Rose does see that. Makes note of it. But the hot water stays in an acceptable range of maddening between her tilted thighs -- certainly enough to have the strings in her waist plucking. Twitching.
(Would be so cute to see her lose the leash on her come-hither hips -- watch her grind helpless against nothing.) (Rose makes note of that, too.)
"Careful," she croons, "Much farther than that, and you'll be cold and lonely for a month."
Her hand dips along the lip of her waistband as her hips sway: edging the fabric by just sadist inches. Rose's thumb must hook her panties along for the ride, because the uncurtained cloth reveals lush slices of flesh.
"That would be just," fingertips slip along the front and she moans, "... misery. Especially for you, Pearl." Her tabby curl of tone, cutting sweet with pity, leaves scant mystery to her meaning. "That pretty pink clit just wants attention all the time... doesn't it?" The waist of her bottoms sneaks, crooked, further down plump pale of thigh. Neat nestle of hair, pressed flat from clothing, reveals a little more than Rose might like: a faint thread of glisten pulls, following along with her panties for just a moment before vanishing. If Rose notices, she fails to mention it.
"Distracts you in class... in dance... in bed, too?" The bottoms don't quite make it all the way off. Not yet. One-handed, Rose plays a moment with the new view of her thighs: lets the pressure of her fingertips dimple their suppleness. Lets the sight remind Pearl of the feel of mouthing along the creamy skin. "Tell me, sweetheart... how often do you think of me just," her other hand slips back to edge her shirt aside: flushed breast and bare nipple laid plain, "doing things to you?"
no subject
(Would be so cute to see her lose the leash on her come-hither hips -- watch her grind helpless against nothing.) (Rose makes note of that, too.)
"Careful," she croons, "Much farther than that, and you'll be cold and lonely for a month."
Her hand dips along the lip of her waistband as her hips sway: edging the fabric by just sadist inches. Rose's thumb must hook her panties along for the ride, because the uncurtained cloth reveals lush slices of flesh.
"That would be just," fingertips slip along the front and she moans, "... misery. Especially for you, Pearl." Her tabby curl of tone, cutting sweet with pity, leaves scant mystery to her meaning. "That pretty pink clit just wants attention all the time... doesn't it?" The waist of her bottoms sneaks, crooked, further down plump pale of thigh. Neat nestle of hair, pressed flat from clothing, reveals a little more than Rose might like: a faint thread of glisten pulls, following along with her panties for just a moment before vanishing. If Rose notices, she fails to mention it.
"Distracts you in class... in dance... in bed, too?" The bottoms don't quite make it all the way off. Not yet. One-handed, Rose plays a moment with the new view of her thighs: lets the pressure of her fingertips dimple their suppleness. Lets the sight remind Pearl of the feel of mouthing along the creamy skin. "Tell me, sweetheart... how often do you think of me just," her other hand slips back to edge her shirt aside: flushed breast and bare nipple laid plain, "doing things to you?"