Pearl moans as Rose pulls away, and yes, that is a moan, full-throated and low, tremoring through her entire body. Her eyes still shut -- all conscious thought melted into a jumble of yearning by the touch, by the praise -- it takes a long, sweetly confused moment for the question to register.

"Mmhmm," she says, more a noise than a word, spilling soft from between bitten lips. Be good -- here's her chance, to make up for her mistakes and her ungraceful carelessness, to be good. Her eyes blink open, then go wide at the sight in front of her. The graceful contrapunto of Rose's posture beckons, offering slick folds and pink heat. So Rose has wanted her too, all this while: well, of course she has. The evidence glistens before Pearl's eyes. And Pearl is starving for it. She almost cries out.

Rose's hand in her hair, firm with just the faintest threat of force, grounds her. Guides her. Her knees are going to be sore tomorrow, but she doesn't care at all -- she pushes herself up, quick and eager as anything, and begins to obey.