Breaking the Habit: The Breaking Series #4

by Leigh, Ember

  Levi nodded, and once the door shut, he swung his gaze back to Riley.

  “So.” He rested his palms behind his head, and the way he was watching her defied words. She snapped a picture, if only to remember this moment for herself. His bare feet against the faded carpet of the dressing room. Bulging thighs, dark hair sprinkled down his legs. His brown hair pulled back into cornrows, the only way to protect his tresses in fights.

  He was too delectable.

  “This is gonna be a good one,” Riley said, her voice coming out shaky. She was wilting under his overflowing masculinity, the testosterone that radiated off him. She wanted to crumple into a willing, wanting puddle. So he could take her already and stop this misery.

  “But tougher.” Levi wet his bottom lip, brushing his knuckles against the top of a chair. Then he snapped those honey eyes to her, mischief and sincerity written there. As if he could hear her deepest thoughts. “You should give me a kiss for good luck.”

  Riley swallowed hard. Here was her doorway, and Levi had done the hard work of kicking down the door. He still wanted it, wanted her, though she’d done her best to put distance between them. She should have known he’d pounce the second she made her decision. He probably could smell it, a feral cat finding food.

  She stepped forward, unable to rip her attention off this wall of man, the fascinating arcs and dips of muscles beneath the flimsy, stretched-thin T-shirt. She’d completely unravel the second he put his hands on her.

  That’s how bad she wanted it. That’s how hard she’d been fighting it.

  Levi reached out for her, his rough palm grazing her elbow. She inhaled sharply—the small touch rocketed through her, straight to her pussy.

  She was in so much trouble.

  The door opened. Lex came in a moment later, and Levi wilted a little. Riley turned and drew a fortifying breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

  They’d been so close.

  So fucking close.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Lex asked, a curious grin on his face.

  “Riley’s wishing me luck.” Levi’s eyes sparkled. Nobody believed that for a second.

  “Okay, well, we’ve got minutes, buddy. Let’s get a move on.” Lex jerked his head toward the hallway, his tone bringing Riley back to earth. She scooped up her camera bag, her tried and true Mark IV slung around her neck, and followed Levi and Lex.

  Travis met up with them further down the hallway, and it was about then that Levi started his prancing. Hopping from left foot to right, pumping his fists in the air, murmuring some unknown string of words to himself. The whole thing was mesmerizing. Riley shot pictures, pausing behind them in the hallway to kneel and get a low angle.

  But once they stepped through the threshold into the arena, the real magic started. Except this week, the cheers were louder. People were already chanting “LE-VI, LE-VI!”

  He’d gone from unknown to somebody in a month’s time.

  Adrenaline and chanting carried her down the tightly packed aisle. She snapped pictures endlessly, trying to capture the heat of this moment: the fierceness he exuded as he entered the cage, the warrior essence that completely overtook him as he faced his opponent for the first time.

  This was the magic of photography. If she could get the timing right, she could capture something that people only glimpsed fleetingly but then forgot about. She elbowed her way between the other photographers, thankful for her combat boots to help her hold her ground as they all jockeyed for the best position.

  The bulky ref entered the cage and read the rules. Riley’s heartrate picked up. Come on, Levi. You got this. Win the fight.

  Her throat became a vice as the match began. Levi hadn’t been kidding—the competition was tougher now. She could see it within the first seconds. Levi landed fewer punches than in the first fight; his opponent was quicker, more skilled.

  The first round was an equal dance. Nobody gained any ground, and the round ended without a knockout or a clear winner. As Levi recuperated off to the side, Riley realized her mouth was parched. The past five minutes had been a total blur. A creative blackout.

  “I can tell you’re new,” came a throaty voice. Riley whipped around; the photographer to her right watched her through slit eyes. “How’d you get the pass? Liftin’ that skirt?”

  Riley’s nostrils flared, and she set her jaw. “Through my artistic portfolio, actually. Not like you’d know what that is.”

  “Cut the crap, honey. You’re taking up space down here.”

  The asshole’s words reminded her of the truth about sports photography. She was flanked by men, most likely veterans who’d earned their stripes the long and arduous way. And here she was—a newcomer, whisked in as part-fancy, part-professional by a demanding fighter.

  She barely deserved to be here.

  But that didn’t mean she planned on backing down.

  “Actually, I’m taking up the least space between the two of us. And besides—” She jammed her right heel down, digging right into his foot. “You aren’t scared of a harmless little girl, right?”

  The asshole swore and jerked backward, opening up plenty of room for her. And just in time. The second round was beginning.

  Everything else faded to black as Levi re-entered the ring, looking somehow dewy and fresh. It was probably the gel they’d swiped onto his cheekbones, but still. She’d take it as a good sign.

  The bell rang, and the two fighters pranced and hopped around each other, both more cautious now that they’d felt the full brunt of the first round. Levi swiped and missed, and his opponent came in fast, landing a solid punch to Levi’s chest.

  Levi stumbled backwards—rocked off the defensive—and the other fighter dove in headfirst, taking Levi down to the mat with a hard thud. Everything happened so fast then: the endless punches to Levi’s face, the butt-clenching few seconds where she thought Levi had actually passed out, followed by a few ineffective swipes from Levi, grazing open air as he received the brutal beatdown.

  Riley went rigid, fear and desperation snaking through her, and it was only when Levi managed to hook his ankle around the guy’s waist and maneuver himself to a better position that she remembered she needed to take pictures. The whole point of being here.

  Emotion pressed at her chest as she snapped away, sending up a silent prayer each second that he would come out on top. He had to win this round. He had to.

  It wasn’t because her job was on the line.

  It was because she believed in Levi. She wanted him to succeed. Even if she disagreed with his aspirations for fame, she believed he was a good guy and that he deserved it.

  Levi finally escaped the hold he was in. Whether by miracle or sheer expertise, Levi wriggled out like a snake and turned the tables in the blink of an eye. Riley whooped with relief as he maneuvered himself on top of his opponent, unleashing a lethal spray of punches.

  The arena filled with cheers. Tears pressed at her eyes, and she rummaged in her camera bag for a different lens. As she was in the middle of screwing on the new lens, the asshole on the right jabbed her—hard. The old one went flying and cracked right down the center.

  “Sorry,” he snarled.

  Riley gaped at the broken lens. Anger bubbled up, and she ripped out a gruff cry and tightened the new one on. She’d deal with that shit later. She lined up the shot, which took a few extra seconds because this lens took tight-cropped images. It was hard to keep more than their heads in the shot, but she knew the payoff would be greater. Especially now.

  She barely breathed as she clicked through the shots. The apprehension of the moment—would she make it, would they turn out okay—kept her throat cinched tight.

  The ref called the round. Levi released his iron grip around his opponent’s neck, and the two staggered away from each other. Riley bent down to pick up her cracked equipment, and while she was down, a hand came down on her ass.

  She whipped up to search out the offender. Surrounded by men, this already reeked of a
losing battle.

  “Keep your fucking hands off me,” she snarled at the asshole to her right, who watched her with a smarmy look.

  “Never had ‘em on ya.”

  Anger zipped through her. Bottling it up wasn’t an option. “You know I work for him, right?” Her index finger flew toward Levi, who was currently being administered water by Travis. “All it takes is one word. You break another lens, he’ll break your face.” God, it felt so redeeming to threaten this guy. She relished how good it felt—how much she actually believed her own words. “You wanna fuck with this guy? After what you’ve seen here?”

  The rush and call of the arena swelled as the fighters returned to their posts. The asshole photographer grinned at her, licking his lips.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. He’s not gonna last. I’ve been coming to these fights longer than you’ve been alive. Let him show up to my office. I’d love to have him.”

  “Fuck off.” Riley jerked back around, angling her right shoulder in front of this guy, trying not to let him steal her focus. This was the last round. The one that decided it all. Still, her heart hammered in her chest, the blatant disrespect of this man—and probably all the other photographers around her—weighing heavily on her mind.

  The final round was a good distraction. Levi landed an uppercut and then attempted to choke out his opponent. The choke failed, and after a slight scuffle, Levi brought out the ultra-fast boxing moves, the ones she remembered Travis mentioning. His opponent was knocked out before the round was over.

  Cheers swelled until the arena became thunderous. And distantly…but distinctly…she heard the chant forming.

  “LE-VI-LEAD-FIST.”

  “LE-VI-LEAD-FIST.”

  Chapter 11

  The dressing room was pure victory dance when Riley made it back. Lex hooted his congratulations while Travis shoved his fists into the air. The league doctor was already bent in front of Levi, checking out the damage.

  Levi looked spent. But utterly happy.

  “That fight?” Riley shut the door behind her, leaning against it. “Was fucking incredible.”

  Levi’s heartbreaker grin stretched from ear to ear. “I knew you’d turn into a super fan.”

  “Wasn’t it though?” Lex jumped in place a few times, doling out punches to imaginary foes. “That’s my Levi Lead Fist!”

  “Is that a new nickname?” Riley asked, setting her bags down.

  “No. This kid has had lead fists since the day he started fighting,” Travis said.

  “They called me that back in Chicago,” Levi said, his voice a little hoarse. He was definitely the least energetic in the room, and with good reason. “And whaddya know? It came to the West Coast with me.”

  Travis let out a whoop. “Damn! I’m still not over the finish on round three.”

  “Oh my god, the Superman punch!” Lex bounded over.

  “Strong finish, dude.”

  The doctor checked out Levi’s articulations once he stood up, making sure nothing was broken, and then gave him the all clear. Travis applied some tape to a cut near Levi’s eye, then one on his forehead. He’d managed to wipe up all the blood she’d seen streaming down Levi’s face in the cage.

  “No wonder you got the chants started afterward,” Lex said, grinning ear to ear. “I smell another meme coming!”

  “Aw, come on.” Levi swatted weakly at Lex. Then he looked over to Riley. “How were pictures?”

  “Great,” she blurted, not wanting to dampen the mood with her broken lens. She could bring that up later, once the triumph died down. Levi deserved to bathe in his happiness now. “And yeah, there’s definitely another meme on my memory card somewhere.”

  Travis and Lex got things wrapped up in the dressing room, including Levi’s face, and were ready to leave.

  “You need a ride?” Travis asked Riley.

  Words evaporated in her mouth. She didn’t know how to admit that she wanted to hang around Levi as long as humanly possible. “Uh…no. I…have a ride.”

  “Good. You ready, Levi?”

  Levi still hadn’t budged from his seat, and it didn’t look like he would anytime soon. He squinted up at Travis. “No, man. I’m staying.”

  Travis cocked his head. “You got a ride?”

  Levi jerked his head toward Riley. “Her.”

  Both guys had knowing smiles crest their faces.

  “Whatever you say,” Travis said. To Riley, he asked, “You agree with that?”

  “Yeah. We talked about it. It’s…I’m driving him.” The fibs tumbled out of her mouth now. She had no car. And either did he. But they’d figure something out.

  “All right. Just take it easy on the victor, okay?” Travis shot her a thumbs up before he and Lex let themselves out of the dressing room. A thick silence filled the room as Riley propped herself against the dressing table facing Levi.

  He watched her with an expression that told her he knew exactly where this was headed…even while she didn’t. She crossed her arms over her chest, viscerally aware of how close her exposed thigh was to him. He could reach out and brush her…if he wanted.

  “So,” she started, cocking her head, “looks like you didn’t need that good luck kiss after all.”

  Levi cracked a smile and shook his head. “No. Probably good anyway.” His smile dimmed a little. “It would just become a crutch anyway.”

  His words made her scoot closer to him, like her skin was desperate to bridge the remaining space between them. Hungry for contact. Anything.

  “What would become a crutch?” she asked.

  “Kissing you.”

  If the sexual tension had already been high between them, those two words kicked it up to a tightrope waiting to snap. She gripped the edge of the table jutting into her ass, trying to corral the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

  But there was no hope. Not really. After seeing what this man had to offer, physically and otherwise, she was postponing the inevitable.

  “I wouldn’t want you to have to depend on me for success,” she said, her voice coming out soft, husky. “Or my kisses.” Levi’s gaze snapped back up to her. Like he’d heard the intent in her words. The decision she’d made about him, unveiling itself in her tone. He worked his jaw back and forth.

  “You know…I didn’t tell you earlier.” Levi’s gaze scorched a path up her thighs. “You look fucking killer today.”

  All the skin of her legs prickled under his attention, and her legs parted, practically of their own volition. Like urging this along to its final destination.

  “Did you dress like this for me?” Levi asked, his cinnamon gaze making her insides seize.

  And there was something in his question, the simple honesty of it, an innocence that broke her open. Yes. She fucking had dressed this way for him. And damn, it felt good to be noticed.

  “I did,” she whispered, scooting farther down the edge of the dressing room table, until she completely faced him, their hips squaring off. He hadn’t touched her yet. And maybe he never would. The wait made her antsy. She spread her legs further, trying to send him a message he couldn’t ignore.

  Levi sucked at his teeth, his gaze falling to her legs again. He reached out, fingers grazing her calf. She bit at her bottom lip, containing the moan that threatened to spill out.

  Because that wasn’t cool—reaching orgasm from the brush of a calf.

  No, she was a sexually experienced woman in her mid-twenties, and she needed to act like it.

  “Do you know—” Levi wet his bottom lip, his eyes fastened to his hand traveling up the side of her leg. “How long I’ve wanted to do this?”

  “Since yesterday?” she teased, similarly unable to see anything other than his busted hand, calloused and rough, cresting her knee, pushing up along the swell of her thigh.

  “Much longer than that.” He pushed his palm around the side of her leg, fingertips pushing under the fabric of her dress. His gaze swept up to find hers. “Since the day I met you.”

>   “I knew that,” she whispered, her breath hitching as Levi came to standing. His square shoulders and square abs and square jaw and square everything filled her view. Her legs splayed open farther as he stepped forward, filling the space there, as if he was made for it.

  Because he was.

  It was obvious the second his heat filled the space between her legs that something very special existed between them. It wasn’t fireworks, per se, but something deeper and more catastrophic, like a supernova, one that could eradicate a galaxy. Riley didn’t know how to explain it, other than up was down, and Levi completed her, and the man hadn’t even kissed her yet but she was already teetering on the brink of orgasm.

  His rough hand cupped the side of her face. With him only inches away, she’d devolved into a totally useless, sputtering mess. All she could do was stare at him and hang on for the ride.

  “Your legs,” he whispered, his breath coming out hot against the shell of her ear, “have been in my fantasies for the last six weeks.”

  “Sounds like a serious problem,” she said, trying to make light of it, but her voice barely worked anymore, so this was basically hopeless.

  “It is.” Levi’s lips brushed her ear lobe, and she shuddered against him, unable to harness the physical sensations occurring. Fiona had been right. A year and a half off had been too damn long.

  Levi’s thumb traced along the edge of her jaw, then he gripped her chin, guiding her face upward. He searched her eyes before leaning forward, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was magically sweet—something so at odds with the physical display of brutality she’d seen less than a half hour ago that her entire body rioted at the softness.

  She needed more. So much more.

  Riley grabbed for him, her palm meeting the slick skin of his chest. That’s when he deepened the kiss, turning it into Level One Supernova. His tongue found hers, hungry and seeking. His arms encircled her, bringing her body flush against his, and that’s when everything started to blur together into a seamless stream of kisses.

  All she cared about was his lips—his perfect, plump lips that seemed to have been made for her mouth. She needed these lips all the time. And if she expected to survive after these kisses, well—she’d need to seriously investigate how to do that.