Step Out of Line
MM Contemporary Romance
by Jace Wilder
Free with Kindle Unlimited
Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Ex-Lovers to Stepfamily, Age Gap, D/s Power Exchange, Forbidden Romance, Forced Proximity, Secret Relationship, Brat/Dom, Praise Kink, Second Chance
He walked into his dad’s kitchen and found the man who used to own him on his knees—proposing to his father.
Jamie Cole hasn’t been home in over a year. But his dad is getting remarried, and Jamie’s been hired to design the wedding invitations—a guilt-bribe he accepted because he needed the money and the excuse. He’s prepared for awkward small talk and surface-level bonding. He is not prepared for the man standing in his father’s kitchen.
Marcus Hale. Architect. Forty-four. Silver at the temples, strong hands, the kind of calm authority that doesn’t need to raise its voice. Jamie’s father’s fiancé. And the anonymous dom who used to own Jamie every Thursday night at a private kink club in Manhattan.
They never exchanged names. Marcus wore a mask. Jamie insisted on anonymity. For a year, they had the most intense D/s arrangement of their lives—and then Marcus stopped coming, and Jamie spent three years telling himself it was just a scene.
Now they’re supposed to be family. Living under one roof. Planning a wedding. Pretending they don’t know exactly what the other looks like on his knees. They try to resist. The house is too small. The memories are too loud. And when the old dynamic bleeds through—a voice that drops into a register Jamie’s body was trained to obey, a touch that carries three years of muscle memory—resisting becomes impossible.
But the affair has a deadline: the wedding. And when the truth detonates, it won’t just destroy a marriage. It will force Jamie and Marcus to confront every wall they’ve built, every door they’ve locked, and the terrifying question at the center of everything: can you build a real love on the ruins of a lie?
You’ll love this book if you enjoy:
✅ Anonymous ex-lovers forced into a stepfamily situation
✅ Scorching D/s dynamics with a brat sub and a calm, possessive dom
✅ Age gap with real emotional weight (26/44)
✅ Forced proximity under one roof with the dad in the next room
✅ “We shouldn’t do this” sex that escalates into “we can’t stop”
✅ A father-son relationship that gets more honest, not less
✅ Praise kink, edging, and aftercare rendered with devastating precision
✅ HEA earned through therapy, honesty, and choosing each other in the light
⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains graphic explicit sexual content (MM scenes including D/s dynamics, bondage, edging, and power exchange), strong language, emotional infidelity, family conflict, and depictions of anxiety and attachment issues. Intended for readers 18+.
📖 Read Chapter One Free
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Chapter One
The Check Engine light had been on since Bridgeport, and Jamie was choosing to interpret that as a metaphor.
He shifted in the driver’s seat, peeling his thigh off the cracked leather where the July heat had fused skin to upholstery. The Civic’s AC had died somewhere around New Haven—just stopped blowing cold air and started exhaling what felt like a dog’s breath directly into his face—so he’d rolled the windows down and let I-95 fill the car with hot exhaust and the faint smell of Long Island Sound at low tide.
Connecticut in July. God, he’d missed exactly nothing about this.
His phone buzzed in the cupholder. He glanced at the screen—Sasha, third call in twenty minutes—and picked up on speaker.
“You’re stalling,” Sasha said, no preamble.
“I’m driving.”
“There was a line.” There had not been a line. There had been a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot where Jamie had sat for forty minutes eating a stale everything bagel and staring at the steering wheel like it might offer him an alternative plan for his life.
“Jamie.” Sasha’s voice downshifted into the particular frequency they reserved for when Jamie was being a disaster and they loved him anyway. “It’s six weeks. You go in, you eat the man’s food, you design his pretty invitations, you collect your check, and you come home. That’s it.”
The house was beautiful. That was the problem. It sat at the end of a curving driveway behind a low stone wall, a big white colonial with black shutters and a wraparound porch and the kind of landscaping that said someone here gives a shit in a way Jamie had never associated with his father.
“Like a Pottery Barn ad fucked a New England postcard.”
Sasha hung up. Jamie sat in the driveway with the engine running, looking at the house that was supposed to feel like coming home and felt instead like visiting a set from someone else’s life.
The front door opened before he could knock. “Jamie!” Tom Cole stood in the doorway in a new shirt with a smile that was trying so hard it made Jamie’s chest ache. “You made it. How was the drive?”
Marcus. The name landed in Jamie’s ear with no particular resonance. Just a name. Just some guy his dad had met at a fundraiser two years ago.
The kitchen was clearly the jewel of the whole renovation. White cabinets, marble countertops, a massive island that was only half-finished—raw wood and clamps on one end, polished butcher block on the other. “Marcus is building that by hand,” Tom said. “White oak. It’s a wedding gift.”
Jamie looked at the island and tried to feel something appropriate, like appreciation or warmth. What he felt was a low, familiar ache that lived somewhere behind his sternum and activated whenever his father talked about someone with the tenderness he’d never quite managed to direct at Jamie.
It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. It was more like watching someone walk into a restaurant you’d been turned away from and get the best table.
“I just want you to be happy,” Tom said.
“I am happy.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It was more like a sketch—the rough outline of a truth with the details left blank. From the inside, Jamie’s life had the hollow ring of a room with good bones and no furniture.
Then he heard it. A car door, out front. Footsteps on the front walk—unhurried, even, confident. A key in the lock.
Tom set down his spoon and turned toward the hallway with an expression Jamie had never seen on his father’s face before. It was naked and uncomplicated and completely unguarded. Tom Cole looked like a man who had just heard the best part of his day walk through the door.
“That’s him,” Tom said, already moving.
Footsteps on the hardwood. Coming closer. A low voice—just a murmur from this distance, but something about the register, the cadence, snagged in Jamie’s ear like a hook in fabric.
He picked up his wine glass again. Put it down. Picked it up.
The footsteps rounded the corner into the kitchen.
And every molecule in Jamie’s body went perfectly, catastrophically still.
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🔥 Want an EXCLUSIVE Bonus Chapter?
Scene Night — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon
Jamie and Marcus walk into a club together for the first time—not Veil, not anonymity, not masks. A new club, real names, and a public scene that rewrites every Thursday night they ever had. Marcus commands. Jamie obeys. The whole room watches.
More from Jace Wilder
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He went to the bar to teach the kid a lesson. The kid taught him how to want things again.
Hard Limits, Soft Hands
His hard limits saved him. His soft hands rebuilt him.
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The Marlowe Building
He moved in broke and broken. The man downstairs decided that was his problem now.
Sweat, Stretch, Submit
He came to sweat. He stayed to surrender.
Step Out of Line
He walked into his dad's kitchen and found the man who used to own him on his knees—proposing to his father.
Brat in the Boardroom
He said “obedience.” The intern said “make me.”
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