Crossing Lines Chapter 41

**Noah**

Days blurred into a rhythm I didn’t want to break.

Every evening was the same, and somehow that sameness was addictive. I’d ride the bike Aiden gave me across town, park it in the same spot outside his garage, and let myself in with the key.

By now, I knew exactly what to do the moment I arrived: strip down, fold my clothes neatly, and kneel at the edge of the living room rug—eyes lowered, hands resting loosely on my thighs. I’d wait like that until I heard him coming down the hall, then I would lace my fingers behind my back and pretty much stick my tongue out like a good puppy expecting a treat.

Some nights, it was a hand in my hair. Other nights, just a low, approving “Good boy,” but either one landed the same—a jolt of satisfaction straight to my chest.

After that, I’d wait for him to sit, then pick the night’s music. That part took more thought than I expected. “Just study this book,” he’d said…. “A chapter a day,” he’d said…*. Easy enough*, I thought—right… I’d never worked this hard just to pick a damn playlist.

Once the music was set, I’d make his drink to his standard of perfection. Then came dinner. Sometimes I just set the table while he cooked, but more often I was learning his favorite recipes as we cooked together—like the one I was still trying to master, a pan-seared salmon with garlic-lemon butter that had to be plated exactly the way he liked. He didn’t need to tell me when it was right; I could see it in the subtle smile he gave before taking the first bite.

After dinner came whatever he needed—laundry, sweeping the kitchen, reorganizing the bookshelves by genre and height. Or, on some nights, reading to him. He liked history, the kind of books I never would’ve picked up on my own, but that I actually enjoyed a lot more than I admitted.

But the part I liked best came on weekends.

Bath nights.

It was part of his evening routine now, and somehow I’d become responsible for it. First I’d light the candles—three along the window, two on the shelf by the tub. Then I’d pour the salts into steaming water, swirl them until the scent filled the room, set the music low. Only at the very end would I add a glass of red wine to the tray.

He’d walk in as I was checking the water, already undressing, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Perfect,” he’d murmur, stepping in.

*Oh yeah, perfect…. So damn perfect.* I looked down at him—his strong pecs, amazing abs, and those mouthwatering fucking hip bones—and I just wanted to reach over and lick his skin… or whatever he let me lick for that matter. 

*Jesus, Noah…*  At some point, between dirty thoughts and stares, I started to wonder if I was ever straight to start with because, by God, I’d never felt anything like this before. Not for a man, not for the hottest girl. 

Aiden would usually lie on his back next, body spread open, hands behind his head, and wait for me to wash him. And as ridiculous and humiliating as it might sound, the idea of a grown man bathing another, I looked forward to the damn privilege every day. 

I would kneel by him, reverent, my heart racing and my cock twitching against the bathtub, as I gazed at his body, caressing it almost in a trance… Slow, careful, with the sponge gliding over broad shoulders, down his arms, across the ridges of his chest and stomach. I’d work in slow circles along his back, over the curve of his hip, and down the length of his thigh. Every inch of him was perfect—hard muscle and smooth skin, the kind of body you didn’t just look at, you wanted to worship.

And I couldn’t touch him…. Not like that. Not even once.

That rule had started after one of these baths, maybe two weeks ago.

I’d lingered just a little too long with the sponge on his stomach, slowing as I moved toward his hip. Not by much—but enough for him to notice. He looked down at me with that unreadable expression, the one that made my pulse stutter.

“No touching me without permission,” he said.

I froze, heat creeping up my neck. “Yes, Sir.”

His gaze stayed on mine a moment longer, and then his mouth curved faintly. “And more importantly—no touching yourself without permission either. No release unless it comes from me.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of the words sinking in. “Sir—”

He’d smiled faintly. “You heard me. That control is mine now. In the same way, even when touched, you will never dare come without my permission.”

“But Sir… I—I just never…” My mind spiraled with a thousand questions before he cut me off.

“Stop blabbering, Noah. If you have something to say, say it.”

I took a deep breath, knowing that this confession was gonna cost me. “Sir, I’ve never been able to stop myself when I’m about to come. It’s impossible… I just can’t.”

“It’s not impossible, Noah. You can and you will. In fact, this will be the next thing we work on. Orgasm control.”

*Fuck….*

Then he leaned back in the tub like nothing had happened, while I knelt there, still holding the sponge, my body aching with frustration for letting my big, stupid mouth get me into more future punishment and frustration than I could ever wrap my head around at the moment.

Since then, the baths had been torture. Every slow pass of the sponge over his chest, every drop of water sliding down his skin, made my mouth dry and my body lock tight with wanting. I’d never been this keyed up in my life. I was used to taking the edge off daily—sometimes more—jerking off to porn or fucking a girl when the opportunity came along.

Now I had nothing but the heat of the water, the clean, intoxicating scent of him, and the knowledge that my need didn’t matter unless he decided it did.

And somehow… that made me want it more every single day.

******

By the time I got home that night, I was wound so tight I couldn’t think straight. The second I closed my bedroom door, my body was already screaming at me to do something about it.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, fingers twitching against my thighs. I could break the rule. Just this once. No one would know.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A smile tugged at my mouth before I even looked. 

*Holy fuck! I swear this man reads my thoughts…* 

Sure that it was Aiden, I reached for the phone, hoping to hear he wanted me back for the night. The thought of seeing him again so soon made my stomach flip, heat rushing through me.

But then I saw the name on the screen.

Emily.

The flutter in my chest dropped like a stone. I knew before I even answered that this wasn’t going to be a good call.

“Em? Babe, what’s wrong?”

She was whispering. “Dad’s been drinking again.”

My whole body went cold. “Where’s Mom?”

“In her room. Door’s locked. But he’s… he’s mad, Noah. At you.”

A crash sounded in the background, followed by muffled swearing. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles ached.

“I should be there,” I muttered. “I should—”

“You can’t; he can never know what you are, or he’ll hunt you down,” she cut in quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just—talk to me for a minute. Please.”

But it wasn’t fine. Not even close.