Chapter 2: Round Two – No Hands + Fleshlight Warm-Up

Ethan’s apartment smelled like fresh laundry detergent and the greasy pepperoni from the takeout box we’d just demolished on his coffee table. His place was the classic bachelor setup—big sectional couch facing a massive gaming rig, posters of old sci-fi movies tacked crookedly on the walls, a faint glow from the city streetlights filtering through half-drawn blinds. It felt familiar, comfortable, the kind of spot where we’d crashed after late-night coding sessions back in college. But tonight, one week after that wild confession at my place, everything hummed with a new undercurrent. I’d shown up with a fresh bottle of merlot like it was business as usual, but my mind kept flashing back to the way he’d pulsed against my tongue last time, the heavy warmth that had flooded my mouth and left me aching in ways I still didn’t want to name.

We were sprawled on the sectional, me in my usual yoga pants and a loose tank top that did nothing to hide the way my C-cups shifted when I laughed, him in sweats and that threadbare tee that clung to his lanky frame. The banter flowed easy at first—me griping about a nightmare client who kept changing the brief on my latest logo design, him ranting about a stubborn API bug that had eaten his whole morning. We cracked up over the same dumb inside joke from sophomore year, the one about the professor who’d accidentally left his mic on during a very personal phone call. But every shared glance carried weight now. The air felt thicker, charged, like the room itself remembered what we’d started.

Ethan set his wine glass down and rubbed the back of his neck, that cute nerdy smile turning sheepish. “So ... rules from last week still good? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. I want to last longer this time. Actually feel like I’m not letting you down.”

My pulse kicked up, a low thrum between my thighs that I tried to ignore. Just practice, I reminded myself, even as heat bloomed low in my belly. “Rules are solid. One session a week, no strings. But yeah, we can level it up.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the discreet black box I’d ordered midweek, setting it on the cushion between us with a playful little smirk that masked the nervous flutter in my chest. “Brought a training tool. Figured we could warm you up first—like resistance bands for your stamina game.”

His eyes widened, a mix of pure embarrassment and raw excitement flashing across his face as I opened the box and lifted out the fleshlight. It was sleek, realistic-looking, the soft outer sleeve cool in my palm. I could see the faint ridges inside the translucent material when I tilted it toward the lamp light. Ethan’s breath hitched, his tall frame shifting on the couch as he stared. “You really ... bought that for this?”