'Ready'? 'Ready'? Rose doubts that. Rose very much does.

But her approval is ample as she purrs, "That's my brave girl," and steps backward onto the bath mat.

She has a clear field of vision for every inch of Pearl, and even as she shapes soothing little nonsense sounds, Rose fucks her raw with her eyes. Dark and ripe with promise.

Her fingers play along the lapel of her flannel, like the soft neck of an instrument... thumbs at a button, pondering... but wanders away again. Instead both of Rose's hands come to cover her breasts through the fabric: cup them, testing. Pearl knows so well their weight. Must remember, now, watching her.

"On." The command cuts like a cold snap in the steam of the room. " Now."

Not breaking eye contact, Rose unfurls a slow knead against herself, and moans.