Crossing Lines Chapter 55

**Noah**

Nothing had happened with Lexi. Truth was, nothing would’ve happened at all if Aiden hadn’t messaged me. Tempting as it might have been, I’d felt… nothing when she kissed me. Not even a flicker.

That text had been the perfect escape hatch from a situation getting hotter than I’d wanted. I’d mumbled something about having to “help a friend,” then slipped away before she could pin me down again.

By the time I made it to the basement door, I had no idea what I was even doing. The red EXIT light glared above me like a bleeding warning, but I didn’t care. I had to see him. I had to have him. I had to confront him.

And then—just like every other damn time—all of that resolve bled out of me the second I was standing in front of him. Anger twisted with desire, need tangled with fear of losing him, and every unnamed emotion I’d been choking on came crashing through in that first kiss.

We escalated fast—reckless, unhinged—until Aiden ripped his mouth from mine, breathless, his head tilting toward the stairs. Footsteps. Coming closer.

We scrambled—me yanking on my briefs while he grabbed his clothes in one pile and vanished into the shadows. *They can’t see me here*, he’d said, low and sharp.

The door creaked open and two figures appeared—Keon, grinning, and someone I didn’t know.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed as he took me in, half-naked and breathing hard. “Noah Blake,” he said, his tone dripping with recognition. “Coach’s new golden boy… For now, of course. Until he finds a new shiny penny.”

Up close, Devon was all sharp edges—dark hair cropped short, jaw tight enough to crack teeth, and eyes that didn’t just look at you, they measured you, like they were deciding how best to cut you down. There was a cocky tilt to his mouth, the kind of smirk that said he was used to being the biggest deal in the room… until someone knocked him off his throne. I’d noticed him earlier, talking to Aiden with that same hostile look, voices low and clipped. Whatever history was between them, it clearly wasn’t friendly. And now he was looking at me like I’d stepped right into the middle of it.

Keon’s grin flattened. “He’s my guest and a good friend. No issues here.”

Their eyes flicked over me again—still shirtless, still flushed. The stranger lifted his drink with a smirk. “And what are you doing down here, Blake?”

“Had some… company,” I said, my voice casual even though my pulse was still pounding.

“Company?” Devon echoed, one brow arching. “And who’s that?”

Keon chuckled before I could answer. “What are you, the party police?” He patted my shoulder as he started steering Devon toward the stairs. “Have fun with your lucky lady…”

“Were you here for beer?” I called after them, forcing a lazy grin.

I rolled the keg their way. Keon shot me a thumbs-up as he herded the other guy—Devon, I’d later learn—out of the room. But not before Devon turned back and gave me one last, lingering, cold-eyed look.

I stayed leaned against the door after they left, my pulse still kicking from the close call. Some of it was the scare—we’d have been dead if anyone had walked in on us—but the rest… the rest was something else. The inevitable curiosity about what the hell had just gone down between Aiden and that Devon guy and what he had meant about his *new shiny penny*… And then there was the thrill—the kind I hadn’t felt since my mom caught me making out with a girl in my bedroom back in high school—that made the heat of the moment burn hotter. Forbidden, reckless, too close to the line… and I wanted more.

When Aiden stepped out from behind the stack of boxes, fully dressed and wearing that unreadable coach face, I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I let a slow, taunting grin spread and took a deliberate step toward him, ready to pick up right where we’d left off.

“Are you crazy? Get dressed. That was a fucking close call,” he said, voice low, sharp, and edged in warning.

I rolled my eyes. “Your damn idea, remember? And now we’re alone again. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is we could’ve lost everything,” he shot back, closing the distance by a single step, his control wound so tight I could almost hear it creak.

I tilted my head, reading between the words. “Because of Keon? Or because of that Devon guy?”

His jaw ticked, and that was as good as a confession.

“What happened between you two?” I pressed.

“Not your business,” he said—final, clipped. But it wasn’t the end. Not for me.

Something in me twisted hard, the same thing that had been coiling tighter all night. “Why not? Unless there’s something I should know.”

His eyes darkened—dangerous, predatory—and before I could blink, his hand locked around my arm, dragging me into the storage closet at the back of the room. The door slammed shut, the lock clicked, and my back hit the wood in one hard shove.

“Are you jealous, baby boy?” he asked, his voice a low, lethal purr that slid right under my skin. “You want to be the only one?”

I leaned in until our mouths were almost touching. “I better fucking be, or I’m out,” I hissed, my pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

His hand slid to my throat, holding me there, his gaze feral. “The only one I fuck? Is that what you want, Noah?”

My chest was heaving now, my lips parting to answer, but I never got the chance—he crushed his mouth to mine, swallowing my words, my air, pinning me harder against the door as his hands roamed like he was staking a claim no one would dare challenge.

His grip on my throat eased just enough for his other hand to shove at his belt, the rasp of the zipper loud in the tight, dark space. “On your knees,” he ordered, voice rough with want and authority.

I dropped without hesitation, my hands sliding up his thighs as his pants and briefs hit the floor. God, he was already hard, flushed, heavy in my palm. Every single person out there tonight had wanted him—those girls leaning in too close, those golden-boy teammates clapping him on the back like they had a right. Vultures, every damn one of them.

But this—this was mine.

I wrapped my lips around his cock, the way I’ve gotten used to doing every time he let me, slow at first, just to feel the shudder roll through his body. To hear that sound he only ever made for me. My tongue dragged along him, my hands holding him in place, claiming him in the most primal way I knew.

He wasn’t anyone’s trophy. He wasn’t anyone’s prize. He was mine to taste, mine to make lose control, mine to keep. And as his fingers threaded tight in my hair, guiding me deeper, I knew every second of this was driving that truth home—to him and to me.