised that much. But this wasn’t about jealousy anymore. This was about disobedience. About disrespect. He needed to learn that his words had weight—even the ones thrown in a tantrum.

Even the ones *I* provoked.

I picked up the leather crop and stepped behind him. “Ten,” I said firmly. “For disrespectful language. Count them.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The first strike landed with a sharp crack. His breath caught but he managed, “One.”

“Why am I punishing you, Noah?”

He gritted through clenched teeth. “For cursing at you, Sir.”

Another blow. “Two.”

“And?”

There was a pause, then a low murmur, “Because… you’re angry at me.”

I stopped mid-motion. Ran my palm gently over the reddening skin. “This has nothing to do with anger. Not anymore. This is because you disrespected me. With words you *know* are forbidden in this dynamic.”

Another strike. “Three.”

“But…” He choked a little. “You *were* angry. You still are.”

I didn't deny it. Instead, I asked quietly, “Did you do anything to make me angry?”

“No.”

I froze. That word echoed like a gunshot in my chest.

“No?” I stepped closer, the crop lowered now, but my tone sharper. “Noah, we made a contract. One of the most sacred conditions in it was honesty. Don’t break that now. Did you disobey the rules?”

“No, Sir.”

I narrowed my eyes, my jaw ticking as I delivered another blow. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Four. I’m not—”

“Then explain what the hell you were doing with that girl.” My voice cut like glass now. “I saw you at the beach, Noah. In the dark. Lying with her like—” I shook my head, bile in my throat. “I saw you touch her, flirt with her, ignore my messages like none of this meant anything to you?”

His silence was deafening.

“Did you sleep with her?” I pressed. “Yes or no.”

“No!”

That answer came too fast. Too sharp. It sounded real, but I didn’t believe it. I shook my head in disappointment, striking him hard with the crop.

“Five.” He gasped, his voice breaking.

“I heard you and Keon, Noah! I heard you admit it—”

“I *lied*, okay?” His voice cracked. “To *Keon*. I lied to *him*, not you. You called and I didn’t answer because I was already asleep. I wanted to be here early. I wanted to be ready for *you*. I didn’t drink. I walked her to her dorm. That’s it. That’s all that happened. I never touched her. Never kissed her. I didn’t fucking break our contract.”

I blinked.

The crop slipped from my fingers.

He was trembling now—not just from the blows, but from the truth finally erupting from his chest.

“I didn’t lie to *you*,” he whispered, tears rolling down his face. “I swear I didn’t. I just lied to everyone else.”

Shame. A rush of it, acidic and instant, poured through me. I stared down at his shaking form, at the marks I’d left believing I was correcting disobedience—when in truth, I had been acting on an assumption.

A mistake.

I swallowed hard. My throat burned. I moved forward, knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dismissed,” I said quietly. “You’re released from punishment.”

His head jerked up. Eyes rimmed red, confused. “What? But I cursed….”

“I said we’re done,” I clarified, the words heavy on my tongue. “Get dressed. I’ll take you home.”

Because *I* wasn’t fit to train him tonight.

Not when I’d let my jealousy blind me.

And not when I knew—without a doubt—that I’d hurt the one person who trusted me enough to kneel.

*****

**Noah**

And just like that, it was over.

No more orders. No more tension. No more punishment hanging over my head like a storm waiting to break. I should’ve felt relieved. Victorious, even. I’d stood my ground. Told the truth. Forced him to see me—not just as his submissive, but as a person with boundaries, pride, emotions.

But I didn’t feel like I’d won anything.

I sat there for a moment, still naked, chest still heaving from where I’d sobbed through my words. My body ached, skin stung, and my throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. But it wasn’t the lashes or the humiliation that stayed with me. It was the look on his face when he realized he’d been wrong.

Not just wrong. Guilty.

He’d punished me for the right reason—but in the wrong state of mind. And the second he realized that, he stopped.

He could’ve kept going. Justified it with my language, my disrespect, my bratty outbursts. God knows I’d deserved most of it. I *had* cursed. I *had* pushed. I’d even weaponized my tone to piss him off and force a reaction.

But he didn’t punish me for any of that—not after he knew the truth.

He stopped.

Because he *couldn’t* go on knowing he’d crossed a line.

And that… that said more about him than any lecture or scolding ever could. It was discipline, sure. But it was also integrity. Control.

That moment burned into me. The way he looked down, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he hated himself for what he’d almost done. Like he wanted to take the weight off my shoulders but didn’t know how.

The truth was… I hadn’t handled today well either.

I’d lied to Keon in front of him. I hadn’t thought how that lie might land in the wrong ears. I hadn’t thought how *he* might feel if he thought I’d slept with someone else.

And if I were honest with myself—truly honest?

If I ever found out he’d touched someone else, I’d lose it. No rules or contracts would matter. I’d go feral.

But I hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t considered what my actions might look like from the outside. I’d just been angry. Petty…. And then I’d blown up at him. 

Cursed at him.

Disrespected the one man who’d never failed to see me—to *fight* for me—even when I didn’t know how to fight for myself.

He stood there now by the door, his broad shoulders tense as he waited for me to move. To dress. To leave.

Maybe just for the night.

Maybe for good.

Either way, I couldn’t do it.

Not like this.

I pushed myself up, grabbed my clothes off the chair, but didn’t put them on. I stepped toward him, every movement slow, deliberate. My heart pounded as I searched for words that felt too big for my mouth. But this time, I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t posture.

“No, Sir,” I said quietly.

He turned, startled.

“I’m not leaving.”

A pause.

His brows pulled together slightly, that unreadable expression he wore when calculating whether to challenge me or hold me.

“I’m staying,” I said again, firmer now. “If that’s still allowed.”

Something flickered in his eyes—something dangerous and devastating and warm all at once.

He didn’t speak.

But he didn’t tell me to leave either.