🔥 Exclusive Bonus Scene 🔥
Winner Takes All (Extended)
A Rink Rivals Bonus Scene by Chase Power
⚠️ WARNING: This scene contains explicit adult content. 18+ only.
This takes place during Chapter 6 of Rink Rivals.
DAX
The numbers didn’t lie.
I’d pulled up the stat sheet the moment we left the ice, scrolling through the columns while the adrenaline still sang in my veins. Assists, plus-minus, time on ice, hits—every metric that mattered, laid out in cold, undeniable black and white.
I’d won.
And tonight, I intended to collect.
* * *
The bus was dark when I made my way to the back.
Most of the guys had crashed early, exhausted from the game and the travel. I could hear Chip snoring in his bunk, Kowalski muttering something in his sleep. The only light came from the emergency strips along the floor, casting the hallway in dim red.
The door to the back lounge was closed.
I stood there for a moment, hand on the handle, heart pounding harder than it had during any play tonight. This was insane. This whole arrangement was insane—a game we’d invented to justify touching each other, to pretend that what we were doing was about competition instead of raw, desperate want.
But I’d stopped pretending days ago.
I opened the door.
Casey was sitting on the bed—our bed—still in his team sweats, phone in hand. He looked up when I entered, and the air between us crackled like a live wire.
“Took you long enough,” he said. His voice was steady, but I caught the slight tremor underneath. Anticipation. Maybe nerves.
I closed the door. Locked it. The click echoed in the small space.
“Wanted to make sure we had privacy.”
“How considerate.” His tone was dry, but his pupils were already dilating, his chest rising faster than normal. “I suppose you’re here to collect.”
I leaned against the door, arms crossed, making him wait. Making him squirm. “Depends. You ready to admit you lost?”
His jaw tightened. God, I loved that—loved watching his pride war with his desire, knowing which one was going to win.
“The stats were close,” he tried.
“But not in your favor.”
“Your plus-minus was inflated by that empty-netter.”
“Still counts.” I pushed off the door, taking a step toward the bed. Then another. “Face it, Thorne. You lost. Fair and square. Now you owe me.”
He stood up, meeting me in the middle of the tiny room. We were chest to chest now, so close I could feel his body heat, see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat.
“Fine,” he said, voice dropping to something rougher. “What do you want?”
Everything. I want everything you have.
“First, I want you to say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you lost. That I won.” I hooked a finger through the waistband of his sweats, pulled him a fraction closer until our hips were nearly touching. “That you’re going to do whatever I tell you to do tonight.”
Those blue eyes flashed with defiance. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“It is now.” I tugged harder, closing the last inch between us. “Say it, Casey.”
The use of his first name did something to him. I watched his pupils blow wide, watched the resistance bleed out of his posture as his body swayed into mine.
“You won,” he said quietly. “I lost.”
“And?”
He swallowed, throat working. “And I’ll… I’ll do what you say.”
Heat surged through me—not just arousal, though there was plenty of that, but something darker. Power. Control. The knowledge that Casey Thorne, golden boy, prince of the ice, was about to submit to me.
“Good boy.”
The effect was immediate. His whole body shuddered, a soft sound escaping his throat before he could stop it. His hips jerked forward, seeking friction, and I felt exactly how affected he was.
Interesting.
“You like that?” I murmured, tucking the information away for later use. “Being told you’re good?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not how this works.” I fisted a hand in his hair—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to control—and tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. “Tonight, I give the orders. You follow them. If you’re very, very good, maybe I’ll let you come. Understand?”
His breath came faster, pupils so wide there was barely any blue left. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
A pause. Then, barely audible: “Yes, Dax.”
Fuck.
My name in that wrecked, wanting voice was almost enough to undo me right there.
“Strip.”
His hands went to the hem of his shirt immediately—then paused. That defiance flickering again, even as his body practically vibrated with need.
“And if I don’t?”
I smiled, slow and dangerous. “Then I leave. And you spend the rest of the night alone, thinking about what you could have had.”
The standoff lasted three heartbeats.
Then Casey pulled his shirt over his head.
God. I’d seen him shirtless before—in the locker room, after games—but never like this. Never with that flush spreading down his chest, never with those abs trembling under my gaze, never with that obvious tent in his sweats that told me exactly how much he wanted this.
“Keep going,” I said.
The sweats came off. Then the boxer briefs. And then Casey Thorne was standing naked in front of me, hard and wanting, more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen.
“On your knees.”
He went down graceful and slow, maintaining eye contact the whole way. The sight hit me like a cross-check to the chest—Casey Thorne, golden boy, hockey royalty, kneeling at my feet and waiting for my command.
“Hands behind your back,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than intended. “Keep them there unless I tell you otherwise.”
He obeyed. The position forced his chest out, made him vulnerable in a way that sent blood rushing south so fast I got dizzy.
I traced my thumb across his lower lip, feeling it tremble under my touch. “You have any idea how many times I’ve imagined this?”
“Tell me.”
“Every fucking day since the first night in this bed.” I pressed harder, and his lips parted, tongue darting out to taste my skin. “Every time you opened that smart mouth to insult me, I thought about what else it could be doing.”
“So put it to work.”
Christ, that mouth. Even on his knees, he couldn’t stop pushing.
I stepped back just enough to undo my pants, taking my time, letting him watch. His eyes tracked every movement, hungry and desperate.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” I said. “You’re going to use that smart mouth for something other than insults. And you’re going to take your time. No rushing. No trying to get it over with.”
“Maybe?”
“Depends on how good you are.” I traced my thumb over his cheekbone, surprisingly gentle. “Think you can be good for me, Casey?”
“Yes.” The word came out breathless. “Yes, I can be good.”
“Then show me.”
* * *
He was better than good.
He was devastating.
That smart mouth that had been throwing insults at me for a decade turned out to be just as talented at other things. He started slow, tentative, like he was learning my responses—and maybe he was. Every time I made a sound, every time my hips jerked, he catalogued it, adjusted, pushed harder.
“That’s it,” I breathed, fingers threading through his hair. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”
He moaned at the praise, and the vibration made my knees buckle.
“Fuck, Casey.” I tightened my grip in his hair, not pulling him off, just holding on. “Your mouth is—god, you’re perfect.”
Another moan. He was getting off on this, I realized. Not just the act itself, but the praise. Every time I told him he was good, he shuddered. Every time I said his name, he made this desperate little sound that went straight to my core.
Years of being controlled by his father. Years of never being good enough.
And here he was, on his knees, starving for someone to tell him he was perfect.
I could give him that.
“Such a good boy,” I murmured, and watched him fall apart. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”
His hands were still clasped behind his back—he hadn’t broken that rule—but his whole body was trembling now. I could see him straining against his own control, desperate for friction, for relief.
“You want to touch yourself,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
He pulled off just enough to speak, lips swollen and wet. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please, Dax. Please let me—I need—”
“I know what you need.” I cupped his jaw, tilted his face up. “But you haven’t earned it yet. Keep going.”
He dove back in with renewed determination, and I had to brace a hand against the wall to stay upright.
I let it build—let him work me to the edge three times before pulling him back, until we were both sweating, both shaking, both desperate.
“Stand up,” I finally said.
He rose on unsteady legs, confusion flickering across his face. “But I didn’t—you didn’t—”
“Changed my mind.” I walked him backward until his knees hit the bed. “I want more than your mouth tonight.”
His breath caught. “Dax—”
“Unless you don’t want that?”
“I want—” His voice cracked. “God, yes. I want that. I want you.”
I pushed him down onto the mattress and followed, covering his body with mine. The full-length contact was electric—hot skin against hot skin, his hardness pressing against mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmured against his throat. “Do you know that? Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Tell me.” His hands finally came up, gripping my shoulders like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. “Tell me what I do to you.”
“You make me crazy.” I kissed down his chest, feeling him arch into every touch. “You make me want things I shouldn’t want. Make me feel things I’ve never—” I cut myself off, not ready to say that out loud yet. “You’re everything, Casey. Every-fucking-thing.”
“Dax.” His voice was wrecked, pleading. “Please. I need—”
“I know what you need.”
I showed him.
* * *
Preparation was its own kind of worship.
I took my time, working him open slowly, carefully, watching his face for every reaction. His eyes fluttered closed, mouth falling open on breathy sounds that made me want to record them, save them, play them back whenever I needed to remember this moment.
“More,” he demanded, pushing back against my hand. “I can take more.”
“I know you can.” I added another finger, curling just right, and he nearly levitated off the bed. “But I want to watch you fall apart first. Want to see you desperate for me.”
“I’m already—fuck—already desperate.”
“Not desperate enough.” I found that spot inside him and pressed, holding steady, watching him writhe. “Beg me, Casey. Beg me to give you what you need.”
“Please.” The word came out broken. “Please, Dax. Please, I need you inside me. Need to feel you. Need—god—please, I’ll do anything. I’ll be so good for you, I swear, just please—”
“There it is.”
I withdrew my fingers, positioned myself, and finally—finally—pushed inside.
The sound he made would live in my memory forever.
“Breathe,” I murmured against his ear, holding still despite every instinct screaming at me to move. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
“Don’t call me—” He gasped as I shifted slightly. “Don’t call me baby.”
“What should I call you?”
“Casey. Just—just Casey.”
“Okay, Casey.” I pulled back slowly, pushed back in even slower. “How’s this? This what you needed?”
“Yes.” His nails raked down my back. “More. Harder.”
“Greedy.”
“You love it.”
I did. God help me, I did.
I gave him what he asked for—harder, deeper, faster. The back lounge was small enough that every sound echoed, every moan amplifying until it felt like we were surrounded by evidence of what we were doing.
“That’s it,” I panted. “Take it. Take all of it. You’re doing so good, Casey. So perfect. Made for me. Made for this.”
“Dax—” His voice cracked on my name. “I’m close. I’m so close, please—”
“Not yet.” I slowed down, changed the angle until I was barely moving, just grinding deep. “Hold on for me. Can you do that? Can you be good and wait until I say?”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” I kissed him, soft and sweet, completely at odds with what the rest of our bodies were doing. “I believe in you. Hold on, Casey. Hold on.”
His whole body was trembling, every muscle locked tight with the effort of obedience. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of holding back.
Beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful.
I picked up the pace again, chasing my own edge while his sounds grew more and more desperate.
“Please,” he sobbed. “Please please please—”
“Now,” I said. “Come for me now.”
He shattered.
I’d never seen anything like it—his whole body arching off the bed, his scream muffled against my shoulder, the rhythmic clench pulling me over the edge right behind him.
We collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breathing.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Casey turned his head, pressed a kiss to my shoulder, and said: “Best. Stats. Ever.”
I laughed so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
* * *
We cleaned up in comfortable silence, passing the washcloth back and forth, stealing glances at each other like teenagers after their first time.
“So,” Casey said, settling back against the pillows. “Same deal tomorrow?”
“If you win.”
“When I win.” His competitive fire was already rekindling, even post-orgasm. “And when I do, I expect the same level of service.”
“That confident?”
“That motivated.” He pulled me down beside him, tucking his head against my shoulder like it belonged there. “I don’t like losing, Dax. Which means tomorrow, I’m going to play my ass off just for the chance to have you like that.”
“Looking forward to it.”
His breathing was already evening out, exhaustion catching up to him.
“Hey, Dax?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” His voice was soft, sleepy. “For… you know. The praise stuff. I didn’t know I needed that until…”
“I know.” I pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’ve got you, Casey. Whenever you need it.”
“Even when we’re off this bus?”
The question hung in the dark, heavy with implications we weren’t ready to address.
“Let’s figure out the tour first,” I said finally. “One game at a time.”
“Okay.” He snuggled closer, throwing a leg over mine. “One game at a time.”
We fell asleep tangled together, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this content.
It wasn’t just the sex—though that had been mind-blowing.
It was him. The way he fit against me. The way he’d trusted me. The way, despite everything, being with him felt less like competition and more like coming home.
I was falling for Casey Thorne.
And I was starting to think maybe—just maybe—he was falling too.
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RINK RIVALS — Two bitter hockey rivals. One bed. Three weeks that will change everything.