Page 49 of Under Construction

Every pump slides Dennis’s foreskin over the head—wet, throbbing, and taut—dragging it just enough to make his thighs tremble.

It makes Chris hum low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the quiet air when Dennis’s whole body starts to shake without his permission.

"Yes, princess," Chris murmurs, his voice breathy and rough. "Take what you need. Use me. Showmehow you want it."

He clicks his tongue softly, a guiding pace that matches the movement of his hands, clearly savoring the way Dennis’s hips jerk upward, chasing every bit of friction.

Dennis can't help but move, riding Chris's lap while his head falls back, throat marked and exposed. The windows fog up. The car rocks. Outside, a street light flickers on and off, casting strobing shadows over heated skin.

He's so pent up, it only takes a few strokes before Dennis is coming all over Chris's fist.

The sudden orgasm pulls the air straight out of his lungs. His lips part but not a single sound escapes as he spurts, then leaks between the spaces of coaxing fingers and the soft rasp of Chris’s murmured praise against his jaw.

His eyes roll back beneath closed lids, and everything narrows to the roar in his head—a rush that drowns out the world, leaving him weightless and quivering.

"Fuck, princess, you're incredible like this," Chris breathes into the hollow of his throat, fingers pressing bruises into Dennis’s hips like he can't get enough of feeling him fall apart.

They stay like that, Dennis catching his breath.

The sweat that broke out in his frenzy cools on his skin. City lights scatter patterns through tinted windows.

When his breathing steadies, Dennis shifts back onto the seat. Chris turns to follow the movement.

"What are you—"

Dennis answers by unzipping Chris's pants, working them down with focused determination.

His bottom lip catches between his teeth as he stares at the bulge in Chris's briefs.

God, he's missed this—the sight, the feel, the smell of him.

His mouth waters. "Taste you. I want to taste you."

He tugs Chris's briefs down, burying his face in the coarse hair at the base. The warmth, the musky scent, the velvet-soft skin against his cheek makes him sigh.

This is what he's been craving.

"No, princess, you don't have to—" Chris's hands hover uncertainly.

Dennis wraps his fingers around Chris's shaft, mesmerized by the weight of it. Presses a kiss to the middle, then glances up. "I want to. You didn't let me before, and now I want to."

Chris sinks back against the seat. "If you're sure..." His voice comes out soft. In awe. All cockiness gone.

Dennis rises up, kisses Chris the way he wants to—thorough and unhurried, like they have all night. It’s been too long, and Dennis wants to savor the moment.

Only when Chris goes pliant under his mouth, as if in understanding that this is entirely Dennis’s decision to make, does he trail kisses down Chris's neck, past his open collar, back to where Chris's cock juts up, heavy and swollen like he's been aching for this as long as Dennis has.

The first taste is tentative—just the tip of his tongue exploring the head while Chris's fingers card through his hair.

He peeks up to find Chris transfixed, eyes locked on him, not even blinking.

Holding his gaze, Dennis’s mouth stretches around the width, struggling to take in the head from lack of practice.

The gentle pressure of Chris's hand on his nape gives him courage.

Dennis takes more of him in, jaw working to accommodate the girth.

Everything about this is new and it’s different than he expected—the solid weight pressing down his tongue, every vein and ridge introducing strange new textures against his lips, the smooth slide of precum coating his mouth.

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