Good Boy — His Side

An Exclusive Bonus Chapter from Good Boy, Bad Idea
by Jace Wilder

The first time. From inside the head of the man who was trying very hard not to fall in love with his assistant.

⚠️ This bonus chapter contains explicit MM sexual content. Intended for readers 18+.

Jonah Voss had been thinking about Eli Mercer’s mouth for eleven days.

Not constantly. He was not a man who permitted constant distraction — he ran a firm, he managed eight-figure accounts, he sat in rooms with people whose net worth exceeded some national GDPs and told them what to do with their money. He was focused. He was disciplined. He was, by every metric that mattered, in complete control of himself.

Except for the mouth.

It had started with the collar. That night in his office — straightening the fabric at Eli’s throat, his fingers brushing the warm skin beneath, the pulse that hammered against his fingertip like a trapped bird. He’d meant it as a correction. A minor wardrobe adjustment. The kind of thing a mentor does for a subordinate who hasn’t noticed his own dishevelment.

He’d been lying to himself. He’d known it even as he reached out, even as his fingers made contact, even as Eli’s eyes closed and his breath stopped and the air between them changed temperature so dramatically that Jonah could have sworn the thermostat had failed.

Eleven days later, he could still feel the pulse beneath his thumb.

And now Eli was standing in his office doorway holding a client engagement proposal, and Jonah was reading it with a pen in his hand and not a single coherent thought in his head, because the proposal was exceptional — of course it was exceptional, everything Eli produced was exceptional, the man was pathologically incapable of being less than outstanding — and the word exceptional was sitting on Jonah’s tongue like something he wanted to press against Eli’s skin.

Get a hold of yourself.

He set the proposal down. Looked up. Eli was standing in front of the desk — hands at his sides, posture straight, those light brown eyes that gave away every thought he’d ever had — and Jonah felt the restraint he’d been maintaining for six weeks bend like a steel beam under heat.

“This is exceptional,” he said. The professional assessment. True. Safe.

Then his mouth kept going. Because his mouth, it turned out, had been making plans his brain hadn’t approved.

“You’re exceptional.”

He watched the words land on Eli. Watched the slight widening of his eyes, the catch in his breathing, the way his hands curled at his sides. He stood. Came around the desk. Each step was a controlled demolition of the barrier he’d built between himself and this person who made him feel things he’d spent forty-one years avoiding.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, “and I will. Nothing changes at work.”

He meant it. Every word. If Eli said stop, Jonah would turn around, sit at his desk, and spend the rest of his professional life pretending he didn’t know what Eli looked like when the word exceptional made his pupils dilate.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Eli said.

The last beam broke.

Jonah kissed him, and the first thought that registered — past the initial shock of contact, past the warm give of Eli’s mouth, past the small, devastating sound that Eli made against his lips — was: I’m in so much trouble.

Because Eli kissed the way he worked. With his whole self. With a focus and an intensity that bordered on devotion, as if the act of putting his mouth on Jonah’s was a task he intended to execute flawlessly, and the concentration of it — the effort of it, the earnest, breathless effort of a man who wanted desperately to be good at this — was more erotic than anything Jonah had experienced in twenty years of being alive and occasionally having sex.

Jonah’s hand found Eli’s hip. Pulled him closer. Felt the full-body contact — chest, stomach, thighs — and the hard line of Eli’s cock pressed against his own, and his brain performed a hard reboot that left nothing running except instinct and the white-hot certainty that he needed to take this man apart.

“That sound,” Jonah said. His voice was already gone — the controlled, CEO register replaced by something raw. “Make that sound again.”

Eli groaned against his mouth, and Jonah felt it in his spine.

He walked Eli back against the desk. Pressed him there. The position gave him leverage and height and the ability to look down into Eli’s face, which was flushed and open and looking up at him with an expression that Jonah would remember for the rest of his life. Trust. Total, unhesitating, reckless trust.

He sank to his knees.

He didn’t plan it. He sank to his knees on the carpet of his own office because Eli was standing above him with blown pupils and parted lips and the kind of vulnerability that demanded to be met with reverence, and Jonah’s body understood before his brain caught up that reverence, for him, meant getting lower.

The sound Eli made — Oh my God — nearly ended Jonah before he started.

“Eyes on me,” Jonah said. Looking up. On his knees. In the office where he commanded rooms and negotiated millions. “Don’t look away.”

He opened Eli’s belt with hands that were steadier than they had any right to be. Button. Zipper. Each step deliberate, because if he rushed this — if he let the hunger take over — he’d miss the details, and the details were everything. The hitch in Eli’s breathing when the zipper came down. The way his knuckles went white on the desk edge. The flush that spread down his throat and disappeared beneath his collar.

Jonah pulled the slacks down. The briefs. And Eli was there — hard, flushed, already leaking — and Jonah looked at him and thought: I have never wanted anything this much in my life.

“You have no idea what you look like right now,” Jonah said. Meaning it. Eli looked like the answer to a question Jonah hadn’t known he was asking.

He took Eli into his mouth, and the cry that tore from Eli’s throat was the most beautiful thing Jonah had ever heard.

He took his time. He learned the map of Eli’s pleasure the way he learned everything — with absolute attention, cataloging what made Eli gasp and what made him moan and what made him say Jonah in a voice that sounded like prayer.

“So good for me,” Jonah breathed against him. “So fucking good.”

The words weren’t calculated. They came from somewhere below strategy, below control, in the part of Jonah that understood Eli’s wiring because it was the mirror of his own. Eli needed to hear he was good. And Jonah needed to be the one who said it.

Eli’s hand was in his hair. Fingers trembling. Not pushing — holding. The gentleness of it cracked something in Jonah’s chest.

“I’m close,” Eli gasped. “Jonah — I’m close—”

Jonah looked up. Met his eyes. And said the words that his mouth had apparently been saving for this exact moment:

“Come for me. Good boy.”

Eli shattered. And Jonah held him through it — mouth, hands, the full weight of his attention — and felt, with a clarity that cut through every defense he’d ever built, that he was in love with this man.

Not falling. Not approaching. In. Already there. Had been there since the conference room and the seven-minute save and the way Eli went back to his chair against the wall like saving a multimillion-dollar client was nothing worth mentioning.

He was in love. And he was on his knees. And the man he loved was trembling above him with tears in his eyes and his hand in Jonah’s hair, and Jonah pressed his mouth against Eli’s hip and breathed and thought: I will build you a world where you never have to earn this. I just don’t know how to say that yet.

He stood. Got Eli water. Straightened his clothes — button, zipper, belt, each motion careful.

“You did well,” Jonah said.

Eli laughed. Shaky, wrecked, perfect. “You’re still giving me performance reviews?”

And Jonah almost smiled — really smiled, the kind he hadn’t given anyone in years — and thought: I am in so much trouble.

The best kind.

Want the full story? Good Boy, Bad Idea is available now.

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