2. First Flutter

Rebecca leans in again. This time, it’s on purpose. You’re already inhaling.

Friday, Evening

It had been three days.
Since the “accident.” Since the little flutter that escaped during your sniff - and your reaction that left her quiet, stunned, and... thoughtful.
She hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had you.
But she’d been watching you more. Subtly.
When you passed behind her. When she bent down to tie her laces. When she came home from work and caught your eyes drifting toward the seat of her leggings.
In the privacy of your own room, you’d done your research. Trying to make sense of whatever had been stirred inside you.
It was uncommon - but not unheard of. Entire corners of the internet dedicated to it. Pretty girls letting rip. Blowing kisses with their butts. Sometimes on guys. Sometimes on other girls. Sometimes just alone, smiling at the camera as they filled the air behind them.
You hadn’t expected this to awaken something in you, but it had. And now, with every little glance, every teasing bend or stretch from her, the urge only grew stronger. You were desperate to explore it more.
She knew.
So when she came home that Friday, wearing the same black leggings again - no hoodie this time, just a cropped tee and the sheen of an afternoon PE shift clinging to her skin - you already felt it.
Something was different.
You were sitting on the floor, sorting laundry.
She walked past you, paused, then doubled back.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
“Just folding.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Then, with zero warning, turned around and backed up - slowly - until her backside hovered inches from your face. Her hands planted on her hips.
You froze.
She didn’t say anything.
Just stood there.
“You wanna sniff again?” she said, tone casual, like she was offering a drink.
You nodded - slower this time. A little nervous. A little reverent.
She tilted her hips slightly, lowering herself just a touch more.
You leaned forward.
Her scent was sharper now. Sweatier. Richer. She hadn’t showered.
She'd planned this.
The cotton was humid against your nose, the curve of her cheeks warm and faintly sticky with effort. You inhaled, deep and full.
And then-
pffft.
Slightly louder this time.
More deliberate.
Still soft. Still light.
But not an accident.
You flinched - not in disgust, but from shock.
She turned her head. Met your eyes.
“…Did it again,” she said flatly.
You stared at her.
She watched your face carefully - the way your eyelids dipped, the flush in your cheeks, the way you didn’t pull away.
Her lips curled upward, slow and smug.
“You’re actually into that, aren’t you?”
You nodded once.
She laughed under her breath. Shook her head. And stood upright again.
“No way. You’re worse than I thought.”
But she didn’t sound disgusted.
She sounded…
amused.
And when she walked off, you were left kneeling there, blinking slowly - already addicted.