Chapter 24
The bass is thumping, the lights are low, and the drinks are flowing. Someone's already taken their shirt off—probably Shane—and the hotel bar is packed wall to wall with Reapers fans, media, players, and enough adrenaline to raise the dead.
I should be in bed.
Hell, I should be in a hospital bed, if you ask the glowering nurse standing ten feet behind me with arms crossed like she’s ready to slap me with my own discharge papers.
But I’m here instead, seated at a table in the corner, half a glass of whiskey in front of me, Viktor to my left, Coach across from me.
And my boy—my fiancé—at the bar.
Elias is a menace tonight. He’s got his curls bouncing, cheeks flushed, drink in one hand, Cole hanging off his shoulder, Shane slurring lyrics into a mic that definitely wasn’t part of the hotel’s original plan.
They’re singing some unholy mix of 2000s boy band throwbacks and hockey chants, and Elias is somehow the loudest of them all.
I haven’t stopped smiling in hours.
Coach leans back, glass in hand, and gives me that squinty look he saves for when he’s about to get sappy or yell at someone. “You did a good job, Kade,” he says, nodding once.
I snort. “Took long enough, huh?”
Viktor grunts, sipping his vodka. “Could’ve done it faster if you didn’t crash a fucking bus.”
“Technically,” I mutter, “I wasn’t the one driving.”
Coach just chuckles, low and gravelly. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here. You finished what you started.” His eyes flick toward Elias, who is now standing on the bar with a sparkler in one hand and Cole’s tie in the other, and something softens in his expression. “And you made the right call.”
I glance back at Elias too. He’s glowing. Glowing. Laughing like the world is finally soft enough to fall into. And mine. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I really fucking did.”
I glance at Coach over the rim of my glass, smirking. “You staying tonight?”
He snorts into his whiskey. “Boy,” he says, leaning forward with that familiar gravel in his voice, “I’ve had enough of your damn parties to last me three lifetimes. This—” he jerks his thumb toward the chaos that is Elias singing with a straw as a microphone “—this is your problem now.”
Viktor hums beside me. “He means congratulations.”
Coach waves a dismissive hand. “I mean I’m too old to babysit gremlins. You’re the one who married the loudest one of them. I’m retiring, you’re coaching, and I’m getting on a plane tomorrow before someone tries to film a Reapers striptease.”
At that exact moment, Cole rips his shirt open on top of the bar and yells, “WHO WANTS TO SEE A WINNING CHEST?!”
Coach sighs. “See? I’m going to burn my eyes out.”
I laugh—actually laugh—and shake my head. “You’ll miss us.”
Coach grunts and downs the rest of his drink. “Only the quiet ones. Which means not a single damn one of you.” But he claps my shoulder before standing. “Proud of you, Kade,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up.” Then he walks out.
And the last piece of the old Reapers leaves the room.
My team now.
Our future.
And at the center of it—hoarse from screaming—is my pup.
“Mr. Kade. You should really rest now,” the nurse warns from behind me, arms crossed, expression pinched like she already knows she’s going to lose this battle.
I don’t even turn around. “Five more minutes, Mommy,” I purr, grabbing my crutch and rising to my feet. I ignore her muttering my vitals and walk slow but steady toward the bar.
Toward him.
Elias sees me coming and his eyes light up. “Cap!” he shouts, practically throwing his drink at Shane before leaping off the bar. He lands like a damn cat, all limbs and curls and neon sugar-high, and barrels straight into me with a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
I catch him with one arm, let the crutch steady us both, and press my mouth to his neck the second he’s in range. “Had enough partying, baby?” I murmur against his skin.
He moans like I said I’m gonna take him over the bar instead of back to bed. “No,” he purrs, clinging harder. “But I want you more.”
I chuckle, low and dirty. “Then say goodbye to the glitter brigade.”
He turns to shout something to Cole and Shane—probably nothing appropriate—but I don't hear it, because I’m too busy watching the flush creep down his neck.
Elias leans in flush cheek to my throat, curls brushing my jaw, and whispers loud enough for me to feel it more than hear it. “Take me upstairs.”
I still for a second, maybe two, then I pull back enough to look at him. He’s panting, eyes glassy, lip wet from where he just bit it. “Now?” I murmur.
He nods hard and desperate. “Right now, coach.”
Fucking hell. I grab the crutch tighter, sling my arm around his waist, and mutter, “Grab the Cup.”
Elias blinks. “What?”
“We’re taking it with us.”
He lets out a choked sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh—“Are you serious?!”—but he’s already grabbing the thing like it’s our getaway loot. Because of course he is. Because he’s mine. And we don’t do subtle. Not when we’ve survived fire and blood and a crash that could’ve ended everything.
Now we take what’s ours because we are the Reapers.
We walk past the stunned bartender, past Shane who’s crooning something off-key to Cole, past the nurse who yells “Absolutely not!” behind me.
Elias clutches the Stanley Cup and yells, “REAPERS OUT, BITCHES!” as we disappear into the hotel elevator.
The door clicks shut behind us.
Elias doesn’t speak. Doesn’t chirp or bounce or whine like usual. He stalks forward, slow and focused, hands on my chest—one step, then another—until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the hotel bed.
I raise a brow.
“Tonight I’m taking care of you,” he says, fingers splayed over my chest.
I let out a breath, let him guide me down, arms catching my fall. My back hits the mattress with a grunt, and I look up at him as he steps back, eyes burning. “That so, cap?” I murmur, smirking.
And he gives me the kind of smile that ruins. He pulls his jersey off slow, arms raised high, curls tumbling as the fabric slips past his face. His bare chest is flushed, freckled, damp with sweat and glitter from god knows what. He drags it out. Makes a show of it.
Then his belt. He unbuttons his jeans like a striptease, hips rolling slightly as he peels them down, every movement deliberate—eyes on me the whole time, watching, waiting.
My cock twitches under the sweats I still have on.
He sees it, fucking smirks and purrs at me “Sir, lay back. Let me make you feel good.” And then he’s on his knees between mine, hands on my thighs, mouth soft and filthy and everything I never thought I could have.
Everything I do.
Elias shifts between my legs, hands spreading my thighs like they belong to him—which they do.
“Mine,” he whispers, brushing his mouth just above the waistband of my sweats.
The heat of him hits me, and I nearly flinch.
My ribs are bruised, my shoulder’s on fire, but none of it matters when he looks at me like that. Like I’m a god.
He kisses the fabric first, then he peels it down, careful not to jostle my bandages, his fingers grazing skin
I hiss softly when the air hits me, but he just murmurs again, “Mine,” and wraps one hand around the base of my cock.
Jesus fuck. I throb in his palm, hard and already leaking, and he’s not even started.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers, almost to himself. Then he kisses the head—slow, tongue flicking the slit. “So I’m gonna make you forget everything else.” He takes me into his mouth, inch by slow inch, lips flushed, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on mine.
I groan, head tipping back. The suction is perfect. The rhythm slow. He moves like he’s savoring every second. Like he’s worshipping me, not just blowing me. His fingers stroke the skin just behind my balls, teasing, grounding, and I swear I see stars.
He pulls off just once to pant, wrecked. “You’re not allowed to almost die again, sir.”
“Noted,” I rasp, grabbing a fistful of his curls.
He smirks and then he devours me, wet and filthy and beautiful until my thighs are trembling and I’m panting and cursing, helpless in the hands of my captain—my boy—and I snap.
Fist in his curls, dragging him up, swallowing that smug mouth with a kiss that tastes like weeks of blood and fire and missing him.
I devour him like I haven’t touched him in years.
He gasps into it, moans when I nip his bottom lip hard enough to sting.
And I growl, low, wrecked, desperate “Ride me.”
Elias pulls back enough to blink at me, lips red and swollen, panting. “Sir… you’re—your ribs, your stitches—”
“I said ride me,” I whisper against his lips, voice cracking. “I miss you.”
Something shifts in his face, like the whole world dropped away and there’s only us, in this hotel bed, post-Cup, post-crash, post-fucking survival. He cups my jaw, thumb stroking just beneath my eye.
Then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ve got you.” He climbs into my lap with that same determined look he wears before a faceoff. Spits in his own hand, slicking me up, then sinks down slow, careful, guiding me into him with one hand and clutching my shoulder with the other.
I choke on a moan as he takes me inch by inch. He’s so goddamn tight. Warm and perfect. “Fucking hell,” I rasp.
Elias pants through it, pupils blown, mouth parted, trembling just a little as he bottoms out and sits flush. “Sir...” he whines, “I missed this. Missed you.”
I dig my fingers into his hips, resisting the urge to thrust. “Then show me, pup,” I whisper. “Fucking ride me.”
And he does. Slow at first, grinding in smooth rolls, dragging his nails down my chest, watching my face. I hiss when he clenches, bite down a growl when he tilts his hips just right, chasing the angle that makes him moan like a slut.
“You’re so pretty like this,” I groan, dragging a hand down his back.
“You’re not supposed to be this hot when you’re injured,” he whines.
“Guess you’ll have to marry me harder.”
He laughs shaky and wrecked, and leans down to kiss me again, riding me through the pain and into the fire all over again.
“Pup,” I groan, voice barely holding, “you’re close, aren’t you?”
Elias whines above me, thighs trembling, his rhythm stuttering with every drag of friction. His hands clutch my chest, his forehead resting against mine, and he nods once—shaky and desperate. “Yeah— fuck—sir— I’m gonna—”
I cup his face, fingers spreading over his jaw, my thumbs wiping the sweat off his cheekbones. I hold him steady, make him look at me, see me. “Come for me.” My voice is wrecked, low, commanding. “Be good, pup. Show me how sweet you are when you break.”
He sobs, eyes rolling back as his hips jerk once, twice, and then he shatters. “Damian—!” His whole body arches, every muscle straining as he comes so hard he nearly blacks out.
I don’t stop touching him. Don’t stop praising. “That’s it, baby. Good fucking boy. Just like that. You’re perfect, Elias, so perfect for me, you take me so good—look at you—mine.”
He collapses against me, still twitching around my cock, body boneless, gasping like he’s just finished running for his life.
I hold him close, stroke his back, whisper into his sweat-drenched curls. “My boy. My captain. My fiancé.”
Elias whines into my throat, muffled and soaked with need. “Please…” he whimpers. “Please let me make you come, sir—need to taste it, need to feel you… please—”
I groan, already throbbing inside him, already so close it hurts. His hips twitch once and I hiss, grip tightening on his waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” I breathe, eyes half-lidded. “You’ll fucking kill me, pup.”
He pulls back enough to flash that wrecked, shining grin—feral, eyes wild with devotion—and slinks down my chest. “Then die happy,” he whispers, and slides off me slow.
I growl, God, the drag of him as I slip free, the slick sound of his orgasm still dripping between us—it’s filthy, perfect, and then he’s on his knees between mine again, mouth already open. He looks up once, curls in his face, lips swollen. “Let me.”
I nod and he wraps one hand around me—too warm, too tight—and then sucks me in clearly trying to unmake me.
“Fuuuck— Elias—goddamn good boy—” I gasp, hand flying to his curls, gripping tight.
He moans around me, takes me deeper. His tongue is wicked. His mouth is heaven. He lets me guide him, lets me fuck into that warmth with shallow, aching thrusts, whimpering when I twitch on his tongue.
“That’s it, pup—take it—fuck, just like that—so proud of you—” I come with a groan so deep it rattles the bedframe, spilling down his throat as he swallows every drop.
Elias pulls off with a gasp, licking his lips, eyes still glazed. I tug him up, crash him into my chest, and kiss him slow and sweet and filthy, my tongue dragging over his, tasting myself on his tongue.
I growl into his mouth, dragging him closer, chest to chest, tangled and flushed and still soaked in sweat. "I love you, Elias Nathaniel Kade."
His whole body jerks. He gasps, then moans, loud and wrecked, eyes blown wide, mouth open, legs tightening around me. His head snaps back enough to look at me, pupils glassy, throat working like he’s trying to speak but can’t. “You—” he whimpers. “You never—”
“I do now.” I kiss his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his lips. “Because you’re mine. And I’ll say it again, baby.”
I trail my fingers down his spine, over the curve of his ass, up his thigh slow and grounding. “I love you, Elias Nathaniel Kade.”
He shudders. “Say it again,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Please.”
I whisper it into his mouth. Into his skin. Into the heart of him. “I love you, Elias Nathaniel Kade.”
He’s trembling now, clinging to me, whimpering. And I’d do it again. Every day for the rest of our lives.