Sequel: Breathless

There Are Still Rules To Break


When she opened her eyes, Amanda was half expecting it to be dark out since she usually woke up just in time for the sun to set. She also expected that she’d be in her own bed and no one would be there with her. So when she slowly fell back into reality, she could only widen her eyes at the sleeping French Canadian, whose head was on her stomach and his arms wrapped around her waist. She felt his hot breath on the bare skin in between her panty-line and where the shirt she wore had ridden up.

Her own breath hitched in her throat at every exhale of his. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and placed one of her petite hands on his head, her fingers massaging over it. She heard Patrice groan in his sleep. Amanda smiled and kept rubbing the pads of her fingers against his scalp, making him finally turn his head to look at her, his lips grazing against the skin just below her belly button.

His still half closed eyes looked up at her and his raspy, morning voice sounded in her ears, “It’s bright.” Amanda only laughed and nodded, her fingers still massaging his scalp. “That feels so good,” He moaned out, putting his chin on her stomach. She smiled and asked, “How did you manage to slide all the way down the bed?”

Patrice’s response was to shrug his shoulders and nuzzle his bearded face into her stomach again, closing his eyes. “Don’t you have to get up?” Amanda asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. He shook his head against her and mumbled, “I can sleep all day.”

Amanda laughed and told him she was an expert at that; it was an art form, really. He smiled up at her, just as her stomach growled loudly. And it was loud to her; how loud had it been to Patrice, whose head was still on her stomach? She laughed at his face, “Whatever. I’m starving.” Patrice rolled off of her, nodding his head, “I can eat.”

“I’m sure you can… I’ll go make something?” She offered, scooting off of the bed. She had just put her feet on the floor, when Patrice’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back slightly. She felt his steady breath on her neck and ear, but he didn’t say anything. She finally felt his lips graze her neck ever so lightly. And just like that, they were gone and he was lying back on the bed.

She held her breath as she walked into the kitchen, not being able to help wonder if that had really happened. She let out her intake of air as she stood in front of the refrigerator, wondering what she could make for them to eat. She saw eggs, she saw bread, and she saw bacon. Nodding to herself, she quickly whipped up some French toast and fried the bacon. She saw almost three cartons of orange juice in the fridge, so she rightly assumed Patrice drank a lot of it. Pouring two glasses, she called him into the kitchen.

His eyes were still half closed when he came into her view, still in only his boxers and running hand over his stubble. He walked up behind her and put a hand on her hip, under the shirt of his she had slept in, rubbing the pads of his fingers in circles over her skin. “What did you make?” He asked her, his voice still raspy and his accent more thick than usual.

“French toast?” She questioned, wondering if he even liked it. He made a small noise that sounded like ‘yum’ and sat down at the counter, immediately taking a bite of bacon. Amanda smiled and sat down herself, nibbling at her French toast.

“So, what are you doing today?” He asked after sipping his juice. Amanda shrugged, “I’m not sure. I might just get some cleaning and laundry done. Ever since the playoffs started, I’ve been neglecting that a bit.”

“So?” He asked, stuffing more food into his mouth and quickly swallowing. “You can do that later.” She watched him finish up the last of his breakfast before leaning against the counter and smirking at her. “Are you keeping me hostage?” She asked, leaning against the counter the same way he was. Shrugging, he stood and brought their plates, silverware, and glasses to the dishwasher, letting it run its cycle.

“And if I was?”

Amanda bit her lip and watched his bare back as he walked back to the bedroom. The way he moved his arms when he walked made muscles flex in his back. Groaning to herself, she let her head all against the cool to the touch counter. She couldn’t even begin to explain how she ended up in Patrice Bergeron’s apartment, but yet that’s where she found herself.

She heard his shower turn on, and she sighed. Slapping her hands together, her eyes landed on the laptop on his coffee table. Smiling, she walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling the computer onto her lap and turning it on. She sipped her orange juice as the machine loaded. When it did, she noticed a minimized web page, the tab saying Boston Beat. Of course, her curiosity got the best of her, and she restored the page, her own face greeting her when it opened.

Suddenly, she remembered a comment she had received on the first part of her Bruins article. The person had signed the comment ‘PB,’ and now she knew exactly who ‘PB’ was. She smiled to herself, wondering how he had found out about her reporter status, but the business card of hers that she had overlooked on the table answered her question. She must have dropped it during one of their encounters.

She heard the water shut off, and she quickly closed the laptop and put it back where it had been. Patrice called out to her, and Amanda quickly walked into the bedroom. “You can take a shower if you’d like,” He told her as he stood in nothing but a towel. Amanda knew her cheeks were red and she turned her head to avoid looking at him.

“Okay,” She managed, meekly. Patrice put one of large hands on Amanda’s lower back and moved her into the steamy room. He showed her where towels were, where the soap was, and where she could find a spare toothbrush and the toothpaste. She nodded her head, but her thoughts were on Patrice’s body. From wherever they stood in the large bathroom, Amanda could see his reflection in the mirror that took up an entire wall. The steam of the shower Patrice had taken wasn’t helping matters and only made her body heat up more at the thought of him.

“Fuck,” She mumbled, putting a hand on her head after Patrice had left and closed the door behind him. She shook her head and took a quick and cold shower. It worked for men, right?

She found herself only in a towel and no clothes to put on. Biting her lip, she contemplated her next move. Did she really want Patrice to see her in so little? His wide eyes and slightly open mouth made her blush when she walked into the bedroom in just that. He ‘coughed’ and stood, going to the chair he had placed her clothes from the previous day.

She smiled at him as she pulled her jeans on, still managing to hug her towel to her body. Patrice’s eyes went wide when he realized she had not pulled on her underwear from the previous day, Amanda noticed. But there was no way she was doing that. Commando it was. She pulled her bra and black tank top on, leaving the jersey on the chair.

She ran a hand through her wet hair and smiled, “I’m good.” Patrice smiled, too, and moved closer to her, his eyes fixed on her face. It was then that she realized she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and the thought of Patrice seeing her like that almost made her want to run out of the room. Sure, it wasn’t like she wore a lot, but there was still a difference in her pre-makeup and post-makeup face. Patrice put a hand on her cheek and stared down at her as she bit at her lip nervously and stared up at him with her large hazel eyes, making her look like a little kid.

“I meant what I said last night.”

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to remember what he was talking about. He smiled, “Tu es tres belle.” Amanda was sure she was blushing again. “You are beautiful, Manda. Don’t think you need to be embarrassed in front of me.” Nodding her head, she let out a light smile, watching as Patrice’s gaze intensified and his face moved closer to hers.

Pressing his lips to hers, he felt his body heat up at her touch. She immediately pressed her lips back against his lightly, letting her body fall into his arms. Patrice had thought that finally kissing her would make his wanting of her less intense, but it did the opposite. Now that he had felt her kiss, he only wanted more. It was cliché, he thought, but when he kissed her it just felt right. He knew Amanda felt the same by the small whimper she emitted when he pulled away.

Pressing his forehead against hers and keeping his hand on the back of her neck, he told her again, “Tu es tres belle.” And Amanda believed him.
♠ ♠ ♠
For my lovely Manda, of course.