3. Face First

Sweaty, smug, and unshowered. Rebecca makes you her seat without saying a word.

Saturday, Morning

You didn’t talk about it the next morning.
She acted normal. Made toast. Played with her hair in the mirror.
But every time she passed you - the look in her eye said it all.
She knew.
And you? You wanted her to.
By the afternoon, she came back from errands still in the same leggings - still unshowered. She tossed her keys, stretched her arms, and gave you that same little smirk.
“You busy?”
You shook your head.
She didn’t ask for anything else. Just walked over, pulled the hair tie off her wrist, and casually tied it around her ponytail.
Then?
She sat.
Right on your face.
Not fast. Not rough.
Just lowered down with practiced calm - like she was adjusting into a seat she’d used a hundred times before.
Her cheeks pressed down. Hot. Damp. Slightly sticky.
The fabric clung to your skin.
The scent hit immediately - sour, rich, dense. She’d definitely skipped the shower again.
You gasped under her. Then stilled.
She giggled.
“Comfortable?”
You couldn’t respond.
She shifted her hips just slightly - grinding down, barely moving, just enough to smear the sweat-slick cotton across your mouth and nose. She wasn't in a rush.
Minutes passed.
She stayed.
Scrolled her phone.
Sat like you were the couch cushion that happened to breathe.
Your nose filled with her scent.
Work. Sweat. Day-old effort.
And then-
pfft.
It was small.
But not subtle.
A clear little puff of air, soft and high-pitched, like it had been saved. Like she’d timed it.
You jolted.
She didn’t.
She looked up from her phone, casually.
“Oh.”
Then looked down.
Still sitting on your face.
“Was that too much?”
You shook your head.
Your breath was shaky. Your eyes glazed. Your hands stayed down at your sides - not touching. Just kneeling.
She smirked again.
“Didn’t think so.”
She adjusted slightly - pulling her cheeks tighter against your nose. Sealing the scent.
Then settled back down.
She didn’t need to do more.
You were already gone.