Word of advice. These have a kick, so don’t suck too hard—” Holy hypoxia, Batman.

Come here. I need to hold on to you." She felt the same way. And when there was no distance between them, it was like coming home.

If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.

I’m talking to you more than I speak with my mahmen.” “I thought your mother was dead.” “She is.” “You have a very low standard for communication.

I love her so damned much." Manny heard himself say. “That’s my heart right there. That’s my woman”.

Souls were the same. They, too, had useless baggage that impeded their proper performance, these annoying, holier-than-thou bits dangling like an appendix waiting for infection. Faith and hope and love...prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude...all this useless clutter just packed too much damn morality into the heart, getting in the way of the soul's innate desire for malignancy.

This was the gift of recovery, he thought. The ability to be here in this moment with the female he loved and be fully aware, fully awake, fully present. Undiluted.