Crossing Lines Chapter 72

**Noah**

I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what had possessed me to agree to this outfit. A ridiculous leather… what did he even call it? A g-string? Cock pouch? Whatever the hell it was, it should’ve come with a warning label that said, *“Guaranteed to humiliate the wearer; may also cut off circulation if improperly adjusted.”* Add the collar strapped tight around my throat, and I was suddenly one of those little dogs people dressed up and paraded around—except this particular owner wasn’t the type to coddle.

I’d opened my mouth to complain—again—only to be met with another strike, bringing my running total into a range that made me question whether I’d live to see tomorrow. When he handed me a long black trench coat as the only thing to wear over the damn pouch, I almost laughed out loud. All I could picture was that old cartoon of the creepy flasher who opened his coat to traumatize unsuspecting girls on the street. That was me now. Some pervert in a collar and cock pouch, hiding under a trench coat like I was on my way to a police lineup.

After that, I decided it was safer to shut the hell up. One more strike and he probably would’ve told me to go without the coat entirely, and my dignity was hanging on by a thread—literally. So, I buttoned up, kept my mouth shut, and tried not to trip over my own shame.

The drive took about forty-five minutes, and the silence was worse than the outfit. My brain did what it always did when left unsupervised: spiraled into a string of bad jokes and even worse scenarios. I glanced out the window as the city rolled by, the lights shifting from familiar to wealthier districts I never had business in. River Oaks? Galleria? Hell, maybe even one of those fancy glass warehouses downtown disguised as something boring like “storage.”

Wherever we ended up, it was clear Aiden wasn’t taking me to Olive Garden.

When he finally pulled into a gated property—huge, secluded, with stone walls that practically screamed, "*You don’t belong here"*—my stomach did a backflip. He entered some kind of code, and the gates opened with a slow, mechanical groan that sounded way too much like a villain’s lair for comfort.

I followed him down into an underground entrance, my boots clicking on the ramp, the air growing cooler, heavier. My nerves caught up quick, and the sarcasm came with them.

*Okay, Noah, this is officially the part in the movie where you start yelling at the dumb teenagers not to go into the creepy basement in the dark after hearing a strange noise. Well… congratulations. You are the dumb teenager. And yes, this is the creepy basement. Also dark. Also suspicious. Great job, man. This is your chance to run. Except… nope. You’re leashed to your own bad decisions and that gorgeous bastard leading the way.*

The doors ahead opened into a smaller reception area. Sleek. Minimal. A desk. Two attendants who looked like they were born in black suits. Aiden stepped forward with all the confidence in the world, gave his invitation code, and we were instructed to wait a moment while they checked it.

Then came the words I dreaded: “You may remove your coats.”

Aiden unbuttoned his trench and shrugged it off, smooth as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. He gleamed leather and silver and silk, looking every inch the dark prince he thought he was.

Me? I froze. Coat still firmly buttoned, heat creeping up my neck. “No thanks,” I blurted before I even thought about it.

The attendant blinked. Aiden didn’t. He just turned his head slowly, that killer glare locking onto me, a look that promised the number of strikes I had tonight might soon require a calculator.

My mouth shut. My coat, unfortunately, was not going to stay shut for long.

Aiden didn’t waste time. From the satchel he’d carried, he drew out two sleek masks—black leather trimmed with silver, elegant but anonymous. Without a word, he slipped one over his own face, the cut sharp enough to frame his jaw and mouth while shadowing his eyes. Then he held the second out to me.

I hesitated only a second before tugging it on. Relief flickered through me—it wasn’t much, but at least my face wasn’t completely naked anymore. At least I wasn’t just a collar and a cock pouch waiting to be laughed at.

That relief vanished the moment I heard the click.

The leash.

Aiden clipped it neatly onto the O-ring at my throat. The weight was nothing, a strip of leather and a silver clasp, but it might as well have been iron chains. My stomach flipped as his fingers brushed the ring, lingered deliberately, reminding me this wasn’t a costume piece. This was real.

He leaned down, voice brushing against my ear, velvet wrapped around steel. “You look gorgeous, Noah. Perfect. Remember that.”

The words should’ve soothed me. They didn’t. Not when he followed them with: “From here on, you kneel at my feet. When I move, you crawl. Understood?”

My throat closed. Crawl? In front of people? Every red light flashed at once in my brain… This motherfucker wanted to walk me and parade me around like a dog! I could already feel phantom eyes tearing me apart, laughing, judging, stamping humiliation into my skin. My pulse thundered, panic slamming against the inside of my chest.

I turned toward him, desperate, whispering fast. “I can’t do this. Sir, I can’t—”

He caught my chin gently, tilting my face up. No anger. No mockery. Just that maddening calm, his thumb stroking once across my cheekbone. The mask hid half his expression, but his eyes burned straight through me.

“I understand,” he murmured, voice low enough for me alone. “If you choose to walk out right now, I won’t stop you. But Noah… if you leave, everything stops. You don’t come back from it. This isn’t a halfway thing. It’s all, or it’s nothing.”

All or nothing.

The words ripped through me harder than the leash ever could. My chest felt caged, my skin too tight, my pride shrieking at me to get the hell out before I made the world’s biggest mistake. But underneath the panic, something deeper pulsed. A craving I didn’t want to name. Thrill, maybe. The dangerous unknown. The knowledge that out of all the people in this place, out of everyone who’d ever looked at Aiden, *I* was the one here with him. Me. His boy. His risk. His choice.

Fear curled in my gut. So did want. And against my better judgment, against sanity and self-preservation and a long list of perfectly logical reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Aiden’s hand lingered another second before he let me go. His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but close.

That was the moment the heavy wooden door at the far end opened.

The man who entered owned the space the way Aiden owned a room—without effort, without apology. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in midnight silk with a subtle signet ring catching the light, he carried himself with the grace of someone who didn’t just run a club but ruled a kingdom.

“Mr. Hale,” the attendant greeted with a bow.

Mr. Hale. Of course the owner had a name sharp enough to cut glass.

And just like that, the games were about to begin.