"Rosie," she whispers, her voice as reverent in its softness as it is needy in its breathlessness. She presses her mouth to Rosie's up lip, then sweeps her tongue along her bottom lip. The room's so quiet, save their breathing, the bits of moans and whines that come from finally getting here.

"Rosie," she whispers again, and sinks back on the couch, pulling Rosie atop her, very clearly signaling that she has every intent of otherwise continuing to let Rosie guide them. She just finds she needs. the reassurance of Rosie's weight right there.

She's thought about it a lot, what it would be like to completely surrender herself.