Pain: quick, stinging pain, teasing but not bruising. She cries out, more out of startlement than real distress. It melts halfway into a moan, just as Rose's touch melts into a caress, lingering in the bright afterglow of heat diffusing across her skin. She lifts her hips into it briefly -- comes down against the bedspread -- is racked by a little shiver as the movement shifts her lower body in the most delicious way.

Rose's words are like a physical force, as seductive and inevitable as the slow knead of knowing hands, coiling about her with deceptive softness. Pearl moves her hips some more. She's far gone, by now, and drifting further by the minute, unmoored by touch and voice and desire. Undone. You don't need to worry. Some small part of her, ever-vigilant, struggles against this injunction: how can she not worry! She has to -- has always had to, to work as hard as she can for everything, and she has to please Rose...

But Rose is pleased already, isn't she? Even if it's fun when she pretends she isn't.

Pearl whimpers, her eyes fluttering shut. Something uncurls inside her, goes soft and languid. She sighs out her assent, pushing back into Rose's touch, asking for more.