I used to think of two people in love like that. Like puzzle pieces, fitting together. But it's not like that at all. Love pulls a part of you out, and it pulls a part of him - like taffy, stretching but not separating. The tendrils of each one wrap around the other, until they meld together. One, but not quite. Separate, but not quite.

His breath in my ear, he ran his tongue along the curved edge, sucking the fleshy lobe and my small diamond stud into his mouth, and my eyes drifted closed while I babbled a weak sound of longing.

maybe i'm exacly where i should be after all.

So when do we get to the junk-kicking?

When you tell me to be good, it makes me want to be good,' I say, hearing the undisguised desire in my voice. I run my fingers through the hair at her temples, taking her face between my palms, and she doesn't move. 'It also makes me want to be very, very bad.

Alarmed, I realized what my visceral reaction implied: jealousy. Over a guy I barely knew, with whom I’d exchanged more saliva than sentences.

Now don't laugh 'cause I just might be...the soft curve in your hardline. (from the song "Hardliners" by Holcombe Waller)