There was something about the way the bass pumped out of the club stereos that made you forget everything. You only felt the way it made you move, the way when you were swinging your hips and tossing your hair you felt completely free. Give you a dance floor and good songs and you’d give yourself over to the music every time.

You’d lost sight of Rafe early on in the night. He’d usually join you on the dance floor for slower songs; but he preferred to watch you. The way you moved, your body slick with sweat, completely lost in the moment, always made his mind drift to the things that he wanted to do with you later. And you’d play into it, moving your hips more seductively when you felt his eyes on you. Enjoying the little game.

Lost to the music, you weren’t paying attention to the guys that had begun to crowd the floor next to you. Rafe had. His jaw clenched, his hands formed into fists as he prepared to jump in if they so much as looked at you. He knew how sexy and beautiful you were, how alluring you were to other men.

it’s not your fault that they hover, I mean no disrespect, it’s my right to be hellish

One of the guys stepped closer to you, placing his hands on your hips and tugging you against him. You didn’t even have a chance to react. In a blur, Rafe has pulled the guy off of you, punching him in the face and effectively knocking him to the floor.

and everybody wants a taste, that’s why I still get jealous

“Keep your hands off of her” Rafe spits out, standing over the guy, his fists still clenched. He’s ready to pounce again if the guy gives him a reason to. Call him obsessive, possessive, jealous- hell he knew he was all those things- but he didn’t like anyone touching what belonged to him. And you were his.