Praise on Ice by Jace Wilder - MM Hockey Sports Romance book cover

Praise on Ice — Bonus Chapter

⚠️ Content Warning: This bonus chapter contains extremely explicit sexual content (graphic MM praise kink scene), strong language, and emotional intensity. This is the spiciest scene in the series. Readers 18+ only.

Good Boy

A Praise on Ice Bonus Chapter — Set six months after the epilogue

The apartment smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh laundry, which meant Theo had been stress-organizing again.

Landon dropped his bag in the hallway and stood in the doorway to the living room. Two weeks. Fourteen days at a junior hockey camp in northern Minnesota, mentoring kids who reminded him of the version of himself he wished he’d been: scared, talented, desperately in need of someone to tell them they were worth more than their stat line.

Two weeks was too long.

Theo was standing in the kitchen doorway. Barefoot. Wearing the McGill T-shirt—the one, the original, so soft from washing that it was practically transparent—and dark joggers that sat low on his hips. His glasses were off. His arms were at his sides, hands open, the posture of a man who’d been waiting and was done pretending he hadn’t been.

Landon crossed the room in four steps. His hands found Theo’s face—both palms, the gesture, their gesture—and he kissed him. Not gently. This was reclamation.

Theo broke first. Breathing hard, lips swollen.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Theo said. “For two weeks. A scene. Structured. If you’re willing.”

“Tonight I want to give you every version of praise you’ve ever needed. Every version. And I want you to do one thing: accept it. All of it. Without deflecting, without joking, without telling me you don’t deserve it. Just receive.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m yours.”

They moved to the bedroom. Theo led—hand in Landon’s, guiding him with the unhurried certainty of a man executing a plan he’d spent two weeks refining.

“Stand here,” Theo said. He positioned Landon in the center of the room. “Arms up.”

Theo pulled his T-shirt over his head—slowly, fingers trailing up Landon’s sides, tracing the ridges of muscle.

“These hands,” Theo said. He lifted Landon’s right hand. Traced the calluses. “These hands just spent fourteen days teaching kids that they matter. You taped their sticks. You put your hand on a seventeen-year-old’s shoulder while he cried about his coach and you told him: your worth is not your stat line.“

Theo pressed his lips to the center of Landon’s palm. Open-mouthed. Warm.

“Do you know what that makes you? A man who took the worst thing that happened to him and turned it into a gift for someone else. That’s remarkable.”

Landon was shaking before Theo touched his cock. The slow, relentless accumulation of praise and touch building a pressure that had no outlet because Theo had given him only one instruction: receive.

“Lie down. Hands above your head. Keep them there. I want to see you hold still while I take you apart.”

Theo began with his mouth—not on Landon’s cock, but on his hip. Then inward. Deliberately, maddeningly avoiding.

“The first time I saw you, you were leaning against a doorframe with your arms crossed, and I thought: this is the most beautiful human being I have ever seen, and I am in so much trouble.“

Theo’s hand finally wrapped around him. Landon gasped. “Stay with me,” Theo murmured. He stroked slowly. “I’m proud of you.” Stroke. “Every day.” Stroke. “For the man you’ve become.” Stroke.

Then Theo pulled off. Looked up at him. “I want to try something. A phrase. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Say it.”

“Good boy,” he said.

Two words. Quiet. Delivered in the voice—the low, warm, devastating instrument that had been rewiring Landon’s brain since the first session.

The effect was thermonuclear.

Landon’s body convulsed. His hands wrenched the headboard. A sound came out of him that was the sound of a lock opening that had been sealed for thirty-one years.

Good boy. The praise his father had weaponized. The two words Landon had spent his entire life earning and never received—not freely, not unconditionally, not from a voice that meant you are good because you exist, not because you perform.

“Good boy. My good, brave, beautiful boy. You don’t have to earn this. You never had to earn this.”

“I need you. Inside me. Please.”

Theo prepared him with precision and emotional intensity. Then pressed in—slowly, relentlessly, their foreheads together, their eyes locked.

“You feel like home,” Theo said, his voice fracturing. “Every time. Like my body was built to be here.”

They moved together. “Good boy,” Theo breathed against his mouth at the apex of each thrust. “My good boy. You don’t have to earn this. You just have to be here. That’s enough. You’re enough. You’ve always been enough.”

“Come for me. Good boy. Let go.”

Landon came untouched. The orgasm was pulled from him by the angle of Theo’s thrusts and the sound of Theo’s voice and the two words that had rewritten his entire neurological relationship with praise. The pleasure indistinguishable from the healing.

Theo followed him—with a sound that was half Landon’s name and half a prayer.

“Good boy. Where did that come from?” Landon asked.

“The phrase your father weaponized—good boy, now here’s what you did wrong. I wanted to take it back. Give it to you clean. No conditions attached. Just… you’re good. Full stop.”

“It worked.”

“Say it again. Not during sex. Just… now. In the quiet.”

Theo pulled him closer. Pressed his mouth against Landon’s hair. “Good boy. My good, brave, beautiful boy.”

Landon didn’t cry. The tears were for the breaking open. This was for the staying open. He pressed his face against Theo’s chest and felt the two words settle into his body like a key finding a lock—not the old lock, the one his father had installed. A new one. One that opened instead of closed.

Pavlov pushed the bedroom door open, jumped on the bed, and wedged himself between them.

“Pavlov,” Theo said. “This is a private moment.”

Pavlov yawned.

Landon laughed. The open laugh—the real one—the sound that had first emerged in Theo’s office three years ago and had become the soundtrack of a life he’d never imagined.

“I love you,” Landon said. To Theo. To the dog. To the life.

“I love you too,” Theo said. And pulled the duvet over all three of them.

Home. Still home. Always home.