🏒 Hat Trick Bonus Content 🏆

Thank You for Reading! 💕

You found it! This is the exclusive bonus content hub for Hat Trick. As a huge thank you for reading, we’ve put together some extra material that you won’t find anywhere else.

Below you’ll find an exclusive extended scene set on the night the Cobras won the Stanley Cup—the celebration that didn’t make it into the epilogue. We hope you enjoy spending a little more time with Cal, Rhys, and Theo!

✨ EXCLUSIVE BONUS SCENE ✨

Championship Night

An Extended Epilogue from Hat Trick

⚠️ Warning: Explicit Content
This scene takes place immediately after the epilogue, on the night the Cobras won the Stanley Cup.

The Stanley Cup was heavier than Theo expected.

Thirty-five pounds of silver and history, and right now it was sitting on the dresser of their hotel suite, watching them like an ancient god surveying its worshippers. The team had passed it around all night—drinking champagne from it, kissing it, crying into it—but now it was their turn. Their private time with the trophy they’d bled for.

Their private time with each other.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” Theo said, still staring at the Cup. He was drunk—not sloppy, but warm and loose, the kind of drunk where everything felt soft around the edges. “We actually won the fucking Stanley Cup.”

“You won the Stanley Cup.” Rhys came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Theo’s waist. He smelled like champagne and sweat and victory. “Conn Smythe trophy winner. Playoff MVP. The Golden Boy who delivered.”

“We won it together.”

“Damn right we did.” Cal’s voice came from across the room. He was leaning against the closed door, arms crossed, watching them with those ice-blue eyes that never failed to make Theo’s stomach flip. “Which is why we’re going to celebrate together.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing for the past four hours.”

“That was the public celebration.” Cal pushed off the door, stalking toward them with predatory grace. “This is the private one.”

He stopped in front of Theo, reaching out to cup his face. His thumb traced Theo’s lower lip, and Theo’s breath caught.

“We have twelve hours before the parade,” Cal said quietly. “Twelve hours before we have to share you with the world again. I intend to use every single one of them.”

Theo’s mouth went dry. “That’s ambitious.”

“I’m a very ambitious man.” Cal leaned in, his lips brushing Theo’s ear. “And right now, my ambition is to make you scream so loud the entire hotel knows who you belong to.”

Behind him, Rhys groaned. “God, when you talk like that—”

“You’ll get your turn.” Cal’s eyes flicked to Rhys over Theo’s shoulder. “But first, I want to see our champion on his knees.”

The command went straight to Theo’s cock. He was already half-hard—had been since Cal locked the door—but now he was straining against his dress pants, desperate for friction.

“Yes, Captain,” he whispered.

He sank to the floor.

The carpet was soft under his knees—luxury hotel, nothing but the best for Stanley Cup champions—and he looked up at Cal with anticipation thrumming through his veins. This never got old. The way Cal looked at him when he submitted. The way it made Theo feel powerful in his surrender.

Cal unbuckled his belt slowly. Deliberately. Making Theo wait.

“You were incredible tonight,” Cal said as he unzipped his pants. “That goal in the third period. The way you read the play, positioned yourself perfectly.” He freed his cock, already hard and thick, and Theo’s mouth watered. “You’ve come so far since Montreal.”

“I had good teachers.”

“You had us.” Cal’s hand tangled in Theo’s hair, gripping tight. “And now you’re going to show us how grateful you are.”

He guided Theo forward, and Theo opened his mouth eagerly, taking Cal in as deep as he could. The weight of him on Theo’s tongue, the salty taste of precome, the way Cal’s breath hitched—it was intoxicating. Better than champagne. Better than victory.

“Fuck,” Cal breathed. “Your mouth. I’ll never get tired of your mouth.”

Theo hummed around him, hollowing his cheeks, working Cal the way he’d learned over months of practice. He knew exactly how Cal liked it now—slow and deep, with just enough suction to drive him crazy.

Behind him, he heard Rhys moving. Felt hands on his shoulders, then sliding down his back, tugging his shirt free from his pants.

“Don’t stop,” Rhys murmured against his neck. “Keep sucking him. I want to watch while I get you ready.”

Ready. The word sent a shiver down Theo’s spine.

Rhys made quick work of Theo’s clothes—shirt unbuttoned and discarded, pants and boxers pushed down to his knees. The cool air hit Theo’s heated skin, making him gasp around Cal’s cock.

“So pretty,” Rhys said, running a hand down Theo’s spine. “Our pretty champion. Do you have any idea what you looked like on that ice tonight? Scoring the Cup-winning goal, holding that trophy over your head?” His fingers traced lower, dipping between Theo’s cheeks. “I wanted to bend you over the boards right there. Show everyone who you really belong to.”

Theo moaned. His hips pushed back instinctively, seeking more contact, more of Rhys’s touch.

“Greedy,” Rhys laughed. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re going to give you everything tonight. Everything.“

The snick of a cap opening. The cool drip of lube. And then Rhys’s finger was pressing inside him, slow and relentless, opening him up with practiced ease.

They took their time opening him up. One finger became two. Two became three. By the time Rhys had him stretched and desperate, Theo was trembling with need, Cal’s cock still filling his mouth, his own arousal dripping onto the expensive carpet.

“He’s ready,” Rhys said, voice strained. “Cal, he’s so fucking ready.”

Cal pulled Theo off his cock with a wet sound. “Bed. Now.”

They rearranged themselves with practiced efficiency. Cal lay back on the massive hotel bed, pulling Theo on top of him, guiding him down onto his cock. The familiar stretch made Theo moan—still intense, still overwhelming, but his body knew how to welcome Cal now. How to accept him completely.

“Okay?” Cal asked through gritted teeth.

“More than okay.” Theo rolled his hips. “I want—Rhys—”

“Right here, baby.” Rhys was behind him, more lube slicking his fingers. “You sure about this? We don’t have to—”

“I’m sure. I want both of you. Tonight. The real hat trick.”

Rhys laughed, breathless. “You and your terrible hockey puns.”

“You love my terrible hockey puns.”

“I love you.” Rhys pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Now breathe, baby. Push back. Let me in.”

Theo breathed. Pushed. And Rhys began to slide inside.

The stretch was everything. More than the first time they’d tried. More than any toy. Theo felt himself open around both of them, felt his body accommodate the impossible fullness, felt himself become something new—something complete.

“Oh God.” His voice broke. “Oh God.”

“Breathe,” Cal murmured, hands steady on his hips. “We’ve got you.”

“Always,” Rhys added, fully seated now. “We’ve always got you.”

They began to move.

Slowly at first, finding their rhythm. Cal thrust up while Rhys pulled back, then reversed—a coordinated dance that hit every sensitive nerve in Theo’s body. The sensation was overwhelming, devastating, perfect.

“Look at you,” Cal groaned. “Taking us both. So beautiful. So ours.”

“Yours,” Theo gasped. “Always yours.”

The orgasm built like a wave cresting—inevitable, unstoppable. Theo felt it in his spine, his balls, every cell of his body crying out for release.

“Come for us,” Cal commanded. “Now, Theo. Show us who you belong to.”

Theo shattered.

The orgasm ripped through him, untouched, his whole body convulsing around them. He screamed—actually screamed—and felt them follow moments later. Cal first, then Rhys, both of them pulsing inside him, filling him, claiming him completely.

They collapsed together in a heap of sweaty, satisfied limbs.

“Holy shit,” Theo managed eventually.

“Yeah.” Rhys laughed weakly. “That’s… yeah.”

Cal pressed a kiss to Theo’s temple. “Happy?”

“Beyond happy.” Theo lifted his head, meeting Cal’s eyes. “I have the Stanley Cup, the Conn Smythe, and the two best men in the world. What more could I possibly want?”

“Round two?” Rhys suggested hopefully.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen and you do that thing with your tongue.”

“Deal.”

Hours later—many hours, and several more rounds—they lay tangled together as dawn began to lighten the sky outside the window.

The Stanley Cup still gleamed on the dresser, witness to everything.

“We should sleep,” Cal said eventually. “The parade starts at noon.”

“We should,” Theo agreed. He made no move to get up.

Neither did anyone else.

“I love you,” Rhys murmured against Theo’s shoulder. “Both of you. So fucking much.”

“I love you too.” Cal’s arm tightened around them both. “This—what we have—it’s everything. You know that, right?”

“We know.” Theo smiled, pressing a kiss to Cal’s chest. “We’ve always known.”

When they finally made it to the parade hours later, walking out into the Chicago sunshine hand in hand in hand, the crowd roared. Cameras flashed. The world watched three men who’d stopped hiding and started living.

And somewhere in the chaos, Cal leaned over and whispered in Theo’s ear:

“Now we go home.”

Theo squeezed his hand. Looked at Rhys on his other side. Smiled at the future stretching out before them—bright and uncertain and absolutely worth every risk.

“Together,” he said.

And they did.

~ The End ~

Thank You! We Hope You Enjoyed!

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