Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Noah

I had barely climbed two flights of stairs when it hit me—I’d forgotten my headphones. Of course I did. My mind was absolutely fried after trying to cram every single stat and medical detail Coach had thrown at me all day. I’d been on edge the entire time, like a powder keg ready to explode with every command he barked. And every time I managed to get it right, he barely even acknowledged me.

No praise. No nod. No sign that I’d done anything right.

And yeah, that stung more than I wanted to admit.

I turned back, deciding I could sneak in, grab the headphones, and be back in my room before anyone noticed me looking like a beaten dog. The gym was cloaked in darkness, the main lights off except for a faint glow near the mirrors. I stepped inside, eyes immediately locking onto the headphones resting on the bench exactly where I’d left them, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

I grabbed them with a soft exhale.

Then I heard it.

Water.

The showers were running.

I hesitated.

For some inexplicable reason—God only knows why—I edged closer.

The light above the showers flickered weakly. The door wasn’t fully closed, just slightly ajar.

Steam drifted out into the hallway like an unspoken invitation. And through that mist, the shower room door creaked open, revealing someone who probably thought the place was empty by now.

Coach.

Backlit by the steamy haze, water cascading down his skin, his broad shoulders taut, one arm braced against the wall.

His other hand moved.

Slowly. Rhythmically. With purpose.

I stopped breathing.

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

Was this some kind of trap? Was he deliberately waiting—teasing me like the devil he was?

Tempting.

Yes, that was it. Despite every voice in my head screaming that I was straight, that this was just admiration, I stood frozen, mesmerized by the way the water traced every inch of his perfect body. It slipped over the ridges of his back, down the sculpted curves of his ass, and along the strong, scarred legs that looked like they belonged to a myth.

I pressed myself against the wall, sinking deeper into the shadows, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

This is wrong. So fucking wrong.

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

No.

He wrapped his fingers around himself.

I swallowed hard. My throat burned.

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

Now I couldn’t look away.

Hard. Thick. Leaking.

He stroked himself without shame, without hurry. From base to 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, moving in a lazy, practiced rhythm—I was gone.