Rose keeps touching her, ghost caress of fingers, warm curve of palm, a butterfly tease of lips, and it's sending her nervous system into overdrive. Pearl's body arches, pushing back into the knowing hand, straining forward towards the irresistable gravity of Rose herself. If only Rose would take her now, even right here on the bathroom floor in a mess of puddles and bruises: Pearl wouldn't mind. Would spread her legs and beg and cry for fingers curling thick and hot in her -- or Rose's mouth, even, if she was feeling really generous--

Pearl licks her lips. Rose knows her answer, surely. "What are the rules?"