"Rosie," and it's loud enough that hopefully the apartment stays empty for a lot longer, because Sabrina doesn't think she's going to be quiet about any of this. She knows that she'd missed kissing Rosie this deeply, this intently, and she knows she's missed the soft, velvet heat of her mouth, her tongue. But now there's almost a retroactive ache.

"What else," she breathes, pushing her fingers into Rosie's hair, pleading and possessive and stupidly grateful. "Whatever you want, it's yours, I swear."

Angling herself just so, she rolls her hips, seeking the friction of Rosie's thigh against the sodden cloth of her panties.