The world had dissolved into a haze of sensation and steam. Azaria's breathing was ragged and shallow, her lungs struggling to keep pace with the frantic beat of her heart. Without her glasses, everything was a soft-focus dream as the edges of the bathroom blurred into the mist surrounding her, the chrome of the tap seemed to look like a shimmering smudge. She could hear the sounds she was making, low moans that seemed to belong to someone else, echoing off the walls. Her mind that was usually so focused, floated in a warm sea of want, adrift from the anchors of how and when. There was only this: the heat, the pressure, the exquisite, unraveling now.
