Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) by Brandace Morrow Read Free Book Online Page A

ass.
    “No.”
    “Hmm.” I get another squeeze and mercifully
he stays quiet for the rest of the drive. It’s pretty, the highway
on the coast. When we pull up to my house in Malibu he starts
walking around the hood, leaving me scrambling to exit so he can’t
be the gentleman he pretends to be. I slam the door on his Lotus
and walk toward the door with a strut in my step. I know he wanted
to open that door. HA!
    I sail through the entrance of my house and
attempt to close it behind me with a flick of my wrist. My face
contorts as I hear his palm slap the hard wood, along with his
chuckle behind me.
    I turn to see him sail past my kitchen and
straight for the double doors leading to the deck. No one has ever
walked out there since I took ownership of this house. It’s my
place to decompress. “What are you doing?”
    “I just want to look.”
    “Why?” I ask as I trail behind him. He looks
out into the night before turning and leaning against the railing,
spreading his arms wide.
    “You smell like the sea sometimes,” he says
simply. That’s all. I’m looking out into the surf as he reels me in
with a long arm. Patiently, he pulls the hair back from my neck and
over my shoulder. “Right here,” he claims before opening his mouth
onto the tendon straining at the side of my neck.
    I blink languidly and move my head to the
side to give him better access. This space is mine. I come here to
connect with the most basic form of myself. I try to disconnect
with my feeling for Batty by opening my eyes. All I see is black
tipped with foam waves, and feel a velvety tongue I long to feel .
. . everywhere.
    “What are you doing?” I mumble.
    “Exactly what you want.” I feel his hand
snake inside of my jeans to squeeze my ass, pulling me toward his
erection. As I rock against him, I find I can’t catch my breath,
and hate myself for it. Why does he do this to me? I push against
his chest.
    “Knock it off.”
    “Did you want to talk about something? Or did
you want to feel about something?” he says against my neck, opening
his mouth after he’s done asking his asinine questions and sucking
on my neck, tonguing the tendon running there.
    “Why are you doing this here? We usually fuck
in the house.” My words try in vain to pull us away from the new
moment he’s painstakingly creating.
    “I like the way you taste, Sadie. Let me
taste you out here.” Shit. My mind blanks as I try to scramble for
what I’m supposed to do next to thwart his sexiness from invading
my space when I haven’t forgiven him yet. Despite me, he grips my
thighs and I instinctively wrap my legs around his body. He walks
us until he sits on my favorite lounge. As I move my feet to rest
on either side of him, I pull back. Batty is resting on my favorite
chaise like it was made specifically for him.
    “What are you doing?” I grind out between my
teeth. He smiles as his head rests on the back of the cushions and
flexes his hips, licking his lips. “What you want me to do.”
    I forcibly move my eyes to the few stars in
the sky and the next building over, which is dark and empty. “You
could have had me against the rail easily enough.”
    My head is forcibly moved by his hand
gripping my jaw. “You want me here. I want you here. Why don’t you
take me here, Sadie?”
    I swallow roughly at the look in his eyes. I
never imagined someone out here with me, where I connect with the
waves and let them wash away my metaphoric pollution, dirtiness, if
you will. I bought this house for the sole reason of being alone.
I’m never alone. That he’s invaded even this part of my life causes
panic.
    “Stop it.”
    “Fuck me, Sadie.”
    “I said no,” I say, straining against him. He
shoves his hand down the front my jeans and I have the front row
seat, watching his eyes turn gunmetal.
    “Feels like you don’t want me to stop, baby.
Are you going to say ‘Stop, Finn, don’t make me scream into the
night’ or are you going to make me leave with