Booty Grab Quotes

I think it’s sexy as hell when you smack, grab, kiss, tease, touch, tickle, cuddle, and love my booty.” ~ Herbalist Tracie

I Can't Make You Love Me.' Bonnie Raitt." "Oh,Fiorella." I glared at him a little as I climbed down. "Was that delightful list for your benefit or mine?" Frankie grabbed my hand and, when I didn't pull away fast enough, tugged me onto his lap,where he wrapped his arms so tightly around me that I couldn't escape. Sometimes his strength still surprises me.He tickled my cheek with his nose. "Don't hate me just because I'm hateful." "I never do." Here's the thing. Frankie's taken a lot of hits in his life. He never stays down for long. "Excuse me!" The mannequin's evil twin was glaring down at us fro her sky-high bootie-heeled heights. Her NM badge told us her name was Victoria. "You cannot do that here!" she snapped. "Do what?" Frankie returned, matching lockjaw snooty for lockjaw snooty. She opened and closed her mouth, then hissed, "Canoodle!" I felt Frankie's hiccup of amusement. "Were we canoodling, snookums?" he asked me. "I rather thought we were about to copulate like bunnies." I couldn't help it; I laughed out loud. Victoria's mouth thinned into a pale line. The whole thing might have ended with our being escorted out the store's hallowed doors by security. Sadie, as she so often did, momentarily saved us from ourselves. She stomped out of the dressing room and planted herself in front of us. Ignoring the angry salesgirl completely, she muttered, "I look like a carved pumpkin!" Frankie took in the skirt, layered shirts, and jacket. "You do not, but I might have been having an overly Michael Kors moment. This will not do for a date.Take it off." He nudged me, then added, "Right here.Every last stitch of it." As soon as Sadie was back in her own clothing and coat-which got an unwilling frown of respect from Victoria; apparently even Neiman Maruc doesn't carry that line-we moved on. Sadie did better in Frankie's second choice-a lip-printed sweater dress from Betsey Johnson,but wouldn't buy it. "We're just going to a movie!" she protested. "Besides,Jared's not...not..." She gestured down at her lippy hips. "He's practical and sensible and quiet." "Oh,my God!" Frankie slapped both palms to the side of his face,and turned to me. "Sadie has a date with a Prius!" He had to invoke the sanctity of Truth or Dare before he could even get her into Urban Outfitters. "Sometimes I love you less than other times," she grumbled as he filled her arms with his last choices. "No,you don't," he said cheerfully, and sent her off to change.

The phone was snatched from her grasp. She let out a screech, her fingers clasping at air. “Hey! Give that back.” Gracie slipped it down the V of her tank and into her ample cleavage. “Come and get it.” Billy plopped down on a vacant stool, eyes bugging out of his head. Maddie stared at Gracie’s chest and contemplated. She could stick her hand down a woman’s top. It was no big deal—just skin, for God’s sake. She jumped off the stool and straightened to her full five-foot-three inches. “What is wrong with calling him?” “It’s a girlfriend’s responsibility to stop her friend from the dreaded drunk dial.” Maddie scowled. She was not drunk dialing! “Telling him where I am isn’t a crime.” Gracie planted her hands on her hips. “Sorry, honey. I’m doing this for your own good.” “You don’t understand.” Maddie picked up her drink and took a slow sip. Her gaze was fixed on the stretch of fabric across Gracie’s ample chest. She wanted that phone, and with way too many margaritas in her system, she wasn’t above groping another woman to get it. “I’m getting that phone.” Billy’s mouth dropped open, and Maddie was surprised no drool hung down his chin like a rabid dog’s. “You’ll thank me later.” Gracie didn’t appear the least bit threatened. If anything, she thrust her breasts out farther, as though daring Maddie to come and get it. “Give it to me!” Maddie stomped her foot. “Like I said, come and get it.” Gracie batted her thick lashes, cornflower-blue eyes sparkling. She tucked her hand into her top and shoved it lower into her bra. “All right, but remember, I know how to fight.” Gracie laughed and Billy whooped like he’d hit the jackpot. Maddie charged. Gracie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a holler, crossing her arms over her chest for protection. Maddie refused to be thwarted. She squeezed her lids together so she wouldn’t have to look and flung her hands out, praying she’d get hold of something. When her palm brushed against soft, pillowy cotton, she squealed. Pay dirt. “Maddie!” Gracie grabbed her hand, twisting her body to block Maddie’s progress. “That’s my boob!” Maddie reached again and this time her hand curled around the cotton neckline. She pulled, squirming down the deep V of the top. Her fingers brushed the phone and a surge of adrenaline pounded through her. “Now, why doesn’t this surprise me?” Mitch’s voice made her knees go weak. Before she could swing around, she was hauled against his warm, strong body. She sagged in relief. He’d come for her after all. “You girls are giving everyone quite a show.” Charlie stood next to Mitch, looking lethal in all black. Maddie could picture him with an FBI armband over his bicep. Wait . . . was that the FBI? Or was it SWAT? “With all these disappointed faces, I’m sorry we broke them up.” Mitch’s tone rang with amusement, and Maddie realized it had been too long since she’d heard him sound like that. “I wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t let me.” Her pulse raced from her girl fight and the buzz of tequila. His palm spread wide over the expanse of her stomach, his thumb brushing the bottom of her breast. “Well, here I am.” “See!” Gracie pointed and shook her hips in a little booty dance. “I told you so!” Yes,

Lucia's abuela chortled, and her mother gave him a playful smack on the arm. But he could see both were pleased. They flanked him as if to escort him to the table. But before they could herd him in that direction, he politely asked permission to give Sanchia the present he'd brought. Identical curious looks sprang into each of the women's eyes, and they stepped back, but crowded behind him to watch the show. Pepe wove through the press of people to kneel before Sanchia and held out the dolly, wrapped in the colorful knitted blanket. Since receiving it, he hadn't peeled back the covering to see Senora Thompson's handiwork, and he was almost as curious as the child. With one finger, the girl traced a line of yellow yarn knitted into the blanket, as if she'd never seen anything so sunny. She looked up at her sister for permission to open the present. At Lucia's nod and encouraging smile, she slowly unwrapped the bundle. The baby lay in splendor, wearing a pink gown and a matching cap and booties. Wonder brightened the little girl's thin, solemn face. She whispered in Lucia's ear, too softly for Pepe to hear. But Lucia's gentle, "Si Sanchia" made her grab the doll to her chest and rock her back and forth.

David?” she whispered. “Yeah?” “Sing me a song.” “What kind of song, baby?” “A love song.” “Millie, Millie, You’re so silly. I’m so glad your name’s not Willy,” I sang in my best country twang. “Willy?” “Let me rephrase.” I cleared my throat and began again. “Millie, Millie, you’re so silly, I’m sure glad you don’t have a willy.” “That’s not a love song,” she giggled. “Okay. How about this? I love your legs. I love your chest, but this spot here, I love the best.” I tickled her smooth stomach and she squirmed against me. “Keep singing!” she demanded, swatting my hand away. “I love your chin and your funny grin, I love your hair and that spot there.” I tickled her beneath her right rib and she grabbed my fingers, laughing. “I love it! Second verse, please.” “I love the way you shake your booty, I love the way you smell so fruity! I love the way you call me David, and . . . . la la la nothing rhymes with David.” “That was beautiful,” she giggled. “What’s it called?” “It’s called ‘Nothing Rhymes with David.’” “Nothing rhymes with David?” Her voice was disbelieving, and she was quiet for several seconds, as if trying to find a word that rhymed to prove me wrong

As the struggle continued, Mason abandoned his plan to seize the camp intact for its booty, grabbed a firebrand, and set it aflame. As the eighty closely packed huts, which housed 800 Indians, went up in smoke, the Pequots poured out of the stockade to meet death from English and Narraganset swords and muskets. Others - hundreds of them - remained huddled inside the huts and were burned, women and children, old and young, “in promiscuous ruin.” The

Oh, how tempting it was to grab him and Mason by the belt loops and drag them inside the house.

He did say something about my butt once.” “What?” “No way.” “Come on.” “God.” She bowed her head as though mortified. “He said I had a ghetto bootie.” I grabbed the wheel to keep us on the road. “Meaning?” “You know…a butt like a black chick.” I laughed at Mia’s expression of mixed embarrassment and amusement. “Do you have one?” “You tell me.” “Yeah, you kind of do.” She burst out laughing. “It is a good one, though, I’ll admit that.” “It better be,” she said. “I work on it enough.