Crossing Lines Chapter 54

**Aiden**

I was jealous.

And a little drunk, I’ll admit it.

Wanting to rip that perfect, preppy little head right off her shoulders wasn’t exactly my proudest moment, but when he gave me that look… Christ.

Dancing with Miss Polished Cheer Captain like she was the prize of the night, but his eyes—those hungry, defiant eyes—were on me, so I made sure my message was clear.

I let my gaze drop to his mouth, slow and deliberate, and brushed my thumb across my own lower lip—reminding him exactly whose mouth he’d be kissing tonight. Silently warning him that he was mine.

And the second I did it, I saw it.

That twitch of arousal. The subtle shift in his body. The girl he was grinding against might as well have been invisible. That reaction wasn’t for her—it was for me. I could feel it from here, smell it even over the reek of beer and sweat. My Noah. *My* boy.

But then he disappeared upstairs with her, and my heart fucking stopped.

No.

No, he wouldn’t be that reckless. He wouldn’t throw away everything we’d built just to prove a point. Just to shove in my face that he could.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break my ribs. Every instinct I had was screaming to storm up there, drag him out in front of the entire party, and haul him home where he belonged. My thoughts were spiraling too fast, too far—dangerously far.

If he did this… if he crossed that line… I’d have to let him go.

And it wouldn’t just be his loss.

I’d be fucking shattered.

Cursing under my breath, regretting every damn second of this stupid charade, I yanked my phone from my pocket and typed the only thing my spinning brain could land on.

**You can’t fuck her.**

I started pacing, the walls of the frat house suddenly feeling too tight. I needed a place I could breathe—and, if I was being honest, a place Noah could meet me without an audience if I could manage to get his stubborn ass down here. The basement came to mind. Every frat had one. Half storage, half “private party” space, usually with a couple of old couches and a locked keg or two. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was away from prying eyes and perfect for what I had in mind.

Still, none of that would matter if he didn’t answer.

I checked my phone for the hundredth time, and my stomach dropped. Nothing.

Then—three dots.

*Said the man who’s been fucking my mouth all week and flirting all night…*

My jaw clenched. **Are you jealous?** I typed back.

*I’m not fucking jealous, I’m pissed! You’ve kept me from coming all week. My damn balls hurt! I’ve done every damn thing you wanted, and what do you do? You cancel our Friday to hang out with a bunch of posers, ignoring me all night—*

I could practically hear him breathing hard through the phone, each message a hit to my already fraying control.

Before I lost him to a very bad decision, I fired back: **Noah, you’re the one who asked to cancel tonight, remember? And for the record, I was not flirting. Now, before you do something you’ll regret, come meet me in the basement.**

*No, thank you. Why the hell would I regret getting laid with a girl like Lexi?*

My teeth ground together. I didn’t even pause before replying: **Because you don’t want her—or anyone else—a fraction as much as you want me. You have five minutes before I leave. Alone.**

****

I had no idea if Noah would show up at all. And if he did, I was even more clueless about what the hell I was going to do with him once I had him in front of me.

But once I had him here, the rest would play itself.

I waited what felt like forever, the low thump of bass from upstairs rattling the walls while the smell of detergent and stale beer clung to the room. I was seconds from walking out when the door suddenly pushed inward.

Noah stood there, winded, hair a little messy, and his expression—pure anger and frustration.

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m late,” he said, stepping inside. “I couldn’t just leave her there.”

I smiled slowly, the kind of smile that I knew would make him grind his teeth.

“First—watch your mouth, boy. You’re really testing your luck tonight. And second—” I let my gaze drag over him. “I’m sure it must’ve broken your heart to leave her.”

His jaw tightened. “Maybe it did.”

“Really?” I stepped in, close enough to smell the faint trace of her perfume clinging to him. “Then why are you here?”

He snapped, frustration spilling over. “I don’t fucking know! Because I’ve lost my mind? Because I’m a fool who comes every damn time you call? I don’t even know anymore! So why don’t you tell me—why the hell am I here?”

Something in me shifted. The anger, the jealousy—it was still there, sharp and hot—but it mixed with something far more dangerous. Possession. Need.

I closed the gap, pressing him back against the cold cinderblock wall.

“You’re here,” I said, voice low, “because you’re mine.”

His eyes flared, but he didn’t back down. “And you’re mine,” he shot back, almost a growl.

The tension snapped. We collided—mouths crushing together, hands gripping like claws. His back hit the wall with a thud, my fingers in his hair, his nails digging into my arms. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was savage and consuming, both of us taking, neither willing to let go first.

We tore at each other like we’d been starving for weeks, not hours. His hands were everywhere—my shoulders, my chest, clawing at my t-shirt until the fabric strained and I yanked it over my head. My own fingers hooked under the hem of his tee, dragging it up and off, exposing warm skin flushed from the party, from me.

I crushed my mouth to his again, tasting beer and something sweeter underneath—his own damn defiance, still on his tongue. My palms slid down over the sharp lines of his abs, to his waistband, and I didn’t bother with finesse. I popped the button and shoved my hand inside, gripping him, feeling the shudder that rocked through his body.

He groaned into my mouth, his hips jerking into my touch as his fingers fumbled with my belt, urgency turning every movement rough. I didn’t care. I wanted him the same way—wild, reckless, like we’d burn the whole damn place down just to feel this again.

His jeans hit the floor. Mine followed. 

My voice of reason—a distant whisper now—warned me this was a bad idea. I’d had too much to drink to fully register the situation and the risk I was placing us under… Forgetting where we were, forgetting everything but our impending need, I pushed him back onto the couch, kissing him hard enough to bruise, swallowing every sound he made. His hands slid lower, squeezing, pulling me against him until there wasn’t a breath of space left between us.

We were unhinged. Reckless. Too consumed to notice the sound of footsteps on the stairs—until it was already too late.