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Power Play: “The Wedding Night”
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The Wedding Night

Six months after the proposal

JULES

The hotel suite door barely clicked shut before Silas had me pinned against it.

His mouth found mine in the darkness—hungry, desperate, devouring. All day I’d watched him in that perfectly tailored suit, standing at the altar with tears in his eyes as I walked toward him. All day I’d felt his hand in mine, his arm around my waist, his lips pressing chaste kisses to my temple while our families cheered and our teammates whistled.

There was nothing chaste about this kiss.

“Do you have any idea,” Silas growled against my throat, “how hard it’s been to keep my hands to myself today?”

“I have some idea.” I gasped as his teeth scraped my pulse point. “That suit should be illegal.”

“You’re one to talk.” His hands found my hips, lifting me like I weighed nothing—because to him, I basically did. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me away from the door, his grip bruising in the best way. “Walking down that aisle looking like that. Everyone watching. Everyone knowing you were about to be mine.”

The word sent heat spiraling through my core.

“I’ve been yours for over a year,” I reminded him.

“Not like this.” He set me down on the edge of the bed, looming over me in the moonlight streaming through the windows. His eyes were dark, intense, full of something that made my breath catch. “Not officially. Not with a ring on your finger and my name on the license.”

He took my left hand, lifting it to his lips. Pressed a kiss to the wedding band that now sat alongside the engagement ring—both of them glinting in the low light.

“Julian Thorne,” he murmured. “God, I love the sound of that.”

“I kept my name professionally—”

“I know. But here?” He kissed my ring finger again, then my palm, then my wrist. “In our home? In our bed? You’re mine. And I’m going to spend tonight showing you exactly what that means.”

SILAS

I’d been planning this night for months.

Not the wedding itself—that had been a joint effort, a careful negotiation between Jules’s taste for elegance and my preference for simplicity. We’d compromised on intimate: sixty guests, a lakefront venue, vows that made half the room cry (including me, though I’d never admit it out loud).

But tonight? Tonight was all mine.

“Lie back,” I said, and the command in my voice made Jules shiver. Good. I wanted him shivering. I wanted him desperate. I wanted to take him apart so thoroughly that he’d feel me for days.

He obeyed, spreading himself across the white sheets like an offering. Still fully dressed—we both were—but that was about to change.

“Do you remember,” I said, climbing over him, bracketing his body with mine, “our first time in Detroit?”

“I remember everything about Detroit.” His voice was already breathless. “The hotel room. The adrenaline after the game. The way you looked at me like—”

“Like I wanted to consume you whole?” I finished. “Yeah. I remember that look. I’m wearing it right now.”

I started with his tie. Loosened the knot slowly, drawing out the moment, watching his pupils dilate as I stripped the silk from around his throat.

“Silas—”

“We’ve got all night.” I set the tie aside—we’d find a use for it later—and moved to his shirt buttons. “I’m going to take my time.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Possibly.” I popped the first button. Then the second. Then the third. “But you’ll die happy.”

JULES

By the time he finished undressing me, I was already wrecked.

He’d turned it into torture—each button, each zipper, each piece of clothing removed with agonizing deliberation. His hands mapped my skin like he was memorizing it, like he hadn’t touched me a thousand times before, like this was our first night together instead of one of hundreds.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, staring down at me with an expression that made my chest ache. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Jules.”

“Your turn.” I reached for his shirt, but he caught my wrists. Pinned them above my head with one massive hand.

“Not yet.”

“Silas—”

“Tonight, you don’t touch unless I say so.” His voice dropped, rough and commanding. “Tonight, you take what I give you. Understand?”

A whimper escaped me. I nodded.

“Good boy.”

The praise hit me like a drug—it always did, but tonight it was amplified by everything else. By the ceremony, the vows, the rings. By the knowledge that this man was my husband.

My husband, who was currently working his way down my body with single-minded focus.

His mouth traced a path from my collarbone to my chest, pausing to worship each nipple until I was arching off the bed. Lower still, across the planes of my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel before continuing its torturous descent.

When he finally—finally—reached my cock, I was already leaking onto my stomach.

“Please,” I gasped.

“Please what?”

“Please, Silas. I need—”

“I know what you need.” He pressed a kiss to my hip bone, maddeningly close to where I wanted him. “But you’re going to wait. You’re going to wait until I’m ready to give it to you.”

SILAS

I edged him for an hour.

It was possibly the best hour of my life.

Jules fell apart beautifully—he always did, but tonight there was something extra in it. Something sacred. Every moan felt like a prayer. Every desperate plea felt like a vow.

I promise to love you. I promise to worship you. I promise to take you to the edge again and again until you’re sobbing for release.

That last one might not have been in our official vows. But it should have been.

“Silas.” His voice was wrecked, raw from crying out my name. “Please. I can’t—I need—”

“What do you need?” I asked, even though I knew. I just wanted to hear him say it.

“You. Inside me. Please, I need you inside me, I need to feel you, I need—”

I cut him off with a kiss. Reached for the nightstand where I’d stashed supplies earlier—because I was a planner, damn it, and I’d been thinking about this moment since the second he said yes to my proposal.

“You’ve been so good,” I murmured against his lips. “So perfect. My perfect husband.”

He shuddered at the word. I filed that away for later.

Prepping him was another form of worship. Slow and thorough, one finger becoming two becoming three, his body opening for me like it was made to. Because it was. We were made for each other—I’d known it since the first time I slid inside him, since the first time I felt the impossible tightness, the heat, the way he clenched around me like he never wanted to let go.

“Ready?” I asked, positioning myself at his entrance.

“Since the day I met you.” His eyes met mine—honey-brown and swimming with tears. “Since the day you walked into my locker room and refused to look at me.”

I laughed—couldn’t help it. “I was terrified of you.”

“I know. I loved it.”

“You would.”

I pushed inside.

JULES

Nothing ever prepared me for the stretch of him.

After over a year together, you’d think my body would have adjusted. Would have become accustomed to his size, his thickness, the way he filled me so completely that I forgot how to breathe.

It hadn’t. Every time felt like the first time—overwhelming, consuming, perfect.

“Fuck,” I gasped as he bottomed out. “God, Silas—”

“I’ve got you.” He held perfectly still, giving me time to adjust, his forehead pressed against mine. “I’ve always got you.”

“Move. Please. I need you to move.”

He did.

Slow at first—long, deep strokes that dragged against every nerve ending. Then faster as I adjusted, as my body opened to him, as our rhythm synchronized the way it always did. Like our on-ice chemistry had translated into something even more profound.

“You feel incredible.” His voice was strained, control fraying. “So tight. So hot. Mine.”

“Yours,” I agreed. “Always yours.”

His hand found my cock—finally, finally—and began stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation sent me spiraling toward the edge I’d been hovering at for an hour.

“Don’t hold back,” Silas ordered. “I want to see you come. Want to feel you come on my cock, my husband, my—”

I shattered.

The orgasm crashed through me like a wave, ripping a scream from my throat. I clenched around him, felt him follow me over the edge with a groan, felt the pulse of his release inside me—hot and claiming and absolutely devastating.

When it was over, we lay tangled together in the aftermath, breathing hard, hearts pounding in tandem.

“Holy shit,” I managed.

Silas laughed, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

“We should get married more often.”

“We can renew our vows every year if it means sex like that.”

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. In the moonlight, he looked younger. Softer. Like the man he’d been before Boston, before the scandal, before the walls he’d built to protect himself.

My husband. My partner. My everything.

“I love you,” I said. “More than hockey. More than winning. More than anything I’ve ever loved in my life.”

His smile was like sunrise.

“I love you too.” He pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest. “Now get some sleep. I have plans for round two.”

“Already?”

“We have two weeks in Bora Bora. I intend to make the most of it.”

I grinned against his skin. “Bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“Same thing.”

I fell asleep in my husband’s arms, the wedding band warm against my finger, already looking forward to the rest of our lives.

~ The End ~

I hope you enjoyed this bonus scene with Jules and Silas. If you loved Power Play, please consider leaving a review—it helps more than you know!

More Chicago Cobras books coming soon!

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