Page 29 of Under Construction

“You don’t want me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Chris's pupils spread until his eyes are almost black. A hand wraps around the side of Dennis’s neck, then Chris is thumbing Dennis’s jaw, dragging the pad of his finger along the sharp edge of it, more sure of himself than ever.

"Aren't you curious?” he husks, “I see how you look at me, princess.” His eyes search Dennis’s, unblinking, like they have all the time in the world tonight. “Haven't you ever wondered if the picture I sent you is real?"

Dennis hooks his fingers into Chris's belt loops. Jerks him forward until their hips crash together.

"You fuckingpervert," he hisses, anger and arousal warring in his veins.

“I can’t wait till you’re fuckingthispervert.”

"Chris, stop—" Dennis’s protest dissolves into a moan when Chris rolls his hips.

"Say the word and I'll go,” Chris whispers, right by his ear, nose tracing its shell. “Tell me to get lost and I’ll do it.”

"It's your apartment, you idiot!"

"My apartment, my rules." Chris's mouth curves against his ear. "And rule number one is: you call the shots, princess."

Dennis opens his mouth but the words stick in his throat. Everything's too much—Chris's breath on his ear, his hands everywhere, the heat between them making it impossible to think straight.

“Thenshut up!”

"Make me."

So Dennis does, desperate to stop the words that are making his heart pound in a way it shouldn’t. He grabs Chris's hair. Yanks him towards himself.

Their mouths crash together. All teeth and tongue and months of tension snapping like a wire.

Chris groans. Shoves his thigh between Dennis’s legs. Waves against him until Dennis’s head falls back, throat exposed.

"Fuck," Chris breathes, lips grazing Dennis’s neck before he bites down, making Dennis shiver with a moan. "You look so good, princess. Feel so good."

He seals his mouth over the bite, sucks until Dennis feels the mark swelling hot under his skin. "You have no idea howmuch I've been wanting this," he pants against the tender spot, "wanting you."

Dennis’s eyes flutter closed, his resolve slipping as he bares his neck for more even though he knows he shouldn't.

It's been a brutal couple of months—stress, deadlines, and the weight of this project wearing him down, and suddenly, Chris's touch feels like the only relief he's had in ages.

His hands slide down to grip Chris's ass. He squeezes, kneads the muscle under his palms.

Shit, it really is as perfect as it looks. He presses Chris closer, grinding their crotches together.

“Since when?” he rasps, one hand sliding up, fingers slipping beneath the elastic of Chris’s underwear.

The brush of skin on skin sends a jolt straight to Dennis’s crotch, sharp and unbearable. He needs to distract himself. His other hand tightens in Chris’s hair, yanking his head back so he can lick into his mouth again.

The kiss is messy, graceless. Their tongues slide together—wet, then cool, then hot—and Chris still tastes sweet and bitter like that fancy beer and bad decisions that feel too good to stop.

"Since you walked onto my site in those tight pants." Chris tugs Dennis’s perfectly pressed shirt free of his pants, callused hands rough and firm as they splay warm across his stomach.

Dennis’s muscles jump under the touch.

"Acting all superior. Looking down that perfect nose at me."

"Your site?" Dennis scoffs.Mmms when Chris finds a nipple and thumbs over it. His breath hitches when the touches turn into tweaks. “Arrogant motherfu—ahh!”

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