🔥 The Mirror 🔥

An Exclusive Bonus Chapter from The View

Thank You for Reading! 💜

You made it to the bonus content—which means you’ve experienced Sloane and Chloe’s journey from cracked doors to forever. Thank you for giving their story a chance.

This exclusive chapter is our gift to dedicated readers like you. It takes place six months after the beach wedding epilogue.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️

This bonus chapter contains explicit FF sexual content including: voyeurism, exhibitionism, mirror play, voice/command kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, possessive dirty talk, and detailed intimate scenes. Intended for readers 18+ only.

The Mirror

Six months after the wedding

The hotel suite in Paris was excessive. Sloane had said so when she’d booked it—three times, actually, in that particular tone that meant she was trying to justify the expense to herself more than to Chloe. But when Chloe had seen the room, with its floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering an entire wall and its view of the Eiffel Tower glittering against the night sky, she’d understood exactly why her wife had chosen it.

Six months of marriage. Six months of waking up tangled together, of lazy Sunday mornings and heated Wednesday nights, of learning all the ways a person could belong to someone else.

And still, when Sloane looked at her, Chloe felt it everywhere.

“You’re staring,” Sloane said from across the room. She was pouring champagne, still in the black dress she’d worn to dinner, her hair pinned up in a way that exposed the line of her neck. The dress had a slit that went halfway up her thigh, and Chloe had spent most of dinner thinking about running her fingers along the exposed skin.

“You’re worth staring at.”

Sloane’s lips curved. She crossed the room with two glasses of champagne and handed one to Chloe. “Flattery.”

“Truth.”

“Mm.” Sloane’s eyes dropped to Chloe’s mouth. “You’ve gotten bolder.”

“You married me anyway.”

“I married you because.” Sloane took a sip of champagne, watching Chloe over the rim of the glass. “Because you challenge me. Because you don’t let me get away with anything. Because—” Her voice dropped. “—watching you become yourself has been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Chloe’s chest tightened. Even now, even after everything, Sloane could still undo her with a handful of words.

“I have a present for you,” Sloane said.

“You already gave me Paris.”

“Paris was the setting. This is the gift.” Sloane set down her champagne and reached for something on the side table—a silk blindfold, deep purple, the exact shade of the dress Chloe had worn to the gala where everything had changed. “Do you trust me?”

The question was rhetorical. They both knew the answer.

“Always,” Chloe said.

Sloane moved behind her. Chloe felt the brush of silk against her temples, the world going dark as Sloane tied the blindfold securely in place. She was suddenly hyperaware of everything—the whisper of Sloane’s dress, the warmth of her body inches away, the faint trace of her perfume.

“Do you remember,” Sloane murmured against her ear, “the first time I watched you?”

Chloe’s breath caught. “Yes.”

“You left your door open. You looked at me instead of him. You made me feel like I was the only person in the world.” Sloane’s fingers traced down Chloe’s bare arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You gave me a gift that night. The gift of being seen by you.”

“Sloane—”

“Tonight, I’m going to give you the same thing.” Sloane’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re going to watch yourself. You’re going to see what I see when I look at you.”

Chloe’s pulse kicked up. The blindfold made everything more intense—the anticipation, the vulnerability, the need coiling low in her belly.

“Stand up.”

Chloe obeyed. Sloane’s hands found the zipper at the back of her dress—a simple thing, emerald green, chosen because Sloane had said it matched her eyes—and drew it down slowly. The fabric pooled at her feet.

“Step out.”

She did. Sloane guided her forward, one hand on the small of her back, until Chloe felt cool glass against her palms.

“The mirror,” Sloane said. “Your hands stay there. Don’t move them until I tell you.”

Chloe pressed her palms flat against the glass. She was in nothing but her underwear now—black lace, deliberately chosen, matching the bra she could feel Sloane unhooking with practiced efficiency.

“Beautiful,” Sloane murmured. The bra fell away. Sloane’s hands came around to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over already-hardened nipples. “Look at you.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Not yet.” Sloane rolled her nipples between her fingers, pinching just hard enough to make Chloe gasp. “I want you desperate first. I want you aching. And then, when I take the blindfold off, you’re going to watch yourself fall apart.”

Chloe’s knees nearly buckled. “Sloane—”

“Shh.” One hand trailed down her stomach, fingertips tracing the waistband of her underwear without dipping beneath. “You know the rules. You don’t get to rush. You don’t get to chase.” Her voice dropped to that commanding register that made Chloe’s whole body flush. “You take what I give you. Nothing more.”

Chloe whimpered. Her hips tried to press forward, seeking friction, but Sloane’s hand on her hip held her in place.

“Patience.” Sloane pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting all through dinner.”

“I know. I could tell.” Another kiss, this one to the curve of her neck. “Every time you shifted in your seat. Every time you bit your lip. I knew exactly what you were thinking about.”

“What was I thinking about?”

“This.” Sloane’s hand finally slipped beneath the lace, and Chloe cried out as fingers slid through the wetness gathered there. “You were thinking about my hands on you. My mouth. You were thinking about how many times I could make you come before you begged me to stop.”

“Yes.” The word came out broken. “All of that. Please, Sloane—”

“Please what?”

“Touch me. Really touch me.”

Sloane’s fingers circled her clit once—too light, just teasing—and then withdrew entirely. Chloe made a sound of frustration that bordered on a sob.

“Not yet.” Sloane pulled the underwear down, guiding Chloe to step out of them. Now she was completely bare, pressed against the cool mirror, blind and trembling and desperately turned on. “First, I want you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“When you used to perform for those men—when you’d leave your door open and look at me instead of them—what were you imagining?”

Chloe’s cheeks burned, even though they’d discussed this before, even though there were no secrets left between them. “You know what I was imagining.”

“I want to hear it. In detail.” Sloane’s breath was warm against her ear. “Tell me your fantasies, wife, and I’ll make them real.”

The word wife sent a shiver down Chloe’s spine. “I imagined… your hands instead of his. Your mouth. I imagined you stepping out of the shadows and taking over.”

“Taking over how?”

“Pushing him aside. Telling him to leave. And then—” Chloe swallowed. “Showing me what it was supposed to feel like. What I’d been missing.”

“And what were you missing?”

“You.” The word came out raw. “I was missing you. Every single time.”

Sloane made a sound—something between a groan and a growl—and suddenly her hands were everywhere. Cupping Chloe’s breasts, pinching her nipples, sliding between her legs with purpose now instead of teasing. Two fingers thrust inside her without warning, and Chloe cried out, her palms slapping against the mirror for balance.

“You’re so wet,” Sloane breathed. “So ready for me. You’ve been ready all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“That’s my good girl.” Sloane’s thumb found her clit, circling in time with the thrust of her fingers. “My beautiful, desperate girl. You take me so well.”

The praise washed over her like fire. Chloe’s hips moved frantically, chasing the rhythm Sloane was setting, and she could feel the orgasm building already—too fast, too intense, like a wave about to break.

“Sloane—I’m going to—”

“Not yet.”

The fingers withdrew. Chloe sobbed in frustration, her whole body shaking on the edge.

“I said patience.” Sloane’s voice was rough now, barely controlled. “When you come, you’re going to watch yourself do it. You’re going to see what I see.” The blindfold loosened. “Open your eyes.”

Chloe blinked against the sudden light. And then she saw—

Herself. In the mirror. Naked and flushed, her lips parted, her eyes dark with want. Sloane stood behind her, still fully dressed in that devastating black gown, one hand possessive on Chloe’s hip.

“Look at you,” Sloane murmured. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Chloe couldn’t look away. She’d never seen herself like this—through Sloane’s eyes, the way Sloane must have seen her all those nights in the doorway. Undone. Desperate. Real.

“This is what I see,” Sloane said. “Every time I look at you. This is what I fell in love with.” Her hand slid down Chloe’s body, and Chloe watched in the mirror as Sloane’s fingers found her again, sliding through the wetness. “Watch. Don’t close your eyes.”

Chloe watched. She watched Sloane’s fingers disappear inside her, watched her own hips roll to meet the thrust, watched her mouth fall open on a moan. It was obscene and beautiful and the hottest thing she’d ever experienced.

“Good girl.” Sloane’s other hand came up to cup her breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers. “Such a good girl. You’re taking me so perfectly.”

“Sloane—” Chloe could barely speak, the pleasure building again, higher than before. “Please—I need—”

“What do you need?”

“More. Harder. Please, I’m so close—”

“Then watch.” Sloane’s fingers curled inside her, finding the spot that made her see stars. “Watch yourself come for me.”

Chloe’s eyes stayed locked on the mirror as the orgasm crashed through her. She watched her own back arch, watched Sloane’s arm flex as she worked her through it, watched the expression of pure ecstasy transform her face. It went on and on, wave after wave, until she was shaking and gasping and would have collapsed if Sloane hadn’t been holding her up.

“That’s one,” Sloane said against her ear.

Chloe’s eyes widened. “One?”

“We’re in Paris for a week.” Sloane’s smile was predatory in the mirror’s reflection. “I plan to make the most of it.”

Before Chloe could respond, Sloane spun her around and kissed her—deep and claiming, tongue demanding entrance, hands tangling in her hair. Chloe kissed back with everything she had, trying to pull Sloane closer, trying to get her hands on the zipper of that dress.

“Your turn,” Chloe gasped between kisses. “I want to see you—”

“Later.” Sloane walked her backward until her shoulders hit the mirror, the glass cool against her overheated skin. “Right now, you’re going to watch me taste you.”

She dropped to her knees.

Chloe had a perfect view—Sloane kneeling before her in that black dress, looking up with those dark eyes, mouth inches from where Chloe was still wet and swollen.

“Watch me,” Sloane commanded. And then her mouth was on Chloe, tongue sliding through her folds, and Chloe had to brace her hands against the mirror to stay standing.

“Oh God—Sloane—”

Sloane hummed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through Chloe’s already-sensitive body. Her tongue circled Chloe’s clit with devastating precision, alternating between broad strokes and tight flicks, reading Chloe’s responses like a map she’d memorized.

Because she had. Six months of marriage, countless nights before that, and Sloane knew Chloe’s body better than Chloe knew herself.

“Look at the mirror,” Sloane said, pulling back just enough to speak. “Look at us.”

Chloe turned her head. In the reflection, she could see Sloane’s dark head between her thighs, could see her own expression—wrecked, desperate, completely undone. She could see Sloane’s hands gripping her hips, holding her in place, controlling the rhythm.

“This is what you wanted,” Sloane murmured against her. “All those nights with the door cracked open. This is what you were really asking for.”

“Yes—” Chloe’s voice broke. “Yes, this, always this—”

Sloane’s mouth returned to its work, tongue pushing inside her, and Chloe watched herself shatter all over again. The second orgasm was even more intense than the first, ripping through her with such force that she screamed Sloane’s name, not caring who might hear, not caring about anything except the pleasure consuming her from the inside out.

When the aftershocks finally faded, Sloane rose gracefully to her feet and pulled Chloe into her arms. Chloe collapsed against her, boneless and trembling, and Sloane held her through it—stroking her hair, pressing kisses to her temple, murmuring words of praise that made Chloe’s heart ache as much as her body.

“I love you,” Chloe whispered.

“I know.” Sloane’s arms tightened around her. “I love you too. More than I ever thought I could love anything.”

“Your turn now.”

“Soon.” Sloane pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “But first—the bed. I’m not done with you yet.”

Chloe’s exhausted body somehow managed to spark back to life at the promise in those words. “I might not survive.”

“You will.” Sloane’s smile was warm now, tender, nothing like the commanding woman who’d just taken her apart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She led Chloe to the bed—enormous, draped in white linens, positioned so they could still see the mirror from another angle. Chloe sank into the softness, watching as Sloane finally reached back to unzip her own dress.

The black fabric slid to the floor, and Chloe’s breath caught. Sloane wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“You planned this.”

“I plan everything.” Sloane climbed onto the bed, settling over Chloe’s body, skin against skin. “Six-month anniversary. Paris. A room full of mirrors.” She kissed Chloe slowly, deeply. “You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Let me celebrate you,” Chloe said against her lips. “Please. I want to taste you. I want to make you feel what you make me feel.”

Sloane’s composure cracked, just for a moment. Chloe saw the naked want flash across her face before she controlled it.

“Okay,” Sloane breathed. “Okay.”

Chloe flipped them in one smooth motion—something Sloane had taught her, actually, in the early days of their relationship when Chloe was still learning to take what she wanted instead of just receiving. Now she straddled Sloane’s hips, looking down at her wife spread out beneath her like a feast.

“Now you watch,” Chloe said. “Watch me worship you.”

She kissed her way down Sloane’s body, taking her time, savoring every gasp and moan she drew from her usually-controlled wife. Sloane’s fingers tangled in her hair as Chloe reached her destination, as she settled between Sloane’s thighs and finally put her mouth where they both wanted it.

“Chloe—” Sloane’s hips lifted off the bed. “God, yes, right there—”

Chloe looked up, meeting Sloane’s eyes. “Watch,” she said, echoing Sloane’s earlier command. “Watch yourself come for me.”

Sloane’s head turned toward the mirror on the wall, and Chloe watched realization dawn across her face—she could see everything. The entire tableau reflected back at her.

“Oh,” Sloane breathed. And then, as Chloe’s tongue found the perfect rhythm: “Oh.“

She came with a cry that was half Chloe’s name, half something wordless and primal, her whole body arching off the bed. Chloe worked her through it, gentling her down, pressing soft kisses to her thighs as the tremors faded.

When Chloe crawled back up to lie beside her, Sloane pulled her in close, pressing their foreheads together.

“I see it now,” Sloane said quietly. “What you meant, all that time ago. About feeling real when someone’s watching you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sloane’s hand found hers, intertwining their fingers. “Watching myself, in the mirror—seeing what you see when you look at me—” She shook her head. “I understand.”

Chloe kissed her softly. “Now you know.”

“Now I know.”

They lay tangled together as the Eiffel Tower sparkled outside their window, the city of lights sprawling beneath them. Six months of marriage. A lifetime of moments like this stretching ahead.

“So,” Chloe said eventually, a smile curving her lips. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“The Louvre in the morning. A very long lunch. And then—” Sloane’s hand traced down her side. “I thought we might find a restaurant with a private room. Somewhere I can make you come while the waiter pretends not to notice.”

Chloe’s body sparked back to life. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No.” Sloane kissed her forehead. “I’m going to love you. For the rest of our lives.”

“Same thing,” Chloe murmured.

Sloane laughed—that rare, genuine laugh that Chloe loved more than anything. “Same thing,” she agreed.

Outside, Paris glittered. Inside, two women who’d found each other through cracked doors and stolen glances held on tight, knowing that the view from here was the only one that mattered.

THE END