If I asked nicely, would you let me sit on your face?

She already knows the answer. The question hangs in the air anyway, deliberate, unhurried — a dare dressed up as politeness.

You look up at her from where you're lying, tracing the slow curve of her hips as she positions herself above you, thighs bracketing your shoulders with quiet confidence. She's not waiting for permission so much as watching you realize you'd give it without hesitation.

The weight of her settles, warm and certain. Whatever you were thinking about before this moment is completely gone now.