5. Musked Confession

Play fades. The scent stays. Rebecca wants to know: “Why mine?” Not just what it does.

Monday, Evening

You didn’t even flinch when she straddled your face this time.
It was starting to feel… normal.
Rebecca stepped in without a word. Hoodie off. Intent clear. She climbed over you with casual confidence, one knee to either side of your chest. Her ankles framed the sides of your face perfectly as she sank down, pressing your nose between her cheeks like it was always meant to be there.
Same leggings. Same scent.
Hot. Humid. Worn.
It hit you like a wave - sweat, salt, body heat trapped in cotton. You inhaled, slow and deep, and let her weight settle over you like a fog.
She didn’t scroll her phone.
She didn’t joke.
She just sat, watching TV.
Still. Present.
Letting you breathe her in.
Minutes passed like that - just the sound of your muffled breaths and her soft, even exhale above as some random reality show played.
pffffft.
Warm. Airy. Fleeting. Like punctuation.
You twitched slightly beneath her, but she didn’t acknowledge it.
Slowly, she glanced down.
Not moving - not yet. Just still and heavy above you.
Then her upper body twisted slightly. Weight stayed firm on your face, but Rebecca looked back over her shoulder - catching a glimpse of you beneath her, eyes wide, breath shallow.
“You still breathing?” she asked, voice low. “Didn’t pass out on me yet?”
You blinked up at her, your gaze meeting hers from under her cheeks.
She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“…This is kinda messed up, isn’t it?”
You couldn’t answer - not clearly - but she saw something in your stare. Something still soft. Still wanting.
She shifted just a little now, easing the pressure, letting you breathe through the edge of her cheeks. But she kept looking back, one arm reaching down to rest lightly on your chest.
“I mean… I sit on your face. You breathe me in. And you love it.”
Still, you didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Rebecca tilted her head, watching you carefully. Then her voice dropped lower.
“Do you even know why?”
A beat passed.
Then, muffled:
“…I feel like I belong here.”
She froze. Just for a second.
Something in her expression softened.
Her hips stayed settled, heavy and sure, legs snug against either side of your head. From beneath her, you could just make out half of her face in the low light - the curve of her cheek, the edge of her eye, her mouth drawn in quiet thought. Not pinning. Not smothering. Just present and unmistakably hers.
“God,” she murmured. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
You nodded.
Rebecca’s hand reached back to stroke your hair, briefly - fingers threading softly through the strands. Then she faced forward again, shifting her body to sit properly once more.
“…Guess you’re mine, then.”
Not a question. Not a tease.
A quiet claim.
pffft.
Another.
Almost like a thank you.
You inhaled in surrender, and she laughed softly - her hips wiggling on top of you, reclaiming your face like a throne.