Crossing Lines Chapter 86

**Noah**

Our big day had finally arrived.

I was kinda bummed that Aiden made me go home at midday. Tonight was the donor dinner, and he was as nervous as he was excited. Me? Not so much. I didn’t give a shit about rubbing elbows with rich people in suits. Impressing them? Please. Not my scene.

Says the guy who’d sat at a BDSM poker table practically naked last night.

…Okay, let’s not go there.

The more I replayed it in my head, the more twisted up I got. None of it was normal. None of it was me. I wasn’t the type to chase attention or to do PDA, let alone… that. Public sex? Crawling on a leash? Taking strikes with a riding crop like some show pony? And fuck me, I’d done all of it. And worse? I’d gotten off on it.

What the hell was wrong with me? Was I messed up? Were normal, sane people supposed to enjoy humiliation in public? Because the second I thought about it—about kneeling at his feet, about his voice cutting through a crowd, about everyone watching me—I was hard again. Rock hard.

I had feelings for Aiden, sure. That was obvious by now. But was that all this was? Some crazy chemical reaction? And if it was, was it even worth it?

My chest tightened until I finally dragged in a breath, opened my sad excuse for a closet, and stared at what was hanging there. My brand-new suit. The one he picked out. The one he made me try on. The one he stripped me out of after, like I was his own personal Ken doll. Or a really expensive whore.

Still, I put it on.

White dress shirt, crisp and clean. Black jacket, tailored so it actually hugged my shoulders instead of swallowing me. The tie—dark blue, matching the college colors—knotted neat under my throat. Polished shoes. Even my hair was slicked back and styled with actual product, not just water and my fingers.

I stared at the mirror.

“Shit,” I muttered. “I kinda look… hot.”

Impeccable, but still young. A shiny new penny in a pile of gold.

The walk to the sports complex felt surreal. Normally the place reeked of sweat and turf. Tonight, it was like stepping into another world. The team locker rooms were our starting point—we were supposed to meet there and head out together. When we filed into the main hall, it wasn’t a hall anymore. It had been transformed into some five-star restaurant setup.

White cloths draped over rows of tables. Crystal glasses lined up like soldiers. Candles. Fucking flowers. They’d polished every inch of the place. Even the field had been painted brighter this weekend, the white lines sharp enough to blind, the turf gleaming like it was brand new.

The boosters and donors were already filtering in, all diamonds and designer watches, their perfumes floating heavy in the air. I tugged at my collar, trying not to choke.

And then came the girls. Cheerleaders gliding in on heels, dresses hugging every curve. Other students, the hot ones, the ones everyone wanted to be seen with.

And me? Yeah, I noticed. I still appreciated a good pair of tits or a perfect smile. But my body didn’t react like it used to. My chest didn’t clench, my cock didn’t twitch.

I should’ve been eating it up. Instead, I found myself thinking—none of them were *him*.

God, I could hardly remember the last time I fucked a girl—wait, yes, I did. It was during that trip when I tried making Aiden jealous… Gosh damn it, even then… But before? Not like I was a slut or anything, but I’d always been popular with them—and they’d been, for the most part, pretty damn popular with me. My cock used to scream at me every time a hot girl walked by. Cheerleaders. Girls at school. Even my sister’s friends—yeah, not my proudest moments, but in my defense, I wasn’t exactly the chaser. They came to me.

That was… until the day I saw Aiden in the showers.

Game over.

I’d been fucked since. Obsessed, branded, ruined for anyone else.

As if the universe wanted to laugh in my face, Miguel slung an arm around me, grinning like the smartass he was. “Hi. Thinking of whips and chains?”

*Holy mother of God.* I nearly choked on my own spit. “What the hell, dude?” I hissed, dragging him a few steps away from the others.

“Relax, bro. There’s no one around.” He shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb.

“No one but the entire team, half the school, and every donor in the goddamn state of Texas!” I shoved him in the chest, my face burning.

He rolled his eyes. “Nobody heard. Chill. So—you’ve been lost again. Anything exciting?”

“Not really,” I lied through my teeth. *Not unless you count being caged, collared, and paraded around naked on a leash, buddy.* “And you? Any luck with Keon?”

That got him. His eyes bugged, and he practically inhaled his tongue. “W-what do you mean?” He stammered, flushing red and glancing around like someone was about to arrest him.

I grinned, elbowing him in the ribs. “C’mon, man. You think I didn’t notice?”

His blush deepened, but the way he shut his mouth said enough.

“Relax,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Miguel shoved me back, but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. Before he could answer, Keon walked up with the rest of the guys; all of us herded closer together as the staff started lining us up.

“Damn,” Keon muttered, adjusting his tie. “This feels weird as hell. Like we’re about to strut down a runway instead of the field.”

“Tell me about it,” one of the linemen groaned. “I didn’t sign up for America’s Next Top Model.”

A couple of us laughed, tension easing just a bit. And then—

He walked in.

He strolled in with Coach Daniels at his side, both in tailored suits. And Jesus Christ. I thought the black leather Master look had been deadly, but this? This was a whole different level of lethal. Sharp lines, perfect fit, confidence rolling off him like it was stitched into the fabric. His jaw clean-shaven, his hair slick, his eyes lit with that calm fire that always made me want to kneel.

My mouth went dry. My dick twitched inside my pants, traitor that it was, and I fought not to shift uncomfortably in front of the guys.

Miguel, of course, didn’t even try to keep it quiet. He gave a low whistle. “Goddamn. If he isn’t God’s gift to Armani.”

I wanted to murder him…. Or maybe myself.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And worse—I couldn’t stop staring.

The staff began to call us into line, pairing us off and preparing to usher us into the main hall. My pulse thundered in my ears, not from the donors, or the lights, or the pressure… but from one man in a suit who owned every inch of me without anyone knowing.

Let the show begin!