Crossing Lines Chapter 60

**Noah**

Cold slid down my throat-bone and sketched a line over my chest before my brain could form a thought. I jerked in the cuffs, leather biting, breath snagging on the edge of a sound I didn’t make.

“Is an ice cube something to fear, Noah?” Aiden’s voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“No, Sir.” My throat was dry. “I just… didn’t know you were here. Why would you not come back sooner?”

“Why would you not call for me sooner?”

I bit back the first dozen answers. Of course that’s the lesson—trust isn’t silence, it’s reaching. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

The cube traced slow circles over my chest, dipped to my stomach, then climbed back and parked around my nipple until it pinched tight from the cold. I sucked in air through my teeth. Under the blindfold everything felt louder—my breathing, the thud of the bass somewhere in the room, the little shift in air that said he’d moved even when he didn’t touch me. I was uneasy—dark room, tight cuffs, everything close—but I was also hyped as hell wondering what was next. Teasing? Spanking? His hand? Honestly, at that point even a few sharp hits sounded good if it meant he’d get on with it.

The cold vanished. No footsteps, no clink, just that bass line and me trying not to squirm. Then something brushed my stomach—soft, lots of thin strips at once, like a leather mop barely touching down. It slid off my thigh and disappeared. When it came back, the tap had snap to it. Not pain. Just a jolt that woke my nerves and made me brace for the next one. He did the same on the other thigh. Heat crawled in right under the nerves.

He kept moving, matching the beat. Strands dragged over my chest, skimmed the ribs, fell along my calves. First instinct was to flinch, but it changed fast—my body started leaning toward it. When the leather flicked my nipple and tightened it until the sting turned into something better, I made a sound I didn’t mean to make. The tails ghosted over my cock and a noise ripped out of me—need, hunger, full-on begging without the word.

“You see, boy, this isn’t just for punishment,” he said, calm like he could read a grocery list while doing this. “In the right hands it teaches pleasure.”

“Yes, Sir.” Came out too fast. Didn’t care.

The light flogger stopped. I heard a heavier one come off a hook—different weight, different swish. He didn’t hit right away; he just let me sit in it. My heartbeat got stupid.

“This one you know,” he said. “Different purpose tonight. Do you want it?”

Last time that thing had lit my back on fire. I still didn’t understand how it could be anything but a weapon. But he was steady, and I trusted that. “Yes, Sir.”

The swish, a half second of quiet, then—impact. Smacked across my upper chest hard enough to jolt me. Solid. Controlled. Not the brutal pace I remembered. The shock tore through me and left everything buzzing like I’d been plugged in.

“Breathe,” he said. “I will not hurt you.”

I dragged air into my lungs and made myself let it happen. He fell into a rhythm with the music—one strike, wait, another a little lower, then one angled so the tails wrapped and pulled heat into the spots he’d already hit. My body stopped bracing and started waiting for it. Want came in waves.

Metal clicked. A second later something bit my nipple and held. Tight, sharp. I hissed and shifted against the cuffs. The second clamp went on, and I swore under my breath until the burn leveled out into a steady tug.

“They look good on you,” he murmured, too pleased. “Could keep these on you for hours. Maybe next time we try a silver ring.”

I shivered like an idiot, and he chuckled. Then the heavy flogger kissed across the clamps, and a line of lightning shot straight through me—pain and pleasure braided together so tight I couldn’t pull them apart. I arched. The table creaked. He gave me another, lower, and I felt everything tighten in my chest and run south like a switch had been flipped.

“Sir, please… I need to—”

“No.” Calm. Final. “You’re not there yet.”

I clenched my toes and tried to hold the line. My voice came out rough. “Please help me not—”

“And you won’t,” he said. “Trust me. Let go of the fear.”

Right. That’s the point. Let him carry it. I exhaled slowly and made myself stop fighting the swell. If he said it wouldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

The flogger went away. Wheels whispered across the floor. The toy chest—yeah, I knew that sound now. Drawers sliding. Tiny metal sounds. Then nothing again.

I wanted to cuss him out and thank him at the same time.

What I got was his mouth.

He kissed me once—quick, hot—then again, longer, deeper, like he’d opened a door and let me fall two steps in before catching me with a hand to my jaw. I leaned up for more, and he met me halfway, tongue sliding slow until my knees tried to pull up and the cuffs reminded me who was in charge. When he broke it, I chased the air he left behind like a fool.

“Still,” he said, his voice closer to my ear now.

“I’m trying,” I said. It sounded like a complaint. It was. “Sir.”

“Good boy.” Quiet, satisfied. Those two words hit harder than any strike.

He switched tools. Lighter tails this time—thinner, faster. The touches landed like rain, all over, building heat without giving me the friction I wanted. He brushed the inside of my thighs, and my hips tried to follow. The clamps tugged as my chest moved with everything else.

“You okay?” he asked. We both knew it, but he always asked.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I'm good.”

“Then take what I give you.”

He didn’t speed up. He stretched it out—heavy flogger here and there to wake the clamps, then the lighter one smoothing everything into heat. He tugged one chain, and the bite sharpened, and the sound that jumped out of me wasn’t pretty, but it was honest. I felt stupidly proud of it.

He stopped without warning. The silence punched a hole in the room. I strained for any sign—breath, clothing, that tiny shift of air when someone moves near your face. Nothing.

“Sir,” I said, too fast. “Please.”

“Please what?” His breath touched my hairline. Two fingers ran along my jaw, and every muscle tilted toward his hand.

“Please touch me,” I said. No game left. Just the truth.

He didn’t answer. A long, warm palm settled flat over my sternum. The clamps tugged underneath it. That steady weight anchored me better than any order. I breathed under his hand until the stupid panic I hadn’t noticed cracked and drained out.

“You think you can make me touch you whenever you want,” he said, not a question.

Could’ve lied. Didn’t. “I thought I could…convince you.”

“Temptation isn’t obedience.”

“I want to learn; I want to please you.” I swallowed. “I want… you, Aiden.”

The words choked in my mouth the second I said them. He didn’t correct me for using his name; he didn’t say anything at all… And suddenly, I realized what I really wanted might not be what he wanted at all.