Thank You!
You found it! This is the exclusive bonus content hub for Ball Control. As a huge thank you for reading, we’ve put together some extra material that you won’t find anywhere else.
EXCLUSIVE BONUS CONTENT
A Ball Control Post-Epilogue Scene
Six months after the promise ring
The yacht was obscene.
That was the only word for it—a floating palace of polished teak and white leather, anchored in a secluded cove off the coast of Greece where the water was so blue it hurt to look at. Kian had grown up solidly middle-class; even after two years of NBA salary and endorsement deals, this level of luxury still made him feel like an imposter.
“Stop fidgeting,” Marcus said from behind him. “You look like you’re casing the place.”
“I’m calculating how many years of my rookie salary this thing cost.”
“Don’t. It’s a gift.”
“From who?”
“From me.” Marcus’s arms wrapped around Kian’s waist, pulling him back against the solid warmth of his chest. “Happy anniversary.”
Kian turned in his arms, eyebrows shooting up. “We’ve been together eighteen months. That’s not an anniversary.”
“It’s the anniversary of the first time you called me by my name instead of ‘Coach.'” Marcus’s smile was soft. “I remember the exact moment. The basement gym. You were crying. You said ‘Marcus’ like it was a prayer.”
Kian’s chest tightened. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.” Marcus kissed his forehead. “Now. I believe we discussed rules for this weekend.”
Ah. The rules.
This had been Kian’s idea—floated nervously three weeks ago, half-expecting Marcus to shut it down. Instead, Marcus had listened with that intense, considering expression he wore during film study, and then said simply: “Okay. Tell me what you need.”
What Kian needed was to give back.
For eighteen months, Marcus had been his rock, his anchor, his safe harbor in every storm. He’d held Kian when he fell apart, pushed him when he needed pushing, loved him with a ferocity that still took Kian’s breath away.
But Marcus never let anyone take care of him.
Oh, he accepted Kian’s love, his affection, his body. But the control? The dominance? That was always Marcus’s domain. Even in their most intimate moments, Marcus was the one steering the ship, making the decisions, shouldering the responsibility for both their pleasure.
Kian wanted to carry that weight for once. Wanted to show Marcus that surrender wasn’t weakness—that letting go could be just as powerful as holding on.
“The rules,” Kian repeated, stepping back so he could look Marcus in the eye. “For the next forty-eight hours, you don’t give orders. You don’t make decisions. You don’t try to control anything.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened—an automatic response, his body rebelling against the very concept. “And if I break the rules?”
“Then I stop. Whatever we’re doing, I stop, and we don’t start again until you’re ready to follow my lead.” Kian held his gaze. “This isn’t a punishment, Marcus. It’s a gift. Let me give it to you.”
A long pause. The yacht rocked gently beneath them, the Mediterranean sun warm on their skin.
Then Marcus exhaled slowly and nodded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m yours.”
I’m yours.
Two words. A universe of trust.
Kian smiled and took Marcus’s hand.
“Good. Now come with me. We’re starting in the bedroom.”
The master cabin was ridiculous—all white linens and panoramic windows, the bed big enough for six people, the afternoon light painting everything in shades of gold. Kian had spent an hour that morning preparing, hiding supplies in strategic locations, running through his plan until he was sure he could execute it without fumbling.
He’d learned from the best, after all.
“Strip,” he said, the command feeling strange in his mouth—but also thrilling. “Slowly. I want to watch.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow but obeyed. His fingers went to the buttons of his linen shirt, unfastening them one by one, revealing the tanned chest underneath. The shirt fell. Then the shorts. Then the boxer briefs, until he was standing naked in the golden light, his cock already half-hard with anticipation.
God, he was beautiful. Eighteen months, and Kian still couldn’t believe this man was his.
“On the bed,” Kian instructed. “On your back. Hands above your head.”
Marcus complied, stretching out on the white sheets like an offering. His gray eyes tracked Kian’s movements as Kian crossed to the bedside table and retrieved the items he’d hidden there.
Silk restraints. A blindfold. A bottle of massage oil.
Marcus’s breath caught when he saw them.
“Kian—”
“No talking.” Kian climbed onto the bed, straddling Marcus’s hips. “Unless it’s to tell me to stop. That’s your only job right now. Lie there and feel.”
He bound Marcus’s wrists to the headboard—carefully, the way Marcus had once taught him, tight enough to hold but not enough to hurt. Then he reached for the blindfold.
“This okay?”
Marcus nodded, his chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.
Kian settled the silk over his eyes, tying it securely at the back of his head. Marcus made a small sound—something between a gasp and a moan—as his world went dark.
“There,” Kian murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Marcus’s ear. “Now you can’t see what’s coming. Can’t anticipate. Can’t control.” He nipped at the earlobe. “You just have to trust me.”
“I trust you.” Marcus’s voice was rougher than usual. “Always.”
“I know you do.” Kian sat back, surveying his work. Marcus Vance—the most controlled man he’d ever known—bound and blindfolded beneath him, chest heaving, cock fully hard and straining toward his stomach.
Mine, Kian thought fiercely. All mine.
He reached for the massage oil.
He started with Marcus’s feet.
It seemed counterintuitive—Marcus was clearly desperate for more direct stimulation, his cock twitching every time Kian’s hands moved anywhere near it—but Kian had learned patience from the master. And right now, patience was the point.
He worked the oil into Marcus’s arches, his calves, the tight muscles of his thighs. Every stroke was deliberate, thorough, designed to melt away tension that Marcus probably didn’t even know he was carrying.
“You hold so much,” Kian murmured as his hands moved higher. “Every day, you carry the weight of everyone else’s expectations. The team. The organization. Me.” His thumbs dug into a knot in Marcus’s hip, and Marcus groaned. “When’s the last time someone took care of you like this?”
“I don’t—” Marcus’s voice cracked. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s what I thought.” Kian bent to press a kiss to Marcus’s hip bone. “So let me. Let me carry it for once.”
He worked his way up—stomach, chest, shoulders, arms. By the time he finished, Marcus was trembling, his skin flushed and glistening with oil, his cock leaking steadily onto his stomach.
“Please,” Marcus breathed. “Kian, please—”
“Please what?”
“Touch me. I need—”
“I am touching you.”
“You know what I mean.” There was an edge of desperation in Marcus’s voice that Kian had never heard before—the sound of a man who had truly surrendered control. “Please. I’m begging you.”
Marcus Vance. Begging.
Kian filed the sound away in his memory, savoring it.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, and finally— finally—wrapped his hand around Marcus’s cock.
The sound Marcus made was inhuman.
“Easy,” Kian soothed, stroking slowly. “I’ve got you. We’re going to take our time.”
“I can’t—I’m too close—”
“You can. You taught me how, remember? Breathe through it. Stay on the edge without falling over.”
He felt Marcus’s body fight for control—the muscles tensing, the breath evening out, the desperate climb toward orgasm slowing to a sustainable simmer. It was beautiful to watch. Beautiful to orchestrate.
“That’s it,” Kian praised. “That’s my good boy.”
Marcus shuddered at the words—the same words he’d said to Kian a hundred times, now turned back on him like a mirror.
Kian edged him for what felt like hours. Every time Marcus got close, he backed off—switching to featherlight touches, pressing kisses to his thighs, whispering praise and filth in equal measure. By the time he finally positioned himself between Marcus’s legs, Marcus was a wreck—sweating, shaking, tears leaking from beneath the blindfold.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Kian said, slicking himself with oil. “And you’re going to let me. No controlling the pace. No directing the action. You just lie there and take what I give you.”
“Yes,” Marcus gasped. “Yes, anything, please—”
Kian pressed inside.
The heat was incredible—tight and welcoming, Marcus’s body opening for him like it was meant to. He went slow, savoring every inch, watching Marcus’s face contort with pleasure beneath the blindfold.
“So beautiful,” Kian breathed, bottoming out. “So perfect. I could stay inside you forever.”
“Move,” Marcus begged. “Please, I need—”
Kian moved.
He set a rhythm that was punishing in its patience—long, deep strokes that hit Marcus’s prostate on every thrust, building the pleasure in waves without ever quite pushing him over the edge. Marcus was making sounds Kian had never heard from him before—keening, desperate moans that seemed to come from somewhere primal.
“You’re doing so well,” Kian praised, adjusting his angle to hit even deeper. “Taking me so beautifully. I’m so proud of you.”
“Kian—” Marcus’s voice broke. “I can’t—I need to—”
“I know what you need.” Kian reached between them, wrapping his hand around Marcus’s neglected cock. “Come for me, Marcus. Let go.”
Marcus came with a scream—his whole body seizing, his cock pulsing in Kian’s grip, his ass clenching around Kian in rhythmic waves. The sensation pushed Kian over the edge, and he followed with a groan, spilling deep inside the man he loved.
They collapsed together, tangled and gasping.
For a long moment, neither of them could speak.
Then Kian carefully removed the blindfold, untied the restraints, and gathered Marcus into his arms.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
Marcus looked up at him with eyes that were red-rimmed and wondering.
“That was—” He shook his head, seemingly unable to find words. “I’ve never—”
“I know.” Kian pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know.”
“How did you—”
“I had a good teacher.” Kian smiled. “He taught me that surrender isn’t weakness. That letting go requires more strength than holding on.” He traced a finger down Marcus’s cheek. “I just wanted you to feel what you’ve given me. That safety. That freedom.”
Marcus pulled him down into a kiss—soft and sweet and full of everything he couldn’t say.
“I love you,” he whispered against Kian’s lips.
“I love you too. Always.” Kian settled against his chest, listening to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat. “Now rest. We have forty-seven more hours, and I have plans.”
Marcus laughed—a wet, exhausted, deeply contented sound.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
“The best kind of trouble.” Kian grinned up at him. “Ball control, Coach.”
Marcus’s groan was half protest, half pleasure.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never,” Kian promised. “Not in a million years.”
Outside, the Mediterranean sparkled in the afternoon sun. Inside, two men who’d found each other against all odds held on tight and let the rest of the world fall away.
Fin.
Thank You! We Hope You Enjoyed!
If you enjoyed this bonus please explore our other titles you are sure to find something else you will love!