Eyes closed, Mary searched for her breath. For a moment she thought it was over and that the feelings had left her, but they began swelling up again just as strong as before.
With a groan of frustration (or maybe it was closer to a whimper), Mary wiped the back of her hand across her sticky chin, the salty taste in her mouth still turning her on and disgusting her, and dragged herself up to her feet without looking at Judas. So much for putting her fucking jeans back on to keep herself on the straight and narrow.
She made her way over to the darkened area of the kitchen and turned on the tap, putting her head under it to drink deeply, letting it soak the neck of her t-shirt at the same time.
God, she wanted to cry. She wanted to fuck - obviously - but almost more than that, right in the moment, Mary just wanted to cry.