Crossing Lines Chapter 44

**Aiden**

The way he looked at me then… like he needed me to be there through every second of what was coming. Not in spite of the pain, but because of it.

It stirred something in me I didn’t often let show. A need to take him into my arms, to kiss him, to strip away whatever weight he was carrying and make it mine instead.

But the demons he was hiding weren’t going to disappear with soft words and comfort. Left alone, they would eat at him until they took both of us down with them.

So I’d destroy them first.

Even if it hurt him.

Even if it hurt me more.

“Over here,” I said, leading him to the spanking bench.

He hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, the low light catching on the tension in his shoulders. I placed a hand on his back, firm but steady. “This is for your own good. Keeps you from straining or tensing in the wrong way.”

His eyes searched mine, but he didn’t argue when I guided him into position—knees on the padded platform, chest resting forward, arms extended toward the front bars. I strapped his wrists first, snug but not tight, then secured his ankles. The leather creaked faintly as I tested the restraints.

“Comfortable enough?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now remember—this isn’t an endurance test. I don’t need you playing tough or denying yourself the use of your safeword. If I ever realize you needed it and didn’t use it—and I will—this practice ends immediately. And so does our contract. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” I smoothed my hand down his back. “You can stop this at any time. All you have to do is say it. You’re safe here, and I will always watch over you.”

The words felt heavier than usual tonight, and I meant every one of them. This wasn’t discipline. This was something else—something I hadn’t done in a long time. Therapy in the language of leather and trust.

I crossed to the wall and reached for the flogger. The weight was familiar in my hand, the falls soft and heavy between my fingers. It had been years since I’d used it like this. 

When I turned back, Noah’s gaze was fixed on me—nervous, but steady.

“That’s right, Noah. Eyes on me. I want to see your face. Read your expression. Understand your needs at all times.”

I started light. A slow swing, the sound of the leather slicing through the air before it landed with a whisper of a sting across his shoulders.

He flinched—just slightly—at the first impact, a sharp breath catching in his throat before he steadied himself.

Another followed, and another, the rhythm settling in as he gasped between them. At first, he looked awkward, conflicted—like he was still questioning why he’d asked for this. But as the heat of the flogger bloomed against his skin, he began to focus on anticipating the next blow.

“Don’t hold your breath, Noah,” I said softly.

He tried to obey but fell into a rough rhythm of holding it until the strike landed, puffing it out in a rush before dragging it back in. When I picked up the pace, his breath hitched on the inhale and escaped in small sobs on the exhale.

I slowed again, trailing the flogger over him so he felt the softness, the contrast between sting and caress. My fingertips brushed down his spine.

“Breathe with me,” I murmured, setting the pace for him. “Don’t fight it.”

The tension in his shoulders began to melt. His breathing fell in time with mine.

“Good boy… that’s it.”

I increased the force gradually, mixing lighter strikes to keep him guessing. His skin warmed under my hand, muscles shifting with each impact. The sensations were stacking faster than he could process, leaving him teetering on the edge of overwhelm.

“I’m here,” I told him between blows. “You’re safe. Let it go.”

His breaths shortened, sharpened. A tremor rippled through him—not from pain, but from somewhere deeper. I let the flogger rest across his back, my palm pressed to his shoulder blade, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

I worked him over—legs, ass, back—watching him squirm as his whimpers filled the room.

“Shhh… You’re doing so well. That’s it… good boy…” My voice stayed low, soothing.

I couldn’t say how long it lasted. Time blurred between strikes and the slow drag of leather over his skin. But when I looked at him again, I saw it—those beautiful eyes, filled with trust, with sorrow, and with the raw, desperate need to let go.

Without a word, he was pleading.

“Say it, Noah. Whatever’s in there, give it to me.”

Silence.

His fingers curled tighter around the front bar of the bench, knuckles white. His head dropped a fraction, but his mouth stayed closed.

I kept going. A steady rhythm—two strikes, a pause for my hand to smooth over the warm skin, then two more. His breath hitched on every exhale, and I could feel the fight in him, the way he was holding everything in like it would shatter him to let it out.

“Don’t carry it alone,” I said quietly. “Not here. Not with me.”

Still nothing.

I struck a little harder this time—not cruel, just enough to shake the silence—then followed it with the slow trail of my fingers along his side. Then another blow and another… Harder, sharper, just to get his attention, then a series of low-impact blows… “Be free of it, Noah. You want to give me something tonight? Give me this. Share the burden.”

His shoulders trembled. A sharp breath escaped him, followed by a small, choked sound as tears began to roll down his face.

I stayed close, my voice low. “Let me take it.”

The sound broke into a sob, and with it, the words finally came—ragged and uneven. “I don’t… I don’t deserve this.” His voice shook. “I can’t protect them… I’ll let you down too…”

“You won’t,” I said, voice low but firm. “Not with me.”

I lifted the flogger again, giving him time to breathe before starting back in—measured, deliberate. He didn’t resist now. His head dropped forward, his shoulders slack, his body yielding to the rhythm.

And then it came, quiet but devastating. “You’ll see me the way I see myself, because I hate who I am—I hate me, Sir… I hate myself…”

The words hit harder than any strike I could give him.

I set the flogger down and unbuckled the restraints without another word. The moment he was free, I pulled him up and into my arms. He didn’t resist—just sagged against me, head against my chest, breathing ragged and sobbing uncontrollably.

“You’re not who you think you are, and you’re not what anyone might have said you are, Noah. Look at me… You’re incredible, you’re beautiful—you’re one of a kind,” I murmured against his hair. “And I’m not going anywhere, baby boy.”

We stayed like that, my arms locked around him, until his breathing evened out.

Whatever it took to keep him from breaking like this again, I would do it—even if I had to hold his pieces together myself.