"Sabrina," she says, her name a soft, gasping sound in the wake of that heated acquiescence. She shifts her leg to press more firmly at the juncture of Sabrina's thighs, giving her more pressure, more to grind and buck against, starting a slow, rolling movement of her own hips to add another layer of sensation. One thin strap of her dress has fallen down, baring the pale curve of her shoulder, but she barely notices. Even less so, once Sabrina's mouth finds its way to the underside of her jaw.

"I will," she says, urging Sabrina's sweater up and off. They shouldn't stay out here on the couch much longer--Neil's not likely to come home, but Rosie couldn't stand the embarrassment if he did--but the thought of moving seems impossible right now. "Because you're mine to have, as much as I'm yours."