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Below you’ll find an extended scene set immediately after the championship celebration—when the confetti has settled, the cameras are finally gone, and Ty has very specific plans for how he wants to celebrate their victory with Jax.

✨ EXCLUSIVE BONUS SCENE ✨

The Championship Night

An Extended Scene from Ball Handler
Set immediately after Chapter 13

The Championship Night

Ty’s POV

The hotel suite was ridiculous.

Penthouse level. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Boston skyline. A bedroom bigger than my first apartment. The team had splurged on rooms for everyone after the win, and someone—probably Marcus, the meddling bastard—had made sure Jax and I ended up in the nicest one.

The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly the chaos of the night—the champagne, the trophy, the press conference, the kiss—faded into silence.

Just us. Finally.

Jax stood by the window, still in his suit from the post-game celebration. The city lights caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He looked like something out of a dream—my dream, specifically, the one I’d been having for months.

Except now I didn’t have to wake up.

“So,” he said, turning to face me. His eyes were bright, a little wild. “We won.”

“We won.”

“And you kissed me on national television.”

“I did.”

“And now we’re alone.” He took a step toward me. “In a very nice hotel room.” Another step. “With a very big bed.”

“Jax.”

“Yes, sir?”

The title went straight to my cock. It always did. But tonight there was something different in how he said it—something raw and wanting and completely unguarded.

We’d done this before. Many times. But never like this. Never with the whole world knowing. Never with the weight of secrets finally lifted.

“Come here,” I said.

He came. Of course he did. My perfect, beautiful, good boy.

I caught his face in my hands, tilting it up. Even in dress shoes, I had six inches on him. I loved that—loved the way he had to look up at me, the way I could cage him in with my body, make him feel small and safe and mine.

“You were incredible tonight,” I said. “That pass. That trust. You gave me everything.”

“I wanted to.” His voice was already going breathy. “I wanted to show you—”

“Show me what?”

“That I’m yours.” He swallowed hard. “On the court. Off the court. Everywhere. I’m yours.”

Something cracked open in my chest. All those months of hiding, of being careful, of loving him in secret—and now he was standing here, saying the words I’d been desperate to hear.

“Then tonight,” I said, “I’m going to show you what that means.”

* * *

I stripped him slowly.

Jacket first, sliding it off his shoulders and draping it over a chair. Then the tie—silk, deep blue, probably expensive. I wound it around my fist, considering.

“Keep that,” Jax said, his eyes tracking the movement. “For later.”

“Demanding tonight, are we?”

“Requesting.” He flashed that smile—the one that made millions of fans lose their minds, but that he saved in its truest form for me. “Please, sir.”

I set the tie aside. “We’ll see if you earn it.”

His shirt came next. Button by button, revealing the lean muscle underneath—the body I knew as well as my own by now. Every scar from games past. Every sensitive spot that made him gasp. I traced my fingers down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in my wake.

“Ty—”

“Did I say you could speak?”

He bit his lip. Shook his head.

“Good boy.”

The effect was immediate—his breath hitched, his pupils dilated, his whole body seemed to soften toward me. God, he was responsive. Every single time, it wrecked me.

I took my time with his belt. His pants. Left him standing in nothing but black boxer briefs that did absolutely nothing to hide how hard he already was.

“Look at you,” I murmured. “Already this desperate, and I’ve barely touched you.”

He made a sound—half whimper, half moan—but didn’t speak. Learning.

“On the bed. Hands above your head.”

He moved to obey, climbing onto the massive king bed and stretching out like an offering. His wrists crossed above his head, resting against the headboard. Waiting.

I picked up the tie.

“Color?”

“Green.” No hesitation. “So fucking green.”

I wound the silk around his wrists, securing them to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt—never that—but firm enough that he’d feel it every time he tried to move.

“There,” I said, stepping back to admire my work. “Now you can’t touch. You can’t control. You just have to take whatever I give you.”

His hips lifted off the bed involuntarily. “Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me. I need—I’ve needed you all night, watching you hold that trophy, knowing I couldn’t—” He broke off with a frustrated groan. “I’ve been hard since you kissed me on the court.”

“Hours ago.”

“Hours of wanting you. Hours of sitting through press conferences and champagne and everyone looking at us, knowing what we were going to do the second we got alone—”

I silenced him with a kiss. Deep and filthy, my tongue claiming his mouth the way I planned to claim the rest of him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” I asked against his lips. “During all those hours?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“I was thinking about how I was going to take you apart tonight. Slowly. Thoroughly.” I trailed my mouth down his neck, finding the spot that always made him shiver. “I was thinking about making you beg. Making you cry. Making you come so hard you forget your own name.”

“Ty—”

“And then,” I continued, “I was thinking about doing it again. And again. Until you’re so fucked out you can barely move. Until everyone who sees you tomorrow knows exactly what I did to you.”

He was trembling now. “Please. Please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” I stripped off my own clothes—efficient, purposeful—and watched his eyes go dark as he tracked every inch of revealed skin. “I always know what you need.”

That was the truth of us. The thing we’d discovered in Minneapolis and perfected in every hotel room since. Jax needed to stop thinking. Needed someone to take the wheel, to tell him what to do, to catch him when he fell. And I needed to be that person for him. Needed to protect and possess and cherish this chaotic, brilliant, infuriating man who’d somehow become my whole world.

I climbed onto the bed, settling between his spread thighs. His cock was straining against his briefs, a damp spot spreading where he was leaking. I pressed my palm against it—just pressure, no friction—and watched him arch off the mattress.

“Fuck—Ty—”

“Not yet.” I peeled the briefs down his legs and tossed them aside. “First, I’m going to make you wait.”

* * *

I edged him for what felt like hours.

Mouth. Hands. The occasional grind of my hips against his that made both of us groan. Every time he got close—and I knew, I always knew, could read his body like a playbook—I backed off. Let him cool down. Started again.

By the third time, he was begging openly.

“Please—please, Ty, I can’t—I need to come, please let me come—”

“You can take more.” I twisted my wrist on a stroke, watched his eyes roll back. “You can take whatever I give you.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. Because I’m telling you to.” I leaned down, took him into my mouth, and swallowed him to the root.

He screamed.

His hips jerked up, chasing the sensation, but I held him down with one hand on his hip. In control. Always in control—except when it came to how much I wanted him.

“Ty—Ty, I’m gonna—”

I pulled off. Again.

“No—” The word was a sob. Actual tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes now, and god, he was beautiful like this. Wrecked and wanting and completely, utterly mine.

“Look at me.”

He forced his eyes open. Met my gaze.

“You’re doing so well,” I said. “So perfect for me. My good boy.”

“Yours,” he gasped. “Yours, please, just—”

“I know.” I reached for the lube on the nightstand—thank god for Marcus and his meddling foresight—and slicked my fingers. “I’m going to give you what you need now. Open up for me.”

He spread his legs wider, wanton, shameless. I worked him open slowly, one finger at a time, watching every flutter of his lashes, every bitten-off moan. By the time I had three fingers inside him, he was pushing back against my hand, desperate for more.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been ready since Minneapolis,” he managed. “Please—please, Ty, I need you inside me—”

I lined up and pushed in.

Slow. Steady. Giving him time to adjust even as my own control frayed at the edges. He was so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect around me. Like he was made for this. Made for me.

“Oh god—” His voice cracked. “Oh fuck, Ty—”

“That’s it.” I bottomed out, buried to the hilt, and had to stop for a moment just to breathe. “That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

“Move. Please move.”

I moved.

Started slow—long, deep strokes that made him feel every inch of me. But I couldn’t keep that pace for long. Not tonight. Not with months of tension and fear and wanting finally released. Not with him looking at me like I was his entire universe.

I fucked him harder. Faster. Drove into him with a desperation that I’d never let myself feel before, because before there had always been the fear that this could end. That someone would find out. That I’d lose him.

Not anymore.

“You’re mine,” I growled against his throat. “Say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours—”

“Everyone knows now. Everyone saw me kiss you. Everyone knows you belong to me.”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“And tomorrow, when we walk out of this room, they’re going to see it on your face. They’re going to know exactly how thoroughly I wrecked you.”

He clenched around me, and I knew he was close. Could feel it in the tension of his body, the hitch in his breath.

“You want to come?”

“Please—please, sir, please let me—”

“Then come.” I changed my angle, hitting that spot inside him that made him see stars. “Come for me, Jax. Now.”

He shattered.

His whole body arched off the bed, straining against the silk binding his wrists. He came untouched—just from me inside him, from my voice, from the permission he’d been begging for—and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I followed him over the edge moments later, burying myself deep and spending everything I had inside him. Claiming him. Marking him. Making him mine in the most primal way possible.

For a long moment, we just breathed together. Then I reached up, untied his wrists, and gathered him into my arms.

“You okay?” I asked, pressing kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“Okay?” He laughed weakly. “I think you actually killed me. I’m dead. This is the afterlife.”

“If you’re dead, you can’t go for round two.”

His eyes snapped open. “Round two?”

“I told you.” I rolled us over, settling him on top of me, already feeling the first stirrings of renewed interest. “I’m going to do this again. And again. Until you can barely move.”

“Oh god.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“That’s a challenge.” He ground down against me, and we both groaned. “Show me what you’ve got, big guy.”

I showed him.

Three more times before dawn, each one different—slow and sweet, then rough and desperate, then something in between that felt like a promise and a prayer all at once. By the time the sun crept through the windows, Jax was exactly as wrecked as I’d promised. Boneless. Blissed out. Covered in marks I’d left with my mouth.

Mine. Completely, irrevocably, publicly mine.

“I love you,” I said into the quiet of the morning. “I love you, and I’m never letting you go.”

He smiled against my chest—that soft, private smile that no camera would ever capture. “Good. Because I’m never running again.”

Outside, the sun rose over Boston. Somewhere, sports networks were replaying our championship win, our kiss, the moment everything changed.

But in here, in this room, in this bed, there was just us.

The chaos and the control.

Together.

Always.

~ THE END ~

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