“That’s my girl.” Another kiss to partner the praise: purring, too, in her obedient mouth. Rose forgets sometimes how well Pearl can kiss. She could drink her in all night. Leave it to a dancer to read another’s skin. “That’s my good girl.”

It’s already a challenge to tolerate her clothes. Damn. Damn. She’ll have to wait, at least a little bit. Rose caps off another kiss with a teasing nip of teeth -- quick lave of tongue to soothe the spot -- before pulling away. Her hand drifts from her nape: down, down -- “You’re so sweet, Pearl. So sweet… so sensitive.” -- over a tender nipple, and tweaks.