Exceeds Expectations by Jace Wilder - Bonus Chapter

Exceeds Expectations — Bonus Chapter

The Reward — An exclusive scene by Jace Wilder

🔞 18+ ONLY — This bonus chapter contains explicit sexual content that exceeds what is permitted on retail platforms. It is intended for adult readers who have completed Exceeds Expectations. Contains spoilers.

Set after the epilogue. Cal gives James his annual performance review at home. The reward for exceeding expectations is… comprehensive.

The Reward

James set the clipboard on the coffee table with the ceremonial precision of a man who’d just received an annual performance review from his boyfriend and was taking the results under serious advisement.

“Exceeds expectations,” he said.

“Across most categories. You had a meets-expectations in vacations. And a needs-improvement in — ”

“In telling you I love you frequently enough.” He picked up the review form. Read the margin note. “‘Just kidding, you’re doing great.’ You graded me, added editorial commentary, and then undercut your own assessment.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain chaos.” He set the form down. Looked at me with those gray eyes — the ones that had been studying me for ten months, cataloguing every response, learning the architecture of my desire with the thoroughness he applied to everything. “You mentioned a reward.”

“Company policy.”

“Show me the policy.”

“The policy states that any employee receiving an overall rating of exceeds expectations is entitled to a recognition event commensurate with the quality of their performance.”

“Commensurate.” He leaned back against the couch. Decimal, who’d been sleeping on his chest, departed with the offended dignity of a cat who recognized the preliminary vibrations of activity incompatible with napping. “Define commensurate.”

I stood up. Pulled my t-shirt over my head in one motion — not slowly, not performing, just removing an obstacle.

“Commensurate means I’ve been thinking about this since I bought the clipboard.”

“You bought a clipboard for this.”

“Four dollars. Flea market. Hudson Valley.” I unbuttoned my jeans. Pushed them down. Stepped out of them. Standing in his living room in my boxers, my glasses, and nothing else. “I’ve been planning your review for two weeks, James. The categories. The scoring criteria. The margin notes. The reward.”

His eyes moved over my body the way they always did — not scanning, studying. The specific, comprehensive attention of a man who knew every inch of what he was looking at and still found new things to notice.

“What’s the reward?” he asked. His voice had dropped — the private frequency.

“The reward is me. Doing whatever I want to you. For as long as I want. Without you directing, structuring, or controlling any of it.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Take off your shirt.”

He pulled his henley over his head. The body underneath — broad shoulders, lean torso, the dark hair across his chest, the three freckles on his ribs that I’d found in Boston and kissed in every city since.

“Stay there,” I said.

I went to the bedroom. Retrieved what I needed. When I returned, he was still on the couch, shirtless, watching me with an expression that combined trust, curiosity, and the particular vulnerability of a man who’d learned that surrender wasn’t weakness but who still felt the cost of it every time.

I sat on his lap — straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips, my hands on his shoulders, my face above his.

“Category one,” I said. “Leaving work before eight. You scored exceeds expectations. The reward for this category is —” I leaned down and kissed his neck. Slowly. Open-mouthed. “— this.”

His hands went to my hips. I took his wrists. Moved his hands to the couch cushions.

“No directing,” I said. “You don’t get to steer the reward. You just get to receive it.”

“Green?” I asked.

“Green.”

I kissed down his chest. Slowly. Each kiss deliberate. The hollow of his throat. The ridge of his collarbone. The center of his sternum.

“Category two. Taking vacations. Meets expectations. The reward is reduced.” I bit the side of his pec — gently, enough to make his breath catch. “One mark. Meets expectations gets one.”

I opened his jeans. Pulled the zip down slowly. Pushed everything down. He lifted, and I slid his jeans and boxers off in one motion, leaving him naked on his own couch while I remained in my boxers.

“Category three. Expressing affection voluntarily. Exceeds expectations.” I wrapped my hand around his cock — hard, thick, pulsing against my palm. “The reward for this category is that I’m going to tell you specific things about yourself while I do specific things to your body.”

“You remove your cuff links before difficult conversations,” I said, stroking him slowly. “You press the scar when you’re being honest with yourself. You hold a glass without drinking from it because your hands need something to do when you’re not touching me.”

I slid off his lap. Knelt between his legs. Took him in my mouth. His hand went to my hair — not directing, holding.

“Category four. Asking rather than ordering when vulnerable. Exceeds expectations.”

I took him deep again. All the way. Felt him pulse against my tongue. The sound he made — broken, grateful.

“Cal — I’m going to — ”

I stopped. “Not yet. You haven’t received your category five reward.”

He laughed. Wrecked, breathless. “You’re using my own methodology against me.”

“I learned from the best.” I stood. Removed my boxers. Climbed back onto his lap. “Category five. Frequency of telling me you love me.”

I prepared myself. His eyes watching every movement. Then I sank onto him.

His hands came to my hips — not directing, bracing. This was about reciprocity — two men who’d learned each other’s languages meeting in the middle.

I moved. Set the rhythm. “Tell me,” I said.

“I love you.” Immediate. No hesitation.

“Again.”

“I love you.” His voice cracked. “I love you when you buy clipboards. When you grade me. When you make me laugh during everything.”

“Tell me something specific. Something you noticed about me that nobody else has ever noticed.”

“Your left hand. When you’re about to come. Your left hand opens. Your fingers spread and your palm goes flat and it looks like you’re reaching for something — ”

“What am I reaching for?”

“Me.” He looked up at me. “You’re reaching for me.”

My left hand opened. Palm flat against his chest, over his heart.

“Now,” I said.

We came together. His body arching under mine, my body clenching around his, his name in my mouth and my name in his.

I collapsed against his chest. His arms went around me — immediately, completely.

Decimal returned. Settled on the armrest with the weary tolerance of a cat who’d accepted that his household now included activities incompatible with his napping schedule.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too.”

“That’s going to help your category five score.”

“Noted. I’ll adjust my quarterly targets accordingly.”

I laughed against his skin. He tightened his arms around me. The clipboard lay on the floor with its final assessment:

Exceeds expectations.

In every category. In every room. In every version of every day.

This man. Exceeded everything.

Thank you for reading. Cal and James will return in After Hours, Book Two.

← Back to Exceeds Expectations