Crossing Lines Chapter 8

**Noah**

I’d only made it two floors up before I realized I’d left my headphones.

Of course I had. My brain was fried from trying to memorize every stat and medical note Coach threw at me. All day I’d been one command away from combusting. Every time he looked at me, it felt like a test—and every time I passed, he barely even blinked.

No praise. No nod. No nothing.

And yeah, I hated how much that messed with me.

I headed back down, figuring I could slip in, grab them, and be back in my room before anyone saw me looking like a damn kicked puppy.

The gym was dark, the main lights off except for the soft glow by the mirrors. I stepped inside and spotted the headphones instantly—right where I’d left them on the bench, coiled like a snake waiting to bite me in the ass.

I snatched them up with a quiet sigh.

And that’s when I heard it.

Water.

The showers were on.

I paused.

For some reason—*God knows why*—I stepped closer.

The light over the showers flickered faintly. The door wasn’t shut. Just cracked.

Steam curled into the hallway like an invitation. And through it, the door to the shower room opened, exposing someone who most likely thought no one was up by now.

Coach.

Back to me. Water streaming down his skin, broad shoulders tense, one arm braced on the wall.

His other hand moved.

Slow. Rhythmic. Deliberate.

I stopped breathing.

He must’ve seen my headphones earlier. He had to know I might come back for them.

Was this intentional? Was he waiting—tempting me like the devil he was?

*Tempting.*

Yeah, that was the word. Because despite every voice in my head screaming that I was straight, that this was just admiration… I stood frozen, hypnotized by the way the water slid over every glorious inch of him. Over the ridges of his back, down the sculpted curves of his ass, trailing along those strong, scarred legs like they belonged to a myth.

I pressed myself against the wall, deeper into the shadows, breath ragged.

*This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.*

He’s my coach. I’m younger. This is insane.

But I didn’t leave.

I should have. I should’ve walked out, slammed the door, erased the images forming in my mind.

After all, he was an asshole. Cold. Uninterested. Distant.

All he’d done since this trip started was boss me around, mock me, criticize every breath I took. I doubted he even liked me. Hell, did he even see me beyond my stats?

And then he turned.

And everything stopped.

The air. My thoughts. My heart.

He reached for the body wash and dragged it over his chest, thick white foam coating his skin, his broad hands moving with infuriating slowness. Down his chest. Over his abs. Lower.

My mouth went dry.

I wanted to touch him. To feel those muscles with my fingers. My lips.

To taste him.

*Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?*

I watched as the suds ran down his body, clinging to every line of his frame. The air was thick with steam and his minty scent—sharp, clean, dominant—wrapping around me like a drug.

He rinsed slowly, washing away the last of the soap, water cascading in waves over his skin. And just as I was about to bolt—just as my body started to move—his hand dipped low.

*No.*

He wrapped his fingers around his cock.

I swallowed hard. My throat burned.

I hadn’t let myself look before. I’d tried not to. But now?

Now, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Hard. Thick. Leaking.

He stroked himself without shame. Without rush. From the base to the tip, squeezing lightly before sliding down again, slow and controlled—just like everything else he did.

My dick twitched. I froze.

*Look away.*

*Leave.*

*Go.*

But I didn’t.

And when his hand twisted, spreading his own pre-cum over the shaft, working it in a lazy, practiced rhythm—I was gone.

My own hand found my cock. I didn’t even realize I’d moved. I matched his pace. My hips thrust into my palm, desperate and unsteady.

I was going to come. I could feel it—tight, hot, inevitable.

But then he grunted. His expression twisted with pleasure as his cock twitched, and thick jets of cum painted the tile.

*Fuck.*

I clenched hard, stopping myself at the edge of release, my whole body screaming with denial. I couldn’t look away. I watched his cock swell, twitch again, another drop glistening at the tip as he ran his fingers down one last time and turned the water back on.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself.

This was my chance. My only one.

I turned quietly, backing toward the hall like a thief escaping the scene of a crime.

And then I heard it.

A laugh.

Low. Muffled.

I stopped.

Every muscle locked up like I was a kid caught stealing candy.

Slowly, I turned, and there he was, looking right at me.

Coach Aiden Mercer, standing in the shower, dripping, powerful, and smirking—like he’d known I was there all along.

Like he always did.

*****

I slammed the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, heart pounding like I’d just run a fucking marathon.

“Fuck,” I groaned, dragging a hand over my face.

What the hell had I just done?

I shouldn’t have watched him. Shouldn’t have *touched* myself. And I definitely shouldn’t have just stood there, drooling in the shadows like some pervy creep while my *coach*—

“Fuck,” I said again, louder this time.

I stared at the ceiling, willing the heat in my face to fade. It didn’t.

Every time I blinked, I saw it again. Him. His body. His hand.

*His release.*

And then the smirk. That smug, knowing look that said he’d seen me the whole time. That he hadn’t minded. That maybe he wanted me to watch.

I groaned into my pillow and slammed my fist into it. “Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.”

I needed to talk to someone. But I couldn’t exactly call my teammates and say, “Hey, so I just watched our coach jerk off in the shower and also might’ve done the same from the hallway. Wanna unpack that with me?”

Nope. There was only one person I could talk to.

I opened ObeyNet and clicked on the familiar chat.

**ME:**

**I just did something fucking stupid.**

**Idk what got into me.**

A few seconds passed.

Then the reply came.

**Mr. A:**

What did you do, baby boy?

I winced at the nickname. My cock twitched.

Fucking traitor.

**ME:**

**I saw someone.**

**In the shower.**

**My coach—jerking off.**

**He didn’t see me at first. I think.**

**I just… I was curious.**

**I didn’t mean to stay. But I did. And I… yeah.**

There was a pause. My screen didn’t refresh. I held my breath.

**Mr. A:**

Did you enjoy it?

I swallowed hard.

**ME:**

**That’s not the point.**

**He’s my coach. It was messed up.**

**Mr. A:**

That’s not what I asked.

Did you enjoy it?

Or were you wishing it was *you* under that stream?

His hands on *you*?

My heart slammed against my ribs.

**ME:**

**Of course not!**

**I told you. He’s my coach. I’m not even—**

**Mr. A:**

What if they were my hands instead? Would you like me to do that to you?

I sat up in bed, fully hard, eyes burning.

**ME:**

**Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t.**

**Or maybe I’d do it to you...**

**Guess you’ll never know.**

**You refused to meet me, remember?**

I stared at the screen, pulse racing. Smug. Defensive. Desperate.

Then the reply came, and it made my entire body go still.

**Mr. A:**

Be careful, baby boy.

I might take you up on that sooner than you think…