“Wow,” Tate whispered. “They’re fucking right on the dance floor. ”“I see that.” There was an edge to my words.Dave gave me a sideways grin. “Juan will cry at being stuck in the van. If he were here, he’d be screaming 'Authenticity’s imperative!' and taking his pants down.”

“You’re stuck,” I blurted, his grin died and he blinked.“Come again?”I swallowed, sucked in breath and forged ahead.“I was lost but you… Tate, you got stuck,” I told him.He stared at me and it took a lot but I braved his stare.Then he asked, “You up for the job of pullin’ me out?”“I…” I swallowed again. “No,” I answered truthfully.“No?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting, his face getting dark, his armsgrowing tighter.“I…” I pulled in breath then whispered, “I kinda like it here.”

“Well fuck me sideways 'til I cry”

“If you don’t back away from my girl, I’ll rip out your fucking throat. Right here on the dance floor.”

“You think I gave you crack?""Maybe."Is there anything about me that screams crack?"He grinned as he swayed. "Your butt crack," he whispered before dissolving into giggles.”

“Grace," he whispered as he slid his fingers over my swollen lips. "I want to be inside you so damn bad right now. But when I do that, I want to hear you scream my fucking name as you claw your nails down my back.”