Crossing Lines Chapter 39

**Noah**

I wanted more.

I didn’t understand how I could be this scared, this overwhelmed, and this hard all at once. I didn’t understand why surrendering to him made me feel safer than I’d ever felt in my life. Why every strike made me want more—not less.

I didn’t have answers; I only had Aiden…. And he was setting me on fire.

The third strike came without warning—sharper than the last, just under my ribs.

I gasped, back bowing against the mattress, a whimper torn from my throat before I could stop it. The sting bit through me, hot and biting, but before the pain could settle into fear, Aiden’s mouth was back on me. He kissed over the mark like he owned it. Like he wanted me to feel every contrast—burn and balm, discipline and devotion.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

I didn’t know why…. It didn’t hurt that badly. Not really. But something inside me was unraveling—like the act of being touched like this, cared for even in pain, was rewiring parts of me I didn’t know were still broken.

I felt a sob catch in my throat and forced it down.

The fourth landed across my inner thigh.

“Sir—” I cried out before I could stop myself, only to flinch the second I did.

A moment of silence.

Then his voice—low and quiet near my ear.

“Do you need to stop?”

“No,” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “I—I’m okay.”

“You’re more than okay,” he said gently, kissing the edge of my jaw. “You’re doing *beautifully*.”

Something shattered in me.

The last time I cried like this, I’d been alone in that closet, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t make a sound. I’d taught myself that silence was strength. That feeling nothing was survival.

And now…

Now I was trembling under someone else’s control, and still somehow I had never felt more *safe*.

The final strike hit just above my hip.

I choked on a cry, half-pain, half-release, and he caught it with his mouth—swallowing the sound in a kiss that undid me.

I was wrecked.

Utterly, hopelessly wrecked.

And all I could think was how badly I needed more of him. All of him. Inside me. Around me. Owning me.

My voice cracked as I whispered, “Please…”

My whole body was fire and nerves, stretched and bound, completely at his mercy. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t touch him. But I *felt* him. Every inch of his presence pressing down on me, every breath brushing my skin like heat and warning.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, I felt his hands—slow, deliberate—run down my sides, fingers dancing over the places he’d marked with the strap. He kissed each one. Licked over them. Bit at them softly, teasing little shocks of pain and pleasure that made me shudder.

Then his mouth moved lower. His tongue traced down my stomach, his lips brushing my skin with maddening care. I felt the warm press of his chest against my thighs, the way he spread me open even more—like he needed full access. Full *control*.

When I felt his breath on me—hot, focused—I nearly sobbed.

“Aiden—Sir—” My voice cracked. “Please, I can’t…”

He didn’t need more encouragement.

His lips met the base of my cock with a reverence that stole my breath. He kissed there, slow and possessive, before dragging his tongue up the underside—*slow*. So slow it hurt. My hips twitched but went nowhere, strapped down and trembling. I moaned, blind and desperate, every sensation sharpened by the dark.

And then his mouth was on me.

Warm. Wet. Devastating.

I gasped—so hard it caught in my throat and stuttered out as a moan. My fingers clenched around the belt holding my wrists, legs trembling against the restraints.

“Oh my God—Sir…”

He sucked me in, deeper, firmer, until his jaw strained with effort, his throat flexing around my cock. My whole body locked up. I didn’t know where I ended and he began. I didn’t know how he was doing this to me—why it felt like I was being *claimed* with every movement of his tongue.

I wanted to touch him so badly it hurt.

To drag my hands into his hair, to hold on, to *anchor myself*—but I couldn’t. And I’d never been more turned on in my life.

He pulled back only to breathe, then took me again—deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to memorize every sound I made. My moans turned into pleas, my breath catching as he licked along the head, suckled me with such careful cruelty I thought I might lose my mind.

“Sir, *please*—I need—God, I need—”

He groaned, the vibration of it sending shockwaves through my spine.

And then—when I thought I couldn’t take anymore—he reached up, one hand sliding across my hip to hold me in place while the other cupped my balls, fingers warm and skilled and steady. The touch was everything. Too much. Not enough. Perfect.

He sucked harder, faster, his rhythm syncing with the way my hips tried to move. I wanted to fuck his mouth, wild and hard. 

*Fucking my Master’s mouth*… Just the thought of it was surreal enough to almost make me come…. But I was pinned. I couldn’t thrust; I couldn’t chase it. He *owned* every inch of me, every cry, every twitch.

I was unraveling and I didn’t even care if I broke.

“Sir—I'm gonna—fuck—” I couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t form anything coherent beyond the tremble in my voice.

But he didn’t stop.

He moaned low in his throat and took me even deeper—his tongue working in maddening circles, his grip firm, his breath hot. The pleasure slammed into me all at once, full-body, no warning, no mercy.

I shattered.

I came hard—helplessly, blindly—my body writhing in its bindings, the orgasm tearing through me in waves. He swallowed everything, sucking me through it, milking me slow until my cries faded into quiet gasps.

When it was over, I collapsed back into the mattress, boneless and buzzing, barely able to breathe. I felt him kiss my forehead, then reach up to gently loosen the belt from my wrists and then the straps from my feet. The blindfold came next. Light returned in a slow blur, and when my eyes finally met his—clear as water, intense, focused—I saw something I hadn’t seen before.

Fire.

Controlled, smoldering, but wild underneath.

He cupped my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my mouth, and whispered, “What happened tonight was a gift.”

I nodded, barely able to speak.

“A privilege,” he added. “Not something you take for granted.”

I blinked up at him, unsure if he was scolding or warning or something else entirely. But his voice only deepened—gentle, low, but filled with something *dangerous*.

“From this moment forward,” he murmured, “you belong to me. Fully.”

My heart stuttered.

“You will ask permission before canceling a prearranged encounter. I don’t care if it’s the weekend or not. You’ll tell me if something changes. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to see anyone touching you,” he said, his hand sliding down to my waist, gripping it just a little tighter. “Not a boy. Not a girl. *No one*. You’re mine. And no one touches you but me.”

I swallowed hard, heat rising in my face.

“We’ll set the new rules tomorrow,” he added, leaning in to kiss me—slow, claiming. “But tonight… you sleep right here.”