Crossing Lines
Chapter 101
Noah
The man who greeted us made my stomach flip before he even said a
word. Tall, broad, built like some dark emperor in a midnight silk suit,
his presence filled the room so completely that even Aiden seemed
sharper standing near him. “Mr. Hale,” the attendant had said–but
the man corrected softly, his voice like smooth gravel, “Master Hale.”
Of course. Because why settle for something as boring as ‘Mister‘
when you can go full–on Bond villain with a title?
Hale’s gaze skimmed me briefly but intently before locking onto
Aiden with a slow, knowing smile that didn’t exactly calm my nerves.
Then the man extended a hand, his ring catching the light like a
blade. They exchanged a few words I didn’t catch–I was too busy
trying to remember how to breathe.
And then the doors opened.
Holy. Shit.
The Dominium wasn’t a club. It was another world.
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Velvet draped from the ceiling in blood–red cascades, the walls lined
with mirrors that caught every flicker of candlelight and sent it
spinning back tenfold. The place felt endless, an underground
cathedral built not for worship but for spectacle. A roulette wheel spun lazily in one corner, poker tables thrumming with men in tailored suits, cigars curling smoke into the air. And then–oh God-
the stages.
The largest one rose at the center, flooded with soft amber light. A
man stood there–no, a Master–working lengths of black rope into intricate knots, looping them around the wrists, thighs, and chest of a sub who hung half–suspended in midair. The rope glistened under the lights like art come alive, and the sub’s body arched in surrender, every sound swallowed by the murmurs of an audience that watched
in reverent silence.
Around the edges were smaller stages, each a snapshot of something both obscene and beautiful. A spanking delivered in measured rhythm, the crack of leather echoing across velvet. Two subs moving like dancers, bending and contorting with a grace that belonged on Broadway if not for the chains glinting around their throats. In another corner, a pair tangled together in something raw and so
intimate I had to look away before my face caught fire.
And every set of eyes in the place seemed to turn toward us. Or maybe just him. The air thickened with stares–curious, assessing, amused. My chest tightened under the mask, my pulse hammering
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like a war drum.
Noah, breathe. This is fine. Totally fine. You’re not standing half naked
in a cock pouch with a leash attached to your throat. Nope. Definitely not
every nightmare at once. Just… keep moving. Pretend this is normal.
Pretend you belong.
Except I didn’t belong. Not here. Not in this world where every
gesture dripped with power, where men like Mr. A and Hale carved
out kingdoms with their presence alone. I felt small, so small, like a
joke that had stumbled into the wrong movie set.
And then Aiden tugged the leash down.
“Knees,” he murmured.
I froze, then obeyed, dropping onto hands and knees. The marble
floor was cold and merciless beneath me, the first shift of weight
already grinding into my kneecaps. Crawling didn’t just sting–it
gutted me. My pride screamed with every step as Aiden led me deeper
into the Dominium, my body a tethered shadow at his feet. My palms slipped against polished stone, shoulders burning, humiliation
searing through me in waves.
I thought I’d never recover from it… until we passed others.
Chapter 101
Other subs were everywhere. Some naked, some in barely–there silks
or delicate lace, some bound with collars and cuffs so ornate they
gleamed like jewelry. They weren’t ashamed. They weren’t
humiliated. They moved with devotion etched into every line of their
bodies, heads bowed, eyes glowing, their submission not stolen but
worn like a crown.
That’s when we stopped.
Aiden clasped forearms with another Master–a lean, dark–haired man
in an immaculately cut suit. At his side was a girl.
Luna.
She didn’t crawl like me–awkward, knees already screaming–she
glided. Like she’d practiced this her whole damn life. And she was…
well, mostly naked. A collar around her throat, a few strips of silk tied
here and there like somebody had started wrapping a present and
gotten distracted halfway through. None of it hid anything. If
anything, it just made you look harder. Every curve was right there,
on display, like some kind of living pin–up you weren’t supposed to
touch.
And she was gorgeous. Too gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that made
my brain short–circuit and my pouch suddenly feel two sizes too
small.
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Then she smiled at me.
Not mocking, not pitying. Just a soft, knowing smile that said, I see
you. My face went hot in an instant. I stammered something silent
and useless back, my blush burning so deep it had to be visible even
under the mask. And when I realized I was staring–when I realized
what exactly I was staring at—I almost died right there from the sheer
terror of leaking all over the shiny floors.
I forced myself to smile back, quick, jerky, awkward, like I’d forgotten
how muscles worked.
But no one laughed. No one here judged.
Later, Aiden and Hale sat at a private table, the kind that radiated
importance. I knelt at Aiden’s feet, leash coiled neatly in his hand, my
body both exposed and hidden, a silent shadow listening as they
spoke.
Hale’s voice was smooth but commanding. He spoke of the club’s
history, its exclusivity, its reputation–of how safety came before
everything. Every member vetted. Every sub and Dom scanned
closely, records checked, health exams mandatory. No exceptions. No
risks tolerated. This wasn’t chaos. It was order–strict, absolute,
deliberate.
Chapter 101
My jaw nearly hit the floor. I’d thought this was all play, a game for
freaks in leather and masks. But this was a world with its own laws,
stricter and sharper than anything outside those doors. A world
where my master fit without effort, his calm dominance glinting
under the chandeliers, every eager sub in the room stealing glances at
him.
Boys. Girls. It didn’t matter. Those without Masters orbited him
instinctively, their eyes bright, bodies leaning subtly his way, as if
gravity itself bent toward him, as if hoping he would choose them
next.
Right, you wish, fuckers.
With all their experience, they were just lost. Wandering sheep.
And me? I was the one at his feet.
That’s why–beneath the humiliation, the terror, the need to run screaming–something else burned in me. Thrill and, holy shit, pride -fucked up and probably really unhealthy, but pride. Because out of all the people in this velvet–drenched circus, I was the one walking beside Aiden. Me. Chosen. His.
Even if I was one sarcastic comment away from being skinned alive for points tonight.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
