Breaking the Rules: The Breaking Series #1

by Leigh, Ember

  “Fuck me.” Her chest heaved, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, arching against him. “I need it, Travis.”

  He ran a thumb over the cleft of her pussy, the moisture staining the fabric of her panties. He pushed the fabric aside, slipping his fingers over and around her clit, then lined himself up. Her breath came out ragged at his ear as he pushed himself inside her, inch by languorous inch, her hot pussy walls stretching to accept him as he eased deeper.

  She dug her nails into his shoulders, which sent fire racing up and down his body. He pushed deeper, burying himself to the hilt, and let out a low groan, pleasure blanketing him, making him dizzy.

  He started a slow grind, their pelvises knocking as she rocked beneath him, the grip on his shoulder tightening as their pace quickened. She whimpered, clenching her thighs around his waist. He trailed his hands up and down the length of her thighs, and then took a fat handful of her ass, steadying her against the door as he fucked her, harder and faster as the need overcame him.

  She let out a throaty moan, one that nearly pushed him over the edge. Their bodies pounded against the door in a frantic rhythm; somewhere deep inside where his rational mind had escaped to, he wondered if the neighbors might hear or if someone walking by in the hallway might complain. But it didn’t matter—not when Amara was in his arms, her silky heat wrapped around him, urging him higher and faster and harder, her sweet breath in his ear asking him for more.

  Pleasure coiled densely inside him, and then as he thrust again, it popped like a cork, a warm rush filling his insides. He groaned into her shoulder and thrust again, legs trembling as he came.

  When he looked at Amara, she was flushed, with fiery eyes. Her breath came out ragged, and she pinched her eyes shut. “You came so fast.”

  He brushed his lips against her cheek. “It’s you in those panties. Did you come, babe?”

  She leveled him with her gaze. Realization seared through him.

  “I’m not done with you, then.” He grinned, tossing the condom before reaching down to yank up his boxer briefs. He walked to the couch, Amara still in his arms. She giggled, hanging tightly around his neck, and he lowered her onto the edge of the couch, her pussy peeking out from the crotch of her panties as her legs fell open.

  “This is the real dessert.” He kissed his way up her inner thigh, up to the wet fabric of her underwear. She moaned as he nuzzled her pussy, her fingers knotting in his hair. He pushed aside her panties and sucked at her clit; her pussy was swollen and juicy. It wouldn’t be long before she came. He lapped and sucked and kissed her clit, snaking two fingers into her slippery entrance, moaning as he worked the slick canal.

  Her breathing hitched; the grip on his hair tightened. She arched her back, and he went faster, caressing the tight nub with his tongue until she let out a cry and clamped her thighs around his shoulders.

  He eased his fingers out, placing a gentle kiss on her throbbing clit before replacing her panties. Chest heaving, she stared at the ceiling, a look on her face that told him she was a million miles away.

  “I think now it’s dinner time.” He bit the inside of her thigh gently, and she giggled, pushing herself up on an elbow, her eyes swirling with something unknown.

  “Dessert exhausted me. In the best way possible.” She smiled lazily. “What did you get?”

  “Something delicious.” He helped her come to standing, steadying her when she wobbled. She clung to his bicep. “But maybe it got cold since I couldn’t control myself.”

  “That’s why they make microwaves,” she said. “So you can fuck before dinner without consequence.”

  He laughed, heading for the bathroom to clean up the condom he’d tossed. When he came back, Amara was sitting on a stool at the island, peering into a to-go container. In just her panties, tousled hair, and unbuttoned work shirt. His cock twitched; she was too sexy. He might not make it through dinner at this rate.

  “This looks good,” she said, swiping a spoon through the pho. “Did you get that spicy sauce?”

  “This stuff?” He reached for a packet that said nuoc cham. “They said I had to have it.”

  “Yessss.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my God. Vietnamese was the best idea.”

  He split up the various entrées he’d selected between their two plates, then poured the pho into its own bowl. Chopsticks in hand, he attacked a small pile of noodles first.

  Amara hummed happily as she chewed. “I feel like I’m in an alternate universe.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I never once imagined I’d be eating dinner in your apartment…in our underwear.”

  He laughed as he realized he hadn’t put his sweatpants back on. Had he ever felt so comfortable with a woman, and so soon? There was something thrilling about it—eating takeout food in their underwear on her first solo visit to his place.

  “That’s a good point,” he said. “I never thought it would actually happen. But I sure thought about it.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. “You fantasized about eating pho in our underwear?”

  “Not eating pho. But everything else.” He laughed, feeling his neck get hot.

  She eyed him with a smirk. “Bad boy.”

  He slurped at the soup, relishing the way she gobbled him up with her eyes. Travis felt plenty adored in his life—by women, strangers, gym-goers, and even other fighters—but there was something different in Amara’s gaze. It wasn’t just lust or physical admiration. It was like she appreciated all of him, down to the core. Especially the parts hidden by the muscles and the fighting.

  * * *

  Amara nestled into the puffy down comforter, grinning as she watched Travis strut around his room like an off-duty underwear model. They were officially winding down for bed, but every five minutes they got distracted with fondling, or stories, or kisses.

  “I’m turning off the lights now,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at her. “Don’t you dare try to stop me.”

  “Yes, sir.” She giggled, happiness making swift paths through her body. Of all the nights in the history of hookups, this had been the best. The most fun. The most romantic. The most unexpected.

  But was Travis a hookup? Already they defied the rules for simple fuck buddies or sex flings. It almost felt like they were dating…which was impossible. Because she could never date a professional fighter. That didn’t fit into her plan for the future. Travis needed to stay on the sidelines.

  Travis flicked off the lights and eased into bed, clad in only his boxer briefs, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the large bay windows in his bedroom. He didn’t have curtains over them, which Travis had explained held him accountable to following the rhythms of the day.

  He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She relaxed against him, hooking her foot around his ankle, sealing their bodies together at as many points as possible. She smashed her breasts against his chest, looking up at the outline of his jaw in the weak moonlight.

  “It’s time for bed.” She trailed her lips along his chin. “Just reminding you.”

  “We have early mornings and a shit ton of responsibility.” He squeezed his arms more tightly around her waist. “Absolutely no horseplay allowed in this bed.”

  She laughed, loving the Travis gems, like his intermittent surprising vocabulary, and the way he would sometimes belly-laugh at her jokes. “Shouldn’t we horseplay if this is the only chance we get?”

  “What do you mean?” He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “Don’t tell me this is the last time you’re coming over.”

  “With Eddie, I mean… It’ll be hard to get over here. Who knows when he’ll be out of the house overnight again.” She was picking up the thread from earlier, checking out a suspicion.

  “Oh, he’ll be out plenty. If all goes well tonight, which I’m sure it has.”

  She grinned. “So he’s seeing somebody.”

  Travis paused. “Well… I mean…”

  “Admit it.” She squeeze
d his sides. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Not yet, at least.”

  “Aha! I knew it. He doesn’t tell me this shit. I’m pissed. Not only does he act like the personal keeper of my chastity belt, he lies to me about his own dates.” She huffed, pressing her forehead against Travis’s chest. The warmth of his skin instantly soothed her. “Is she a cool girl?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Travis shifted, his big hand stroking her hair. “I met her, but I dunno; I barely talked to her.”

  “Better than his ex, right?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that.”

  Amara sighed, nestling against his chest. The murmur of his heartbeat was a reassuring rhythm; everything about this man felt strong and secure. The perfect place to curl up and let the world drift away. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  “You still on Tinder?”

  Travis’s question made her eyes pop open. “Yeah, why?”

  His stroking slowed. “Just curious.” After a few moments of silence, he said, “You going out with anybody else?”

  Delight blossomed inside her, rippling through her body like fire on kindling. “Nope. Haven’t found anyone interesting. Why?”

  He tutted, shifting against her. “You know why.”

  She couldn’t fight the grin that crossed her face. “Well, are you out and about on the field? You know, getting cozy with your clients and whatnot?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “That’s hard to believe.” She let the words pop out of her mouth before she could think better of it. Way to be rude, Amara.

  “Why?” The question came out hard, rimmed with tension.

  “My brother says you’re the white version of Don Juan,” Amara said, snickering a little. “And I mean, look at you. Why wouldn’t you be?”

  He sighed. “I used to be.”

  “Oh?” She tilted her head to look up at him. He pulled back, his gaze finding hers. Something heavy hung between them—the tension before a confession, the atmospheric shift that accompanied digging down a few layers deeper into somebody’s soul.

  “I’m not gonna lie. I used to be a big player.”

  “Man whore,” she said, grinning.

  “Whatever. But I dunno, since I opened the business, shit changed. I grew up. I don’t want a different girl every week. I’m not using steroids anymore, trying to fuck my way through the scene just because I’m on the UFC schedule. I don’t give a shit what people think about me anymore. How much of a man I am. I want to chill. I save all my energy for the business.”

  “Your priorities shifted,” she added, letting her fingertips caress the stubble of his cheek. “That’s a good thing.”

  “And I’ve never slept with any of my clients,” he added, smoothing his lips over her forehead. “I expect professionalism, you know.”

  Giddiness coursed through her. “But you’ll fuck in the locker room,” she whispered, trailing her tongue under his chin.

  “That’s different.” He grabbed handfuls of the soft flesh above her hips. “You’re an exception.”

  “Am I?” She relished the words, but a little voice in the back of her head told her he might have a lot of exceptions. How could she find out? Eddie told a drastically different story than Travis.

  “Mm-hmm.” He nibbled at her earlobe.

  “When’s the last time you hooked up?”

  He paused, his breath coming out hot at her ear. “Um…a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Like…over a year.”

  She laughed. That was almost ludicrous for a man with his abs. They were practically magnets, and every woman in a five-mile radius pure scraps of ferrite. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” He relaxed, nuzzling her neck. “Like a year and a half, actually.”

  “No wonder you’re so starved for it.” She smoothed her hands over the ridge of his shoulders. There was something incredibly satisfying in knowing that she was receiving the most special fruits of his abstinence…like a wine saved for her. Even though that was ridiculous too.

  “I was waiting for the right girl to show up.” He rolled over, pinning her to the bed, his eyes glinting. “And here you are.”

  She giggled, lolling her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck and down the valley of her breasts. She’d have to fight hard not to let those words sink into her. “Looks like it’s time for some horseplay.”

  “Just a little bit,” he said. “And then we’ll be responsible adults again.”

  Chapter 13

  The next morning, Amara woke up in a cocoon of Holt. His arms wrapped around her, his sturdy leg over hers, his manly scent of bodywash and aftershave a heady mix that already made her feel like she’d fallen into the deep end over this guy.

  Her alarm buzzed softly on the nightstand; she extracted an arm from her delicious, warm cocoon to hit Snooze. Travis mumbled into her back, his body forming a seal against hers. She shivered in his embrace, loving every bit of waking up in his arms. She’d slept like a rock next to him, not plagued by any of the anxieties she’d had with previous lovers. With Travis, it felt natural, as if they’d been doing this already for years.

  Travis grunted, releasing her as he pulled away to stretch and yawn. She turned onto her side, blinking up at him. Grogginess creased his face.

  “Morning, sunshine.” She dragged a fingertip along the hard line of his clavicle. If only they could stay in bed all day, legs wrapped around each other, whispering and giggling until hunger drove them to find food.

  He grumbled something and moved his arm beneath his head, eyes drifting shut. She took the opportunity to observe him, really drink him in. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, dark-blond eyebrows knit together like the afterthought of being angry. His stubble was more pronounced in the clarity of morning; dark bristle, some glinting blond as he shifted, dotted the chiseled landscape of his jaw.

  Her alarm went off again; she groaned, leaning out of bed to silence the phone. Travis’s warm hands gripped the curve of her waist, pulling her back.

  “Don’t get up.” His voice came out raspy and low.

  “But I have to.” She snuggled up to him, grateful for the warmth of his body against hers.

  “Let’s call off.”

  “I’m in.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, rolling on top of him. “I’ll call your work if you call mine.”

  A throaty laugh escaped him; he ran his rough hands over the curve of her ass cheeks, sending warmth racing through her.

  “I wish we had time for breakfast.” He squinted over at the clock. “Or that I ever ate breakfast.”

  “How can a trainer not eat breakfast?” She pushed up to sitting.

  “I usually have a juice or a smoothie once I get to work. When I’m training, the diet gets strict.” He squeezed her ass cheeks again, biting his lower lip as his eyes traveled over her breasts and down her belly. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Like a baby. I don’t think I moved once.”

  “Good.” His squinty grin made happiness blossom from deep within.

  Travis pinched her sides, and they rolled out of bed. Amara wandered to the bathroom, enjoying the shafts of sunlight breaking through the windows on the far wall of his living room, dragging her fingers along the high back of Travis’s leather couch. In the pristine stillness of the early morning, Travis’s apartment was a bright hub of tranquility. Add a massage table and a diffuser, and it could be a spa environment.

  After a quick pee and face wash, she meandered back into the bedroom. Travis was buttoning a pair of pressed, dark-gray slacks. Her gaze fell to his navel and the tantalizing trail of dark hairs that disappeared under the waistline.

  “Wow. Pretty fancy.” She pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail while she arranged her clothes.

  “I have an interview this morning.” He reached for a long-sleeve, white button-up and tugged it over his broad shoulders.

  “For what?”

  “It’s prefight cov
erage.” He buttoned his shirt, smirking at her. “Gotta get the world riled up.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t last long. Every time he talked about the fight, she could feel the pride oozing out of him. And what was there to be proud of? Beating another man to a pulp? “When is the fight?”

  “Two weeks. We’ll be doing other interviews along the way. This is the first.”

  “Hmm.” She stepped into the pleated black work pants she’d brought.

  “You gonna come to the fight?”

  The question made her freeze. No way in hell she’d pay money to watch two grown men beat each other up. Travis must have caught wind of her hesitation, because he added, “I was gonna give Eddie a ticket. I can give you one too.”

  She focused on buttoning her pants, trying to find the balance between polite and hell no. “I don’t know… What time is it, exactly?”

  “Around seven. It’s on a Saturday night.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a little suspicious?” Maybe she could blame it on Eddie. “I mean, I never go to fights. If I went, he might think…”

  Travis shrugged, disappointment streaking his face. “Maybe, yeah.”

  She watched him for a moment as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, wondering if she should say more. She’d hurt him—maybe. It was hard to tell. They weren’t anything, so it wasn’t like he could expect her to start attending all his events like a doting girlfriend. Besides, could she even sit through a fight without puking? Or at least ruining her street cred in the nonprofit world?

  She tugged on a fitted, short-sleeve button-up and topped it off with a sleek black jacket. As she slipped into kitten heels, the sight of him stole her breath. A few pieces of longish blond hair slipped out from behind his ear as he adjusted his belt. The man was pure angles and muscle, a paragon of human discipline. She admired him at the same time she was confused by him. Why did she want him so badly? The one-and-done approach clearly hadn’t worked. Now it was like she needed more Travis, all the time.