The Off Limits Rule Novels & Stories

He started passing out the papers, one row at a time. Maya leaned close as he neared. “Eli.” “What.” “If I don’t make it—” “Maya.” “—delete my search history.” I choked on a laugh, covering my mouth. She grinned. “Focus. Don’t get caught.” The paper landed in front of me. Evidence Law Midterm. My heart sank. First question: Explain the Federal Rules of Evidence 403 and provide one case example. I wanted to cry. Maya whispered, “We’re screwed.”

His pheromones flooded me, drawing me in closer. I wanted to grab his dick, to feel him in my hand and play with him. Hell, I wanted to taste him. But rules were rules, and I wasn’t going to forfeit. The round ended, and Merrick finally looked down at me. His chest idled while he looked his fill, his appreciation apparent. “Okay, the intimacy clause is out. If the player orgasms, though, they lose.” Merrick’s eyes lit wickedly. “Hell, yeah. Prepare to lose pleasurably, Ellis.”

“The single most important rule here is consent. Everything that happens has been negotiated in advance. Nothing happens without explicit permission. That includes you. If anyone—member or staff—makes you uncomfortable, you say ‘No’ or ‘Stop.’ Instantly.” Samy raised her hand like we were in fifth grade. “And if they don’t stop?” “Wolf is always watching. If he’s not close enough, scream his name. If you can’t, find me. Your safety is non-negotiable.” He continued, calm as ever. “Rule two: observe, don’t touch. What happens here is private performance. No interfering, no commenting, no photos. You’re ghosts in designer heels.” “Rule three: you’re servers, not participants. You’ll serve anyon

“We’re listening.” Amina looked out at the dark yard. “I want to be able to bring it up when it’s on my mind. Not in long, heavy talks every time. Just… if something occurs to me, I want to say it without feeling like I’m breaking some rule. Is that okay?” “It’s more than okay,” I said. “You can bring it up whenever you want. We’ll follow your lead.”

I didn't care which, as long as it got him here. I turned to face him. "I'm going to be straightforward with you," I said. "I don't like you and you clearly don't like me. That's fine, that's actually completely fine, but I have something to lose here and right now the cameras are catching nothing from us and that's a problem for both our situations." I kept my voice level. "So I think we need rules." He looked at me. That flat, unreadable look he had that I was starting to suspect was just his face.

Rules once clear now meant nothing. This moment, I set the terms. Rules came from me now.

“Forget? Cute. I still remember how soaked you were before I even touched you. How you moaned my name like a desperate little slut while I fucked you senseless against that window.” “How tight your pussy felt clenching around my cock when you came the third time.” Heat flooded my face and between my thighs. I clenched my jaw hard. “Damon, stop. We’re step-siblings now. This is wrong. Completely off limits.” He turned his head slightly, staring at me with cool, bad-boy confidence. No shame. Just raw hunger. “I don’t do off limits, Cassy. Especially not when I have to live in the same house as the girl I still want to fuck every single day.”

"Starting next month, we're enforcing a last-place elimination rule. If you can't keep up, you're out. Division Two isn't here to support slackers!" That put an end to the matter.

Although, I could tell the scales were tipped in the scared direction just a bit more. She sat there, studied me for a long time. "We're going to finish our conversation from last night. My rules are these: don't be a dick. Don't disrespect me. Don't be an asshole on purpose. If you need something, you tell me. You're not allowed to touch me unless I tell you to. You're not allowed to call me Nia unless I give you permission. You're not allowed to touch yourself or stimulate yourself unless I give you permission. You're not allowed to do anything to get yourself to orgasm unless I give you permission."

That's why I intervened—before their tension escalated into another screaming match. "A foot massage?" I arched a brow. "When did that happen?" "You beat me three times sparring last week," Phoenix leaned against the counter. "Pay up, Wilder." I crossed my arms. "Before you cheated with the leg sweep." "Illegal move," Jack muttered, drying an already clean plate with sudden interest. "Hence my reparations offer!" Phoenix spread his hands. "Come on, you know you want to." He was wrong—but the exhaustion weighing me down (three missed MMA classes felt like withdrawal) finally won over pride. "Fine," I exhaled. "But wander those hands, and I break fingers."