Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(18)

I let her do the honors, my adoring eyes on her smiling face all the while.

The cabin was just right, I saw by her reaction when we walked in the door. She was delighted, moved, touched almost to tears.

It really wasn't anything fancy. It was instead something thoughtful, which I knew meant much more to her.

"It's ours," I told her softly. "Our first home together. Of course it won't be our last."

"It's perfect," she said, throwing herself at me.

Fuck. Triggered. The moment our bodies touched in that intimate place, it was like a bottle-rocket shooting off. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. And I didn't. Oh Lord, I didn't.

We started kissing, passionate, open-mouthed, tongues delving as we peeled each other's clothes off, piece by piece.

Everything was going right according to plan up until the moment my dick decided it'd had enough.

I knew I should've jerked off first.

I was on top of her, naked, condom on, a prayer away from being inside of her, still determined to do things right. I was just starting to breach her, my tip barely in, when it happened. It wasn't that I didn't want to take it nice and easy, but I could not stop myself after that. I just snapped, lost complete control of my body, thrusting, rutting, sucking on her tongue, and jackhammering in and out of her like I'd never have another chance at it.

And worse even than that, I didn't last thirty seconds.

Still, it was the best thirty seconds of my life. Spectacular. Magnificent. Perfection.

"Jesus," I panted into her face when I could finally speak. "I didn't mean to do that. I wanted to go slower the first time."

She pulled my face even closer to hers. Tears were running down her cheeks, but they weren't from pain. "We'll just have to practice more."





CHAPTER SEVEN

"I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free."

~Emily Bront?





PAST





SCARLETT





"A pom-pom girl?" The words sounded as ridiculous coming out of my mouth as they had coming out of his.

Dante shrugged, opening the locker that his 'pom-pom girl' had decorated for him. "I don't know what to tell you. It's a tradition and that's what they're called. I sure as hell didn't come up with it."

Somehow that didn't make me feel better, especially when he pulled a plate of cookies out of his locker as he said it. He snagged the plastic wrap off, grabbed one, and took a big bite, closing his eyes as he chewed. He'd always had a sweet tooth.

He offered me one and I turned it down with a glare.

"Another surprise from your pom-pom girl?" I asked him with a curl of my lip.

"I assume. Sure you don't want one? They're really good."

"I'll pass," I said dryly.

I didn't understand the tradition. Personally I found it degrading. Cheerleaders assigned to football players for the sole purpose of serving them.

"Why do they do it?" I asked Dante, who had finished the first cookie and was on to the second.

"I have no clue," he said absently.

I studied him. I didn't believe him. Dante dissected everyone and everything. He was always looking for motives. "I don't believe you."

That made him pause and look at me. "Okay, fine. I think they do it for attention. I think they do it for popularity, social standing, a new boyfriend, a random hookup. You name it. They become pom-pom girls for the same reason they become cheerleaders. They want to get close to the football players."

"And you're okay with this random pom-pom girl getting close to you?" My tone was icy with disdain, enough so that it hid my anger, and my hurt.

"There's no chance of that, so I'm indifferent. I won't be rude to the girl, but c'mon, who cares what she does?"

"You ate her cookies."

He smirked. I'd amused him. "I like cookies, and I don't turn down food. I'm pretty sure you know that."

I was opening my mouth to speak, to say something scathing, in fact, when a petite little blonde came bouncing up in a cheerleader uniform.

She didn't even look at me. She hadn't come for me, obviously. She was after Dante. Her vacant, smiling eyes aimed up, up, up adoringly at him.

"Hi, Dante. I'm Brandee." She drew out the e. "And I'm your pom-pom girl. I'm here for anything you need, from food to laundry, to after practice massages. I'm great with my hands." She giggled. "Anything you need, I'm your girl." She giggled again. "I'm here for you, day or night, so don't hesitate to ask."

She'd had the luck to be assigned as a pom-pom girl to the hottest guy in school, and she was sure as hell going to give it her best shot. You had to almost respect it.

Except that I didn't. I hated it. And her. And football. And cookies.

I was just about to get myself into a whole lot of trouble when Dante stepped in.

He threw a muscular arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, squeezing me hard enough to trap my arms.

I glared at him. I knew what was up. He was worried I was going to hit her.

Because he knew me.

"Hi, Brandee," he said. He didn't smile but his voice was light, casual. "I won't be needing anything, but thanks anyway."