Chapter 3: The Mirror Trick & First Footjob Tease

I spent the afternoon turning my bedroom into the perfect practice zone, the kind of subtle setup that screamed casual while secretly screaming control. I fluffed the pillows on my queen bed, dimmed the overhead light, and lit two vanilla-scented candles on the nightstand—not enough to feel like a seduction scene, just enough to cast soft, flickering shadows across the walls. Then I swapped my work clothes for a simple white tank top that clung to my curves and a pair of soft gray shorts that rode high on my thick thighs, the hem brushing the sensitive skin just below my ass. Barefoot, of course. The cool hardwood under my soles felt grounding, a quiet reminder that I was in charge tonight.

Ethan let himself in with the spare key right on time, his tall frame filling the doorway in jeans and a fitted black tee that showed off the lean lines of his shoulders. The greeting hug lingered longer than usual, his clean-shaven jaw grazing my temple, a hint of fresh citrus cologne clinging to his skin—something new, sharper than his usual scent, like he’d made an effort. My body registered it instantly, a low spark traveling straight down my spine. He’s noticing the shift too, I thought, pulling back with a smile that felt a little too knowing. Ten years of friendship, and suddenly every touch carried electricity.

We settled on the edge of the bed with a couple of chilled beers from the fridge, legs brushing as we recapped the week. “You lasted so much longer last time,” I said, nudging his knee with mine, voice light but laced with pride. “I could feel how hard you were fighting it. Proud of you, honestly.”

He grinned, that sweet, lanky confidence starting to peek through the old self-doubt. “All thanks to my coach. But I still want to see what you see when you’re ... you know. Down there. Make sure I’m not missing anything that could help me last even longer.”

The words hung between us, charged. I tilted my head, an idea clicking into place. “Then let’s fix that. Mirror trick.” I hopped up, dragged the full-length mirror from my closet, and positioned it at the foot of the bed so it captured the whole scene—him sitting on the edge, legs spread, me on my knees between them. Perfect angle. He could watch everything unfold like it was happening to someone else, building that visual stamina he needed.

He sat back, eyes already darkening as I dropped to my knees on the rug, the mirror reflecting my wavy brown hair cascading over one shoulder, the way my tank top stretched across my chest. His cock was already half-hard when I freed it from his jeans, thick and flushed, twitching under my gaze. I wrapped my lips around the head first, slow and deliberate, letting the wet heat envelop him while I held eye contact through the glass. He watched himself—watched us—the way his abs tightened, the flush creeping up his neck, the subtle flex of his jaw as I took him deeper.