Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Alden

The knock came right on schedule, sharp and deliberate.

I already knew who it was—Noah, returning from the hotel restaurant with the dinner I had sent him to fetch fifteen minutes earlier. I hadn’t given him many instructions, just a simple order: “Two entrées. Something hearty. Something warm. Go.”

He hadn’t argued or questioned me. Instead, he had nodded once, a quiet “Yes, Sir,” and left without hesitation.

It was a small gesture, really. A test. The very first of many to come.

I opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. He carried a paper bag containing two steaming containers, along with a couple of wrapped utensils. Still wearing his hoodie, his cheeks flushed from the brisk walk, but now he seemed calmer—more focused. He looked almost proud of himself, balancing two cold drinks in one hand, a few seasoning packets clenched between his teeth, and smiling like he’d just conquered some great challenge. I nearly laughed at the sight. Nearly.

Tonight, there would be no dramatic outbursts. No marks or ropes. No demands beyond what he could handle. But this was just the beginning.

Our first night stepping into the dynamic.

Not as coach and player.

Not as the boy and the man he couldn’t seem to stop watching.

Tonight, we would start building something—something that would carry us far beyond the walls of this hotel.

And while what I truly craved was far more intense, more explicit, and a hell of a lot more fun—his lips wrapped around me, maybe a whip crackling softly in the background—I could wait. For now, dinner in my room was enough.

We’d begin here. Quietly. With control.

I motioned toward the small table and said, “Set it down, and then take your place.”

He obeyed, slightly breathless. “Smells incredible. I got what you suggested. Hope they didn’t mess it up—”

“Noah.”

He froze instantly.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Rule number one: when we’re alone, especially during training, you address me as ‘Sir.’ That starts now.”

His eyes widened just a bit. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

Much better.

I moved toward the nightstand and pulled out a narrow strip of black leather—soft and well-worn, yet firm enough to sting. I didn’t raise it or explain anything. I simply let him see it. His lips parted slightly as he watched me slip it into my back pocket. Even if I didn’t use it tonight, I wanted him to know it was there.

I gestured toward the carpet near the table. “Now. Kneel.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Like, uh… how?”

It seemed I’d have to make my point after all.

With a swift, practiced flick of my wrist, I swung the leather strap and landed a sharp strike on his thigh.

He jumped, startled and confused. After a brief hesitation, he corrected himself immediately. “Sir! Kneel how, Sir?”

“Formal posture. Knees shoulder-width apart. Back straight. Hands clasped behind you, fingers interlaced. Head lowered—but keep your eyes on me unless I say otherwise.”

He hesitated for a moment, then complied, fumbling slightly as he found the position. His hoodie still hung low over his face like a curtain.

“Take it off,” I said softly. “We discussed this. From now on, I won’t repeat myself without consequences. I want to see you.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He shrugged the hoodie off his arms, revealing flushed cheeks and a flicker of vulnerability I hadn’t seen in a long time. His body adjusted, a slight tremor in his arms, a twitch in his thighs. Good. He was already fighting his natural impatience and discomfort.

I circled him slowly, deliberately.

“You will stay here while I eat. Quiet. Still. Watching. This isn’t punishment—it’s practice. Anticipation. Obedience. Control.”

“What? You want me to watch you eat? But I thought—”

Another sharp strike from the leather strap landed on his other leg, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“You will never question your master; you will simply obey.”

He nodded quickly.

I shot him a look.

He winced. “Yes, Sir.”

His brow furrowed, lower lip tugged inward with worry. For a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard, too fast—if the intensity was overwhelming him.

But then my eyes drifted lower.

His cock strained against his pants.

No. He wasn’t overwhelmed. He was starving for this.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice nearly hoarse.

I raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled sharply, then corrected himself. “Yes, Sir.”

Better. The title still tasted new on his tongue, but it thrilled him—I could see it in the heat rising to his cheeks.

He accepted the food without protest, settling back onto his knees. Not once did he look up. He ate in complete silence, every bite measured, as if focused on doing it perfectly. A quiet offering of obedience.

When he finished, he dabbed at his lips with a napkin, mimicking the motion I’d made earlier.

He cleared his throat softly.

“Sir, I am done.”

I let the words hang in the air a moment longer than necessary, watching how he braced himself—waiting to be dismissed or corrected.

“Good,” I said finally. “Pick up both our dishes and pack your things. We leave early tomorrow.”

I stood, lowering my voice slightly as he gathered the plates.

“When you return…”

I paused, meeting his eyes.

“…your reward will be waiting.”

And damn it, if he didn’t flush all over again.