Overtime Minutes by Chase Power - MM Hockey Romance book cover

Overtime Minutes — Bonus Chapter

Full Time
by Chase Power

An EXCLUSIVE bonus chapter — too hot for Amazon.
Set two weeks after the events of Overtime Minutes. Marcus’s POV.

Full Time

Marcus

The note was taped to the World’s Okayest Captain mug.

Marcus found it at three in the afternoon, standing in the kitchen of the apartment that was theirs — officially, legally, both names on the lease since last week — still damp from the post-practice shower, still buzzing from the morning’s skate. The playoffs were two games in. They were up 2-0 in the series. Tomorrow was a day off. The first real day off in ten days.

The note was in Theo’s handwriting — messy, slanted, the penmanship of a man who communicated better with his body than with a pen.

Full time. No interruptions. Phones off. You’re mine until tomorrow.

Marcus read it twice. Set it down. Looked around the kitchen.

Candles on the crooked IKEA table — the one with the wobbling leg, the one they’d built with profanity and YouTube, the one that had a sticky note inside the cabinet above it that said For your beige food. And my non-beige food. Together. The candles were new. Unlit. Three of them, different heights, the kind of thing you bought when you were planning something and wanted the ambiance to match the intention.

Music was playing from the speaker on the counter. Low. The same slow song from the night they’d danced in this kitchen — the acoustic melody that had wrapped around them while Marcus held Theo and swayed and said this is regulation, this is every minute and meant it with every cell.

And Theo was standing at the stove.

In Marcus’s Stampede hoodie. The gray one, the one with the fraying cuff that Marcus had owned for three years and that Theo had claimed with the proprietary confidence of a man who considered his boyfriend’s wardrobe a shared resource. The hoodie hung past his wrists. Past his hips. Past the point where a reasonable person would assume he was wearing anything underneath.

He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Marcus could tell because Theo turned from the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and a grin on his face and the hoodie shifted and Marcus’s gaze dropped and the bare curve of Theo’s hip was visible — smooth, golden-brown, the line of the bone disappearing into shadow — and Marcus’s brain performed a hard shutdown.

“You’re home,” Theo said. Casual. Easy. As if he was fully dressed. As if he wasn’t standing in their kitchen in nothing but a hoodie and candlelight, looking like every fantasy Marcus had never allowed himself to have.

“What is this?” Marcus managed.

“This is full time.” Theo set the spoon down. Crossed the kitchen. Took the phone from Marcus’s hand — gently, deliberately — and turned it off. Set it face-down on the counter. “Twelve hours. No captain. No rookie. No team, no media, no playoffs. Just us.”

“Twelve hours.”

“Starting now.” Theo’s hands found the zipper of Marcus’s jacket. Drew it down. Slow. “I’ve been thinking about this for a week. Planning it. Staging supplies.”

“Staging supplies?”

“Every room. Lube, condoms, towels. The couch cushions. The shower shelf. The nightstand. The kitchen drawer.” The jacket hit the floor. Theo’s hands went to Marcus’s shirt. “I’m a strategist.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m prepared.” Theo pulled the shirt over Marcus’s head. Dropped it. Put his palms on Marcus’s bare chest — flat, warm, the callused hands of a hockey player pressed against the heartbeat of the man he loved. “I’ve spent six months sharing you with the team and the media and the front office and the entire city of Hartford. Tonight, you’re mine. Just mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”

“Okay,” Marcus said.

Theo grinned. The supernova.

“Okay,” Theo said. And kissed him.

They started on the couch.

The gray couch. The blanket couch. The couch where Theo had fallen asleep seven months ago and Marcus had covered him and sat in the armchair across the room and watched him breathe and felt the first crack in the fortress.

They kissed there now with the unhurried patience of two people who had nowhere to be. Theo in Marcus’s lap, straddling him, the hoodie riding up with every shift of his hips. Marcus’s hands on his thighs — bare, warm, the skin impossibly smooth — sliding up beneath the fabric to discover what he already knew: nothing underneath. Just Theo. Just skin and heat and the slow, devastating revelation of a body Marcus had memorized and still found new ways to worship.

“You planned this,” Marcus murmured against Theo’s mouth.

“I planned the hell out of this.” Theo’s hips rolled. A slow, grinding circle that pressed his hardening cock against Marcus’s stomach through the thin cotton. “I’ve been thinking about it every day during practice. During film sessions. During that presser where you wore the navy suit and I had to cross my legs at the table.”

“That presser was two hours long.”

“Two hours of looking at you in that suit and not being able to touch you. It was inhumane. I deserve compensation.”

Marcus pulled the hoodie over Theo’s head. Slowly. The reveal was deliberate — first the stomach, lean and carved and golden-brown. Then the chest. Then the shoulders. Then Theo’s face, emerging from the fabric with his curls wild and his lips swollen and his eyes dark with want.

Naked. In Marcus’s lap. On their couch. In the warm light of a candle-lit apartment with the music playing and the curtains open and twelve hours stretching ahead like a promise.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Marcus said. “Every time. Every angle. You take my breath away.”

“Keep talking,” Theo breathed. His hips were moving — a steady, grinding rhythm against Marcus’s lap, and Marcus could feel him through his sweats, hard and hot. “You know what your voice does to me.”

Marcus’s hands mapped Theo’s body. Chest. Ribs. The dip of his waist, the jut of his hip bones, the sensitive spot on his inner thigh that made his breath stutter every single time. He kissed Theo’s neck. His collarbone. The place below his ear — the spot, their spot, the pressure point Marcus had discovered months ago that short-circuited Theo’s ability to form sentences.

Theo gasped. His head fell back. His hands gripped Marcus’s shoulders — hard, nails pressing crescents into the muscle — and the sound he made was raw and open and loud, because they were done being quiet.

“I need you,” Theo said. “Marcus — I need—”

“I know.” Marcus reached between the couch cushions. Found the lube — right where Theo had staged it, the strategist, the beautiful lunatic. “I know what you need.”

He slicked his fingers. Reached behind Theo, who was still in his lap, still grinding. His finger pressed against Theo’s entrance — circling, teasing, the patience excruciating but necessary because Marcus didn’t rush this. Never rushed this. This was the part where Theo opened for him, and the opening was sacred.

One finger. Theo exhaled. His forehead dropped against Marcus’s. Their breath mixed.

“More,” Theo whispered.

Two fingers. Marcus curved them — searching, finding, pressing — and Theo cried out. A sharp, bitten sound, his hips jerking, his cock twitching against Marcus’s stomach.

“There, Marcus, don’t stop—”

Marcus didn’t stop. Worked the spot with the focused precision of a man who’d studied this body for months and knew its geography the way he knew the ice.

“I want to ride you,” Theo said. “Right here. On this couch. Where it started.”

Marcus freed his cock — pushed his sweats down, and the relief was immediate, his erection springing free, thick and flushed and aching. Theo’s hand found him — wrapped around the shaft, stroked once, twice, spreading the lube — and Marcus groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

Theo positioned himself. Rose on his knees. Guided Marcus to his entrance. Held Marcus’s gaze with those steady, amber eyes.

And sank down.

Slow. So slow. The tight, overwhelming heat of Theo’s body swallowing him inch by inch, and Marcus watched — watched Theo’s face, the parted lips, the flutter of his lashes, the moment when Marcus bottomed out and Theo’s whole body shuddered and a sound escaped him that was Marcus’s name wrapped in a moan.

“God,” Theo breathed. “You feel — every time — God, Marcus.”

Theo rode him. Set the pace — slow at first, rolling his hips in long, grinding circles. Then faster. Rising and falling, his thighs flexing, his hands on Marcus’s shoulders for leverage. The couch creaked beneath them. The music played. The candles flickered.

Marcus’s hands gripped Theo’s hips. He watched Theo move above him — head thrown back, mouth open, his cock hard and bouncing against his stomach with every downstroke — and the sight was so devastating that Marcus felt the orgasm building too fast, too soon.

“Theo — I’m going to—”

“Let go.” Theo opened his eyes. “I want to feel you. Let go, Marcus.”

Marcus came. Hard. His hips drove up, burying himself deep, and the orgasm tore through him — the word yours escaping his mouth before he could shape it into anything more coherent.

Theo rode him through it. Then reached between them, wrapped his hand around his own cock, and stroked — fast, urgent. Marcus’s hand covered Theo’s. Took over. His thumb swept across the head — wet, slick — and Theo came across Marcus’s chest, his mouth opening on Marcus’s name — Marcus, Marcus, Marcus — three times, like a prayer.

They collapsed. Tangled on the couch. Breathing.

“That’s one hour,” Theo murmured. “Eleven to go.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“You’ll die happy.” Theo lifted his head. “Shower?”

Marcus’s shower was enormous. Walk-in, rain head, bench, enough room for two grown men. The water was hot. The steam filled the room. They washed each other — Marcus’s hands in Theo’s hair, working through the curls with shampoo and patience. Theo’s hands on Marcus’s back, soaping the broad expanse of muscle with slow, attentive care.

It started as care. It became something else.

Theo’s hands slid from Marcus’s back to his hips. Down the front of his thighs. Back up. Fingertips tracing the V of his hip bones, the trail of dark hair below his navel. His hand wrapped around Marcus’s cock — loose, teasing.

“Your body is ridiculous,” Theo said against his shoulder. “Six-three, two-fifteen, built like a Greek statue that someone taught to play defense. It’s obscene.”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

Marcus turned Theo around. Pressed him against the shower wall — gently, firmly, his chest against Theo’s back. His mouth found the curve of Theo’s neck. Kissed. Bit. Felt Theo shudder.

“I want to take care of you,” Marcus murmured against his wet skin.

Marcus dropped to his knees on the shower floor. The tile was warm beneath him. The water cascaded over both of them. He pressed his mouth to the small of Theo’s back. Kissed down.

“Turn around,” Marcus said.

Theo turned. Marcus was on his knees, water streaming down his face, looking up at Theo with dark, steady eyes.

Marcus took him in. Slowly. The water made everything wetter, slicker, the glide of his mouth easier and the suction deeper. He swallowed Theo to the base and Theo’s head hit the glass behind him and the sound he made echoed off every tile.

“Jesus — Marcus — your mouth—”

Marcus worked him — deep, slow, thorough, relentless. Theo’s hand found Marcus’s wet hair. Gripped. Anchoring himself to the only solid thing in a world dissolving into steam and sensation.

“I’m close — Marcus — I can’t—”

Marcus doubled down. Took him deeper. Swallowed around him. And Theo came — hard, fast, his body seizing, his voice cracking on Marcus’s name as the orgasm tore through him and the shower amplified it into something that filled the bathroom like music.

Marcus swallowed. Pulled off. Pressed his forehead against Theo’s hip.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Theo said.

“Not tonight. We’ve got ten hours left.”

The bedroom. Marcus laid Theo down. Gently. Like something valuable. And then he took him apart.

Piece by piece. Inch by inch. He kissed the spot where the Gorski bruise used to be — healed now, just skin, but Marcus’s lips remembered. He kissed the knuckle that had split fighting Kozlov — scarred now, a thin white line across the bone. He kissed the places where Theo’s body carried the history of their season, and each kiss was an acknowledgment: I know what this cost you. I know what you fought for. I know.

“You’re doing the worship thing,” Theo murmured.

“You deserve worship.”

“I deserve to come again. There’s a difference.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Marcus entered him face to face. Slow. Their hands interlaced on the pillow — the signature position. Palms pressed together. Fingers locked.

And Marcus talked. Not the halting vocabulary of the early days. The fluent, confident, full verbal capacity of a man who’d learned that words were another way to touch someone.

“You’re perfect,” Marcus said, moving inside him. “Every inch. Every part. The way you feel around me — tight and hot and mine — I’ll never get enough. I’ll never stop wanting this.”

“I love the sounds you make. The way you say my name when you can’t think. The way your body arches when I find the right angle—” He shifted. Found it. Theo cried out. “—like that. Exactly like that. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart.”

“Come for me,” Marcus whispered. Forehead against Theo’s. Eyes open. “I want to watch. I want to see everything.”

Theo came untouched. His body bowed off the mattress. His cock pulsed between them, untouched by anything except the friction of their bodies and the devastating power of Marcus’s voice and Marcus’s eyes.

Marcus followed him — three deep thrusts, his rhythm shattering, his face pressed into Theo’s neck as he came with a groan that vibrated through both of them. Their hands stayed locked on the pillow.

“You made me come without touching me,” Theo said.

“I touched you everywhere.”

“Your words, Marcus. Seven months ago you couldn’t say ‘I love you’ without a disclaimer, and tonight you made me come with a monologue.”

“Character development.”

They lay tangled. Theo told Marcus about his mom wanting them for Christmas, his dad wanting to grill.

“I told my mom too,” Marcus said quietly. “Last week. Formally. She cried. Happy tears. Then she asked when you’re visiting.”

“Our parents are going to bond over grilling.”

“Our parents are going to be insufferable.”

“I love that word. Our.” Theo lifted his head. “Should we get a dog?”

“Golden retriever.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Marcus paused. “You just agreed to a dog without a risk assessment.”

“I’m evolving.”

They ended where everything ended and began.

The kitchen. Midnight. Theo sitting on the counter in his boxers, eating ice cream from the container with a spoon.

Marcus stood between Theo’s legs, stealing bites. The kitchen light was on — full brightness, no candles now. Because the light had become the statement. The light had always been the statement.

“This ice cream is terrible,” Marcus said.

“It’s birthday cake flavor. It’s magnificent.”

“It tastes like frosting had a nightmare.”

Theo dragged the cold spoon across Marcus’s bare chest. Marcus hissed. Theo grinned. The wicked one.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Marcus took the spoon. Set it in the container. Stepped between Theo’s legs. “I’m going to finish what we started on this counter two weeks ago. Except this time it’s just — us. Happy.”

“Happy sex.”

“The best kind.”

They kissed. Marcus pulled Theo’s boxers off and then Theo was bare on the counter with his legs wrapped around Marcus’s waist and the kitchen light painting both of them in harsh, honest brightness.

The junk drawer opened. The familiar supplies emerged. Theo slicked Marcus with both hands. Marcus pressed in with a groan that echoed off the kitchen tile.

Theo trash-talked. “Third round and you’re still going? I’m impressed, old man.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“Old. Man.” Theo grinned against Marcus’s mouth. “Show me what you’ve got, Captain.”

Marcus adjusted the angle. Drove deep. Found the spot. And Theo forgot how to form words — his trash talk dissolving into a long, shuddering moan that Marcus caught with his mouth and swallowed.

“What was that?” Marcus murmured. “I didn’t catch it.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the general idea.” Marcus thrust again. Harder. “Who’s the old man now?”

“You — God — you are — but you’re my old man and I — fuck, Marcus, right there—”

They laughed. In the middle of it — laughing, fucking, holding each other on a kitchen counter at midnight. The laughter mixed with the moaning, the joy braided into the pleasure, and it was messy and ridiculous and perfect.

Marcus wrapped his hand around Theo’s cock. Stroked in time with his thrusts.

“Together,” Theo gasped. “Marcus, together—”

They came together. Or close enough — Theo first by a heartbeat, his body clenching, and the sensation pulled Marcus after him into an orgasm that was laughter and love and the specific, transcendent joy of being known completely by another person.

They ended up on the kitchen floor. Too wrecked to move. Lying on the cold tile, staring at the ceiling. The ice cream melting on the counter above them.

“What time is it?” Marcus asked.

Theo checked his watch. “Eleven fifty-eight.”

“Two minutes left.”

“Two minutes of full time.”

Marcus pulled him closer. Pressed his mouth to Theo’s hair. Breathed him in — sweat, sex, birthday cake ice cream, and the warm, specific scent underneath that was just Theo. The smell of home.

“I don’t want full time to end,” Marcus said.

Theo lifted his head. Looked at Marcus on the kitchen floor — wrecked, sated, smiling. The expression from the photograph. The expression that the world had seen and that was, on this floor, at midnight, meant for an audience of one.

“It doesn’t end,” Theo said. “That’s the whole point. It’s not overtime. It’s not regulation. It’s not full time. It’s just — time. Ours. Always.”

Marcus smiled. The real one. The full one. The smile of a man who’d learned that happiness wasn’t a liability.

“Always,” Marcus said.

Midnight passed. The twelve hours expired. The phones stayed off. They stayed on the floor.

They had time.

Thank you for reading Overtime Minutes. If you loved Marcus and Theo, please consider leaving a review on Amazon — it means the world.

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