Sabrina smiles against the hollow of Rosie's throat, just because she's missed that sort of gasping version of her name. The mark she works there is delicately done, at least with her teeth, more about the laving of her tongue and the suction of her mouth.

She trembles at the promise that Rosie will take her, will draw her in and hold her and open her up, lay claim to what Sabrina has tried so hard to offer up, again and again until it's right.

This feels right, though, as she helps Rosie strip off her sweater, leaving her in a lacy bra the color of wine, deep and dark against her pale skin. She's rolling her hips against Rosie's thigh, wishing she had a skirt instead of her jeans. "However you want me," she promises, no challenge or tease there, just truth.