It's the verbal approval as much as the touch that sends little shudders all the way through Pearl, draws a low noise from her throat as Rose begins to mouth her way downwards. The hum of Rose's voice against her skin is like a song, a tenor note perfectly in tune with the melody vibrating from all the taut chords of Pearl's nerves and muscles, caught in the grasp of the moment. Little stifled gasps escape her throat with every nip and lick, her head thrown back in a vulnerability she only ever indulges in when they're like this. She reaches out her hands to brace herself against the soft, generous curves of Rose's shoulders -- as much of them as she can reach, anyway. Being cradled by Rose's arms always makes her feel small, but a good small: held, wanted, surrounded.