Peter Griffin Gif Dancing Novels & Stories

One of his thumbs traced a slow, subtle circle on her hip bone, hidden beneath the folds of her dress. Up front, Peter kept the radio playing low — an old rock station with Fleetwood Mac drifting through the divider of boxes. “This traffic isn’t bad at all,” he called back cheerfully, his voice slightly muffled. “Should make good time before we stop for dinner. Are you two doing okay back there? Not too squished?” Grace’s heart hammered against her ribs. She forced her voice to sound normal, even as Collins’ cock twitched beneath her again. “We’re fine, Peter. Just… adjusting.” Her words came out a little breathier than she intended.

“Yeah... I didn't want you walking around barefoot again. It’s unprofessional for an Alpha.” Peter’s expression brightened with pure pleasure. “Mm. I won't try them on tonight. Next time, then.” I was speechless. Who 'tries on' slippers? Peter adjusted his frames, the silver catching the hallway light. “I’m heading out. Good night, Little Wolf. See you this weekend.” “Good night,” I echoed. Meanwhile, Dustin received a message from Peter. It was a photo of the mundane slippers. Dustin: [What is that?]

I warn you, I'm graceful as an elephant. “Grace is the last thing you need,” he laughs, pulling out his phone. A couple of minutes, and a simple melody rings over a deserted alley in the very heart of London, so alive, soaked in the sun and carelessness ... A swarthy boy who looks like a faun holds her hands, showing the simple movements of a Greek dance. Keith makes a mistake, laughs: “Fuck, I seem to be just dumb. Grace is nothing. Show it once again? “Do you think I mastered everything in five minutes on my own?” Hank smiles back.

By the time I styled my blonde locks into loose waves and returned to the basement, Griff had found himself a pair of black pants and a bright red shirt, which he wore with the top two buttons open. Saliva flooded my mouth, and my tongue darted out to lick my lips. He reminded me so much of that scene in Saturday Night Fever where John Travolta was strutting down the street with a can of paint. All that was missing was the gold jewelry and a matching buckle to draw the eye to the crotch. Griff raised a brow, his gaze sweeping down my body and then up again. The low, sexy growl and nod of approval he gave me made my heart flutter. Was I being an idiot for getting excited and thinking things b

Now I know where he got this from. "What are you doing?" I ask him in astonishment. "What does it look like? I am taking you to the dance floor so we can dance." He smiles. Before I can say anything, we are already on the dance floor. I am not the best dancer, but I surely know some moves. Thank god for that, otherwise, I would be embarrassing myself in the middle of an enormous crowd. Peter places his hands around my waist and I wrap my arms around his neck. He grins as we dance to the slow music.

Piper chuckles insanely as she dance to the song. "Who wants to dance ? Come on ladies and gentleman." Piper stand up as she drag me with her. I shove my phone back to my bag and followed her to the dance floor. "Piper , I can't dance." I shouted above the loud music. " Trust the booze. It will guide you." She smile and begin dancing to the song. I know I'm drunk and I'm also certain wherever Gray is , he might be watching me. "I'm gonna find the bathroom guys." Brandon shouts and disappeared through the crowds.

“Bella is right. We can’t keep doing this to him…And I refuse to lose him.” Adrian nodded in support. ****** Peter loved dancing, and right now, he needed something—anything—to drown out the pain in his chest. Music blasted through the room as he moved mindlessly, gulping down alcohol like it was juice. “Hey, cute boy…” a girl purred as she stepped closer, sliding her hand around his waist. “I love your moves,” she whispered against his neck. Peter laughed drunkenly and rested his hands on her shoulders as she swayed against him, shamelessly grinding her body on his.

Counting until it is over. Then comes the dancing. I dance with Peter. He moves with an infectious energy, the kind that demands attention in a dimly lit room. He laughs often, holds my waist like he’s done it a million times, and I shift slightly, concealing my discomfort. I don’t hate Peter. He’s kind. He’s fun. But I know this won’t work, and I won’t let him hold onto something that isn’t there. I’ll let him down easy.

He wore a grave expression, and his face was hard to read. Upon seeing Grace, the man respectfully greeted her, "Ms. Lewis." Grace was puzzled and asked, "Do you know me?" Xander then spoke, "Gracie, he's my personal assistant, Peter Miller." "Your personal assistant?" "If you can't reach me in the future, you can directly contact him." When he heard that, Peter took out a business card from his pocket and handed it over. "This is my number, Ms. Lewis." Grace took it, still somewhat confused. "Xander, what is this?"

Had he changed that fundamentally that people could tell just by looking at him? "It’s pretty hot in here, right?" the guy—Peter or something—said, trying to shout over the loud music. He was older and fairly attractive. "How about getting some fresh air at the back?" His flirtatious smile strongly hinted that he wanted to get more than just "fresh air."