Crossing Lines Chapter 38

**Noah**

The second the blindfold slipped over my eyes, the world changed. The soft light in the room vanished. The warmth of Aiden’s stare disappeared. The ceiling, the bed, even my own body blurred into something distant and unfamiliar. All I had left were sounds. Skin. Breath. Restraints.

I was completely exposed. Naked. Arms bound above me. Legs spread wide and secured. Nothing between me and him but the air he let me breathe. And I was terrified.

I knew I shouldn’t be. I *wanted* this—or at least, I thought I did. Some delusional, reckless part of me had craved this kind of surrender since the moment I understood what it meant. But the truth? I wasn’t ready. Not really. Because I had never been good with restraints. Not when they were real. Not when they reminded me of *him*.

I sucked in a breath, heart pounding. My skin prickled like ice. The dark, the silence, the helplessness—it should’ve sent me spiraling. It had before. Dusk to dawn. That’s how long my father left me once. No food. No water. Just a locked closet and the sound of the world moving on without me. I was six.

Back then, I’d screamed. Kicked. Clawed at the door until my fingernails broke. But no one came. Just like no one came the time he shoved me down the basement stairs. Or when he caught me crying and hissed, *“Stop your fucking whining. You’re not a faggot, are you?”* Just like when he’d punish me for *talking back*, for *not being strong*, for *anything*. He never hit me where people would see. But he always made sure I *felt* it. He didn’t teach me discipline. He taught me fear.

And maybe that was why, now, with Aiden hovering just out of reach—my hands and feet locked down and my vision gone—my instincts screamed at me to *run*. To fight. To get the hell out before the darkness swallowed me whole.

I tensed without meaning to, trying to lift my arms, trying to pull my legs together. Nothing moved. I was trapped. My heart stuttered.

“Breathe, Noah,” Aiden said softly, his fingers gently caressing my hair as his thumb brushed against my forehead.

Just two words. But the moment he said them, something inside me shifted. Because this wasn’t *him*. This wasn’t a locked closet or a basement or a cold slap in the dark. This was Aiden—my Master. And even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel him—his voice, his hands, the steady warmth of his presence wrapping around me like armor.

My heart slowed. The fear didn’t vanish—it transformed. It turned into something heavier. Wilder. More electric. Excitement. Need. Peace.

It made no sense…. But all I felt was that irrational calm that came with *trusting* someone to hold me down instead of break me.

I didn’t trust my father. I never had. But I trusted Aiden. God help me, I did. And I couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the way he looked at me—like I was something precious and dangerous at once. Maybe it was how he never touched me without meaning it. Maybe it was how he punished me only when I *knew* I’d earned it. Or maybe it was just that he saw the part of me I’d spent years trying to bury—and didn’t flinch.

I drew in another breath and let my head fall back. I was his now. Whatever came next… I wanted it.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low. Steady. Just above my ear.

I nodded before I even thought about it. “I trust you,” I whispered.

Something shifted in the air between us. Like those three words unlocked something deeper—darker—and I felt it in the tension in his body, in the sound of the leather as he picked something up.

“I told you this was a reward,” he said. “And it still is.”

I felt the soft drag of leather against my stomach—smooth, familiar, unmistakable.

The strap.

My breath caught.

He didn’t strike. Not yet. He just let it slide across my skin, barely grazing me at first. Down my chest. Over my ribs. Along the inside of my thigh.

I writhed.

It was maddening.

The sensation—cool and soft—made my skin come alive. I couldn’t see where it would go next, couldn’t anticipate his next move, and somehow that made it worse. Or better. I didn’t know anymore.

He dragged it across the underside of my arms, along the curve of my hip, then up again, pausing just below my navel. I arched slightly, breath hitching.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, amusement curling in his tone.

“I…” I swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He ran the strap down between my thighs and then up again, letting it trail over my cock without pressure—just enough to make me gasp.

Then the texture changed.

I felt something firmer. More intense. A sharper touch against my skin—his crop this time.

He alternated between the two—smooth leather and teasing pressure, sharp taps and slow strokes—playing my body like he knew every inch by heart. I couldn’t stay still. My muscles twitched. My breath came in ragged bursts. I was shaking, not from pain, not even from fear—but from *need*. 

Then he stopped. Just long enough for me to go still.

“You remember the number?”

The calm in his voice shattered me. My stomach twisted.

“One,” I whispered.

He hummed softly in approval. “That’s five strikes.”

I didn’t even have time to brace.

The first one landed square across my chest.

I gasped—a sharp, involuntary sound—and arched in the restraints, but I couldn’t move. My wrists pulled against the belt, my legs locked in place, fully open, fully vulnerable. I was *his*.

The sting bloomed seconds later. A wave of fire. But before I could even think of crying out, his mouth was on me.

Soothing.

Worshiping.

He licked the red welt across my chest, kissed the skin around it, bit softly near my collarbone like an apology and a promise in one. My whole body buzzed. I didn’t know what to feel anymore—just knew I couldn’t take it, and also that I *never* wanted it to stop.

Then another hit.

This one lower, across my ribs.

“Agh—” I whimpered, biting my lip. The sting was sharp; it burned, but this time, there was more… something dark and electric curling low in my stomach, something dangerously close to pleasure flooding through every nerve ending and ending right at my cock.

I felt his tongue again, hot and wet and maddening as he kissed the spot better, only to let the anticipation climb again.

I never knew when the next would land—I couldn’t see; I couldn’t *move*. All I could do was feel. And that was the part that broke me—somewhere between the pain, the heat, and the blindfolded silence, I realized something terrifying….