Page 62 of Under Construction

New message:

If you know what I meannnnn! :>

Dennis shakes his head, laughing. Fond, fond he’s getting too fond. Stop getting all sappy and stupid, you idiot.

His thumbs fly across the screen:

Need you to drive me home. Files emergency.

Bzzz.

Quickie in your FACE emergency. My cock’s hard already.

Shut up and get here!

"Goddamn pervert," Dennis mutters to the empty room, but he can't wipe the smile off his face.

He saves everything on his computer, shuffles papers into his bag, tucks his tablet away. Flicks off the lights and heads downstairs. Chris won't be far.

He could've called an Uber, but this is going to be much more fun.

20Frame Job

Twenty minutes later, they're pulling into the private garage of Dennis’s building, past the security checkpoint where the guard actually salutes Dennis.

Chris's Lexus looks like it took a wrong turn somewhere, surrounded by vehicles that cost more than most houses.

"Must be nice," Chris says, but there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before.

His usual confidence evaporates. He follows Dennis to the elevator like he's mapping escape routes, jaw clenched, eyes scanning everything without really seeing.

The way his fingers drum against his thigh reminds Dennis of someone preparing for battle rather than just feeling out of place.

Dennis makes a mental note to ask Chris about it later. For now though, the elevator opens directly into his apartment.

When Dennis flips the switch, floor-to-ceiling windows showcase city lights. A grand piano sits unplayed in one corner. The kitchen gleams with appliances that have never been touched.

"The housekeeper's gone for the night," Dennis says, because Chris looks like he's expecting armed guards tomaterialize from the walls. He jerks his chin towards the hallway. "Office is this way."

"Right." Chris's hands are shoved deep in his pockets as he follows.

They walk past bold, abstract art—all sweeping lines and splashes of muted color—into Dennis’s office, sectioned off by a glass wall and door, clear and seamless except for thin black steel framing.

Minimalist elegance fills the space. His gleaming executive desk commands attention from the far wall, while a butter-soft leather couch invites relaxation along the right side.

The wall opposite the couch showcases a floor-length mirror, its frame matching the black steel of the glass partition.

Dennis can barely contain himself. Three months he's been waiting for this moment. Three months since he commissioned that stupidly expensive frame just to see the look on Chris's face when—

"What. The.Fuck."

There it is.

Dennis spins around, face split in a shit-eating grin, drinking in every micro-expression as Chris's jaw drops at the wall above the desk.

At Chris's very first dick pic displayed in all its glory, complete with museum lighting and a tiny brass plaque that reads "A Study in Workplace Harassment #1."

"You..." Chris's eyes nearly pop out of his head as he steps closer, finger jabbing at the frame. His gaze ping-pongs between the picture and Dennis like he's watching a tennis match. "You actually..."

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