They were parallel lines, living side-by-side, never touching, never meant to meet.

Tonight, laws are broken. A hand slides across the void to her hip, to her thigh, tracing higher, trembling like a compass finding north.

“We’re not supposed to cross,” she whispered, but her legs part, begging closeness.

Emboldened, she curved into her, nipples brushing nipples, breath ragged with need.

Her finger enters her slowly, breaking the last geometry of restraint, moans lubricating lust.

With each thrust, alone melts away, parallel becoming intersection's forbidden angles, forged with heat and love.

Solitary lines no longer, they're entanglement enlivened, endlessly joined.