The way Rose smiles, one would think there was never any question of how she planned to proceed: pleased, but unsurprised. She almost looks as though she’d orchestrated it to the moment.

“Such manners.” Still holding Pearl’s eyes with her own (shuttered low, crinkling warm), she reaches with her free hand. A slight adjustment to the nozzle, and the water begins to thrum at a new pace. “How can I refuse.”

Pleasant luck, the shower dimensions. The floor is already wet, and pajamas can always be washed, so Rose has no qualms about lifting the nozzle to wash over Pearl’s chest, a moment -- warm, unhurried. “This is one of the gentler settings,” she murmurs, just as she dips in for a chaste press of lips. She wants to feel the sound Pearl makes as she suddenly angles the nozzle directly over her nipple: the stream a hot, pouring purr.

Not unlike Rose's own. "Isn't that nice?"