Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Aiden

“Turn around and present yourself, Noah.”

I hesitated to say the words aloud. Tonight, I’d already pushed him beyond what might be considered reasonable for a first session—perhaps even too far. But this wasn’t about my desires. It never was.

This was about discipline. About consistency. About upholding the integrity of the dynamic we were building. If I faltered now, even just once, I would be failing him. Because despite the sting, despite the tears that had fallen, he remained here with me.

He hadn’t fled.

Nor had he begged me to stop.

He trembled, yes. He struggled inwardly, but he obeyed—and even thanked me. That trust, that willingness to surrender his body and his obedience to me, was beyond valuable.

Punishing my submissives was never about deriving pleasure from their pain—especially not with Noah, not now. There were thoughts creeping into my head that I dared not voice yet. Thoughts of keeping him close, protecting him, wanting him to need me for more than just submission.

I didn’t take joy in their suffering.

I took joy in the peace I could offer.

In the comfort I could provide.

The safety. The purpose.

Punishment wasn’t a kink; it was a necessity. And I knew, one day, Noah would crave it too—not the pain itself, but the clarity it brought. The release. The certainty of knowing exactly where he stood. Judging by how his cock hardened every time I lightly traced the crop over his skin, I was certain pain was one of his own secret desires.

But tonight? Tonight, he accepted it.

He trusted me not to misuse the power he had given me—until he disobeyed.

I watched as he began to sit up, still trembling, struggling to steady his breath. He hadn’t even thought about it—he just moved.

And then came the instinctive response—raw, defiant, yet vulnerable.

“But—why?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Then two.

I stepped forward, calm and measured. “That’s two.”

He froze instantly.

“You were told not to move until I gave you permission. Yet you sat up.”

This time, he didn’t argue. His jaw clenched tightly.

“The second…” I exhaled slowly, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “You asked why.”

I circled around him and picked up the crop once more.

“You will never ask why when given an order by your Master,” I said, my voice steady but unwavering. “Not because I can do whatever I want to you—but because you trust that there is always a reason behind my commands. A reason for your safety, your growth, your happiness—even when you can’t see it in the moment.”

He remained silent, didn’t nod, but he shifted to assume the position—head bowed, legs spread, completely exposed.

Beautiful.

I delivered ten strokes. This time, slower, sharper. I no longer held back; I made sure he felt the full impact, the bite of the leather on his already reddened skin, the sharp sting that followed.

He flinched. Twitched. Struggled to stay still.

By the sixth stroke, soft whimpers escaped him, tears trailing down his cheeks.

Yet, he remained perfectly still.

Not moving until I was done.

After setting the crop aside, I approached cautiously, watching for any sign that he had reached his limit.

His voice broke the silence, low and raw. “Thank you, Sir.”

This time, he stayed put. Not a muscle moved, not a breath grew too loud.

He said nothing, but something shifted in his gaze—respect, maybe even awe. His fingers brushed lightly over my chest, tentative and reverent.

I continued stroking his hair, then his face, my thumb gliding along his cheekbone. His skin was still flushed from the punishment, from the kiss of leather, but it was soft. Beautiful.

His eyes fluttered closed, and then—slowly, instinctively—he took my hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it. Just once. Tender.

My chest tightened.

He looked back up at me, lips parted slightly, breath shaky, his gaze wide open.

And then… he leaned in.

Our mouths met—soft, tentative.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was hesitant. Raw. But it was his. His choice.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I cupped the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, claiming it. Our lips moved slowly in sync—then faster, hungrier—as his hands clenched my shirt and mine tangled in his hair.

The kiss grew ravenous—tongues sliding, breaths colliding, teeth grazing lips. He moaned softly into my mouth, and I drank it in.

I bit his lower lip—gentle at first, then rougher—just enough to make him shudder in my arms.

I wanted him. Needed him. But I couldn’t take him.

Not yet.

So I did the only thing I could—I broke the kiss slowly, breathless.

He whimpered softly as I pulled away, forehead resting against mine, still reaching for my mouth.

“Not tonight,” I whispered. “Not like this.”

He didn’t argue or pull away. He simply exhaled, collapsed into me, and let me hold him.

We lay there for a long time, neither of us speaking. My thumb traced soft circles on his back as his heartbeat gradually slowed against mine. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in my arms. Still marked by discipline. Still glowing with something that felt suspiciously like love.

I held him tighter and didn’t close my eyes even once.