Crossing Lines Chapter 58

**Aiden**  

The cab smelled faintly of stale fries and cigarette smoke, the kind that clung to the upholstery no matter how many air fresheners the driver hung from the mirror. Streetlights flashed across my lap in strips as we moved through campus, each one marking another mile between me and the party.

I’d left to keep us safe, but the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me right before I walked out. That kiss. Soft, unguarded—no challenge in it, no heat. Just feeling. He’d acted out of emotion, not lust, and that’s what scared me. Because I could get used to that. Too used to it.

If Noah decided to walk away when our trial ended, I knew it would wreck me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. And if he stayed? That could be worse. The lines I’d drawn—coach and player, Master and sub—weren’t meant to bend under the weight of something like this. If we let deeper feelings in, the two worlds would collide and destroy everything we’d built.

We could never be public. Not without ruining our reputations. Mine would be gone the second word got out, and he’d lose his scholarship in the fallout. And beyond all that… I was fifteen years older, with my prime behind me. His was ahead; all the glory I’d never have again. Sooner or later, he’d move forward and leave me standing still.

It had happened before.

Micah wasn’t older than Noah when it started—he was just more experienced and more comfortable in his submission, but once the feelings started showing, I knew it was doomed. Better to end it before either of us said things we couldn’t take back. I’d let him go, convincing myself it was the right call.

But I wasn’t ready to let Noah go. Not now. Not yet.

Still, I needed to slow us down. Keep us between the lines I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cross. More control, more distance where it counted, less risk. It was for his safety—at least, that’s what I told myself. But a small, selfish part of me knew it was for mine, too.

By the time the cab pulled up to my place, I’d already decided—tomorrow, we’d get back to structure. Keep it clean; keep it contained. I could play the long game.

Even if every nerve in my body wanted to throw the rules out the window and take him for good.

I was up before seven, even after the late night. Habit. Or maybe just the kind of restless that no amount of sleep could fix.

The drive back to campus was quick at that hour, the streets still quiet. My car sat where I’d left it outside the frat, the hood speckled with condensation. A couple of guys were slumped on the porch, nursing Gatorades and looking like they’d survived a war. One of them nodded when he recognized me. I kept my expression neutral, unlocked my car, and drove off without slowing.

On the way home, I stopped at the market—eggs, bread, coffee, nothing special. I took my time, pretending I wasn’t stalling. But when I turned into my driveway, he was already there.

Helmet hooked on his bike’s handlebars, Noah stood just inside the open door, naked, head bowed in perfect position.

I killed the engine, sat there for a beat longer than I should have. He looked good like that—obedient, still, like he’d been waiting just for me.

“Morning, Sir,” he said as I stepped inside, voice steady but with an undertone I couldn’t quite place.

“Morning,” I replied, setting the groceries on the counter. “You know the drill, Noah.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He moved quickly, efficient even with the faint edge of hangover in the set of his shoulders. The coffee scent was already in the air when the first notes of a slow, low guitar line filled the room. His movements were sharp, polished, almost eager.

I didn’t mention the night before. Neither did he.

I unpacked the groceries while he poured my coffee, setting it exactly where I liked it. The simple act of him moving around my kitchen—bare skin against the light, muscles flexing in quiet service—hit somewhere deep. I forced myself to focus on the eggs.

“Sit,” I said once the plates were on the table. Not an order, not quite—not the voice I used for training. Just an invitation to join me this time.

He obeyed without hesitation, folding into the chair across from me. For a few minutes, we ate in silence, the scrape of forks and the faint hum of the music filling the space. He kept his eyes down unless I spoke to him, and when he did look up, there was that flicker again—something softer than lust, warmer than submission.

“Headache?” I asked, breaking the quiet.

“A little,” he admitted. “Not bad.”

“Hydrate. That will help.” I nodded toward the glass of water I’d set by his plate. He drank without comment.

It should’ve been nothing—two people sharing breakfast—but I could feel the edges of something else creeping in. The quiet was too easy. The domestic rhythm, too comfortable. If I let it, this could start to feel like more than it was supposed to be.

When the plates were cleared, I leaned back in my chair and studied him. “We’re doing something different today.”

His brow lifted slightly, curiosity sparking.

“Finish your water. Then get the blindfold.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He didn’t ask questions, just pushed back from the table and moved with that same disciplined focus he’d had all morning. The sound of him in the other room—drawer opening, the faint scuff of his feet on the floor—was enough to make my pulse pick up.

When he came back, the blindfold in hand, I took it from him, let my fingers graze his temple as I slid it over his eyes.

I tightened the blindfold, making sure no light slipped through. “Hands behind your back,” I said, stepping close enough to catch the faint rise of his breathing. “Follow my touch. Nothing else.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I guided him forward with a hand at the small of his back. His steps were cautious but sure, the kind of obedience that came from trust, not fear. I kept him just close enough to a table edge or doorway for him to feel the air shift, but never let him make contact.

When we stopped, I brushed my fingers across his wrist. “Identify the room.”

He inhaled, tilting his head toward the faint hum of the fridge. “Kitchen.”

“Good. Step forward, three paces. Turn left.”

We moved like that for the next half hour, my voice and touch his only guide. Every time my hand settled on him, I felt the tension in his muscles ease, his body giving just a little more. And every time I stepped back, I felt the pull to stay, as his body seemed to crave my hands, my presence, and my stimulation. But just seeing him there, in all his naked, vulnerable glory—so helpless and hungry for anything I might give him, so at my mercy—was enough to make me hard as a rock.

Luckily, he couldn’t see that….

And that’s when the idea crossed my mind. I had never felt Noah as compliant as today, trying to prove himself, and it was time to test that trust—time to make this a lot more interesting.