AUDITING HIS ASSETS
An MM Age Gap Romance • by Jace Wilder
📖 Free with Kindle Unlimited
Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Age Gap, BDSM, Power Exchange, Praise Kink, Office Romance, Grumpy/Sunshine, Competence Kink, Touch Starved, He Falls First, Brat/Tamer
His financial life is a disaster. His accountant is about to become his obsession.
Jules Marchetti is a twenty-eight-year-old graphic designer whose creative genius is matched only by his financial catastrophe. Three years of unfiled taxes. An IRS collection case. Receipts stored in a shoebox—and occasionally in his oven. When his sister forces him into the offices of Kensington & Associates, Jules expects a lecture, a payment plan, and a swift exit.
He doesn’t expect Arthur Kensington.
Arthur is thirty-eight, immaculate, and controlled to the point of pathology. His suits are bespoke. His desk is mahogany. His forearms when he rolls his sleeves should be classified as a threat to public safety. He’s the most competent man Jules has ever met—and competence, it turns out, is Jules’s biggest weakness.
What begins as a professional engagement—structured sessions, strict deadlines, consequences for noncompliance—evolves into something neither of them planned. Arthur’s commands quiet the noise in Jules’s head. Jules’s chaos cracks the walls Arthur has spent a lifetime building. The mahogany desk witnesses things no piece of office furniture should have to witness.
But Arthur has a rival partner building a case against him. A past relationship that taught him love is a transaction. And the professional ethics violation of falling for a client during an active engagement—a violation that could destroy his career, his reputation, and everything he’s built.
When Arthur’s fear wins and he ends things with devastating precision, Jules must discover whether the structure Arthur gave him can survive without the man who built it. And Arthur must decide if safety is worth the price of losing the only person who ever made his silence feel full.
AUDITING HIS ASSETS is a high-heat MM romance featuring a Dom accountant who falls first, a bratty artist who kneels second, a mahogany desk that deserves its own acknowledgments page, and a love story that’s earned through vulnerability. Contains explicit BDSM content, power exchange dynamics, praise kink, impact play, and a succulent named Gerald.
He didn’t just audit my finances. He audited my heart. And for the first time in my life, the numbers balanced.
🔥 Exclusive Bonus Content
Want more Arthur and Jules? Get an exclusive bonus chapter that’s too hot for Amazon—”The Pigeon Thread,” featuring their six-month anniversary, the collar, the desk, and the filthiest thing Arthur’s ever whispered against Jules’s neck.
Read Chapter One Free
Click to Expand Chapter One: Initial Assessment
Jules Marchetti arrived at the offices of Kensington & Associates fourteen minutes late, which was, by Jules’s standards, practically early.
The building was one of those downtown high-rises that looked like it had been designed by someone who thought “austere” was a compliment—all glass and steel and the kind of aggressive minimalism that made Jules, who had once painted an entire wall of his apartment in a color called “Emotional Tangerine,” want to leave a sticky note on the lobby desk that said have you considered joy?
He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag—duct tape holding the buckle together, a fix he’d been meaning to properly repair for six months—and checked the text from his sister one more time.
14th floor. Suite 1407. Do NOT be late. Do NOT be yourself. Do NOT mention the oven thing.
The oven thing. Jules’s jaw tightened. One time—one time—he’d mentioned to Sasha that he occasionally stored important documents in his oven because “it’s the one place I never look, so they’re safe,” and she’d been holding it over his head like a guillotine ever since.
The elevator was mirrored on three sides, which meant Jules got to see himself from multiple unflattering angles as he ascended. Paint-stained Converse that had once been white. Jeans that fit well but bore a smear of cadmium yellow on the left thigh. His one good blazer—navy, structured, the blazer Sasha had bought him for job interviews he never went on—thrown over a t-shirt that was clean but wrinkled in a way that suggested it had been retrieved from the “probably fine” pile on his bedroom floor…
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