Crossing Lines Chapter 64

**Noah**

That night had been a goddamn rollercoaster. I’d been seconds away from finally kissing Aiden—like, really kissing him. Not the quick brush when he shoved food into my mouth, not the almost-too-close moment when he corrected my posture at practice, or those passionate, lip-bruising, hungry moments leading to something sexual, but an honest-to-God kiss. The emotional ones I kept craving like a needy girlfriend…. And then—bam. Doorbell. Hashtag panic. Hashtag my master turning into a block of stone and shoving me into the bedroom like I was contraband.

For days, I had played the angel on the surface and the demon underneath. I’d pushed at Aiden’s boundaries in a hundred little ways, and he’d rejected me in a hundred more. 

But, hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying, right? Aiden had given me his undivided attention, his care, all the bare necessities… and all the not-so-bare ones too. He showered me with everything that didn’t involve the heart. And that was fine. That was *supposed to be* fine. Wasn’t that the deal? The thrill, the discipline, the safety, the mind-blowing sex—even though it hadn’t involved actual *fucking*—and no messy attachments. That’s what I wanted.

So why the hell had I kept chasing after more? A touch that lingered. An extra second of closeness. A goddamn kiss. Each time I reached for it, he slapped it down, and like some pathetic addict, I came crawling back for another hit…. Why was I humiliating myself, running back after every rejection like some lovesick idiot, pretending my heart wasn’t breaking?

But that night had been different. That night he’d wanted it too—or maybe he always had, but this time he’d been ready to indulge. I felt it. For once, he wasn’t pulling back. His hand was on my neck, his mouth opening for me. He was giving in. Ready to feel.

And that’s exactly when my teammate—God bless his overly concerned heart—decided to play detective and fuck it all up with an impromptu intervention, trying to team up with the very cause of my addiction. Classic irony.

Keon had almost caught us. *Again*. We would’ve gotten away with it too if it hadn’t been for the meddling kid spotting my bike in the yard. From my spot by the bedroom window, I had seen the exact second Aiden’s stomach tried to crawl up his throat. He had looked seconds from puking. But apparently, my Dom had also been an on-the-spot liar—comforting, right?—because after that momentary brain freeze, he had snapped back.

“Oh, yeah, Noah’s bike. Don’t worry, he’s fine. He mentioned trouble with the brakes, and I offered to take a look. Turned out it was just out of brake fluid…”

They had even laughed about it… And then Keon had finally left, convinced he’d been overthinking and probably feeling very good about himself for reaching out.

I made a mental note to thank him and laugh about this one day in the future when we were football stars and I was finally dating Aiden in the open.

*Wait, what…?*

When the door finally shut behind Keon, I slipped out of the bedroom like a kid sneaking from detention, trying to play it cool. “Wow, that was a close one,” I joked, paraphrasing him under my breath. “Turns out I might be doing something ‘*not good.*’ Imagine that.”

I thought maybe Aiden would crack a smile, maybe shake his head at me the way he usually did when I was being a smartass. Instead, he dropped onto the couch like all the air had left his lungs, muttering about how we’d almost been caught again. His hands rubbed his thighs restlessly, breath uneven, face pale like he’d just been accused of a crime he actually committed.

“Sir?” I asked softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, looking so lost it made something ache in my chest. “This is wrong, Noah…”

That tone, that guilt—God, it scared me. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I climbed onto the couch beside him—without permission—wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and nuzzled into his neck with a grin. “Oh yeah… soooo wrong,” I teased, brushing my lips against his skin. “And why can’t we have a little wrong here and a little wrong there? Who’s it hurting, huh?”

I felt him tense beneath me, but I pressed on, peppering kisses along his jaw, his chin, his ear until my lips finally grazed his mouth. For one glorious heartbeat, he didn’t pull away. His hand even came up, fingers trembling at the back of my neck, before he began to move away.

“Please,” I whispered against him, desperate. “I know you feel the same…”

And then it shattered.

“Enough, Noah,” he said, sharp as a whip. I flinched. His voice was iron, but his eyes were panic. “This is getting too far. Our private time was meant to stay private. I think it’s best if you leave."

“Leave? But… it’s Friday,” I pleaded, clutching at him. “C’mon. This was an accident—we’ll be more careful, okay? I’ll park in the garage; no one needs to know about our relationship—”

“This is not a relationship,” he cut me off, his tone cutting like glass. “This is a contract between dominant and submissive. Not some stupid love affair. There’s no relationship between us other than player and coach, Master and submissive. And if you thought there was something else, you were mistaken.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My chest caved like he’d reached in and ripped something vital out.

“You don’t mean that,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You know it is something else, Sir…. Isn’t it? Please… don’t push me away.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists on his knees. He wouldn’t even look at me. “I need you to leave, Noah. Leave your motorcycle here so it won’t raise suspicion.”

And just like that, the floor fell out from under me.

My throat burned as I pulled on my shorts and t-shirt in silence, hands shaking. I could’ve begged one more time, could’ve humiliated myself further, but the weight in my chest told me enough—he wasn’t moving. 

“I’ll call you a taxi home,” he offered.

I stopped at the door, one hand on the knob. “You know what?” I said, my voice raw and furious. “Don’t fucking bother… *Coach*.”

And I slammed it shut behind me.