Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7)

by Krista Ritchie

  Jack leans forward again, arms on his thighs. He always sits like a jock holding a football between his spread knees. Only instead of a football, he’s usually gripping a camera.

  You’re way too into him, Oliveira.

  Yeah.

  I should go to bed too, but this feels like the most comfortable place to be. Awake, talking to him.

  “I don’t understand why Quinn followed you,” Jack says. “To security, I mean. If he was so good at boxing, why not stay?”

  I shake my head. “All he’s ever really said is that he wanted something different. He knew security work existed, so he left boxing behind. Our dad would’ve fucking blown a gasket, but Jo was and is really good. She’s the new protégé.” I push some curls off my forehead. “My biggest pet peeve with Quinn is that he didn’t even look at colleges. This career takes more than it gives, and there’s so many other paths he could’ve taken.”

  Jack rubs his tired eyes. “I get what that’s like. Jesse wants to follow my path and do camera work—photography, mainly, but I guess it’s a bit different from your situation.” He explains, “My brother wants to go to college. My alma mater.”

  University of Pennsylvania, located in Philly. “Were your parents happy about you going to UPenn?”

  “I just call it Penn,” he says with a smile. “And no. Not at all. It was all the way across the country. My mama and dad kept saying, why not Standford? Jesse begged me to stay in California, but I liked Penn’s swim team.” His lips downturn. “I broke his heart that day. But it got better the more I FaceTimed and called.”

  “Can relate,” I nod. “On some level, I guess. My brother hated when I went to Connecticut for college.” Here we are eighteen/nineteen and our brothers are just little eight/nine-year-olds, and we’re tearing away from them. Jack went through that too. “I think he felt like I wouldn’t ever come back to Philly. Like I’d never see him again.” I shake my head at myself. “I didn’t do a good job staying in touch. I barely ever saw my family while I was at Yale, barely ever came home. But I always told myself I’d end up with them anyway, so the four years would go by and we’d be together again.” I meet his eyes. “You know I studied sports medicine with the idea that I’d come home and help boxers my dad trains—like my brother and sister. I’d help them after bad blows and intense trainings. Ice baths, stretches, PT.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jack says softly. “How come that changed?”

  I scrape a hand over my tensed, unshaven jaw. “Once I graduated, I started realizing that I didn’t want a full-time career around boxing. My family trains at Akara’s gym, and Akara is the one who introduced me to security work. So I ended up here. And eventually, I did try to be with Quinn more. I tried to train him in boxing while I was a bodyguard. To reconnect. But it went down like a grenade. I don’t think he ever got over me leaving.” My muscles strain. “Looks like you’re What To Do and I’m What Not To Do when it comes to college and little brothers.”

  “No,” Jack tells me. “I just got dealt a different set of cards, Oscar. Probably the easier set.”

  I’m not quite sure that’s true. But I ingest Highland’s sunny outlook anyway. Our conversation has roused him awake more, and I feel badly about fucking with his beauty sleep.

  I go to stand. “You should get some rest.” Once on my feet, I press a hand to his broad shoulder to ease him back against the leather couch.

  He grabs my forearm with one hand, and we both go still, our breaths heavying. Our eyes descending and exploring.

  This can’t be happening. But damn, how many times am I going to be surprised in a day? Until it sinks in for good. That he’s into me. That he’s not playing me.

  He scoots forward on the leather couch. I stay standing like a brick wall, and his other hand—his other hand settles on my waist, fingers edging towards the elastic band of my gym shorts.

  “Jack,” I breathe.

  He stares up at me from beneath long lashes. “I’ve been thinking about this all day…ever since we kissed. You said we could do other things, right? I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but can I…” His chest rises and falls like he’s mid-marathon again. “Can I suck you off?”

  Fuck.

  My cock swells in response. Yes. Fuck yes. We’re already in a perfect position. I’m standing between his spread legs while he’s seated on the couch.

  It was like our bodies agreed before our brains.

  “You’ve never had a dick in your mouth?” I question, just to be sure. Of goddamn course I remember him saying he’s never been physically intimate with a guy before.

  “You’d be the first,” he smiles. “Like I said, I might not be any good, so if you tell me to stop—”

  “I wouldn’t,” I cut him off. “Sexual affection isn’t about being perfect, Long Beach. If you’re about to bite off my dick, I’ll tell you, less teeth, open your mouth wider. Half the fun of fucking is the discovery. What works for you and me together…”

  Those last words hit strange.

  Like a left hook that thumps too softly on a bag. Too tenderly.

  It feels good, but it won’t knockout an opponent. It’s not right for the situation. Because we’re not sleeping together, him and me.

  Jack searches my face. “Have you changed your mind about the agreement?”

  “No,” I say. “No sex. It still stands.”

  He nods once. “But we can do this?” He begins to draw my shorts downward. Our shallow breaths fill the quiet.

  “Yeah,” I answer, and I go ahead and drop them to my ankles. Stepping out of my shorts, I thumb the elastic band of my Calvin Klein boxer-briefs.

  His gaze glues to the length of my cock, which presses hard against the navy-blue fabric.

  I don’t know how I feel about being his first. It could mean I’m just gearing him up to be more confident to journey off into the land of dick. But at least I know I’ll treat him right. How he should be treated for a first time, and the thought of Jack being in damaging hands—being hurt or emotionally wrecked—is enough to lower my guards. I know I want this now.

  With him.

  Especially with him.

  Jack begins to tug down my boxer-briefs, and I let him pull the fabric down my ass. My hard length is freed from its confines and stands at attention. I watch his chest collapse in raw arousal. The sentiment coats his gaze the longer he stares and stares and stares.

  Blood pumps down into my groin. I harden more.

  Fuck.

  16

  JACK HIGHLAND

  I’m wide awake, muscles tightening in blood-rushing, mouth-watering, scorching desire, and I’m staring at a hard cock. His cock.

  Oscar is bigger than me, and I’m pretty well-endowed. Did not expect him to outsize me, and I’m not bruised by it. But I’m simultaneously more aroused and more nervous of taking him in my mouth.

  My left hand clutches his muscular waist, and I let my palm trail to his back. Down to his ass, and I grip him.

  His abs flex.

  Jesus fuck, a grunt tangles in my lungs, and we’re not even doing much yet. I shift on the couch. Wanting closer, I edge forward. He stands between my knees like a confident fortress, and I’m used to foreplay with more delicate and soft things.

  But I like this too.

  A lot.

  “Remember how we were talking about stopping?” Oscar asks. “You know you can stop at any time too?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I nod. But my breath is jagged. Ragged. Torn up like I’m being plowed with feelings—physical and emotional peaks that I’ve never met. I’m starting to wonder if this is what it’s like to really be with someone after amassing so much untouched desire and deep interest over so many years.

  He’s not someone I saw on a college campus one time and then met up with for a date.

  It wasn’t quick and simple.

  While I drink in his arousal, I rub my palm over my jeans, feeling the strain that begs for firmer grip and touch, and then I take that
hand to do to him what I’d do to myself.

  I fist him. I stroke him once and study his expression. Oscar is staring down at me, watching me as intently as I am him.

  Nerves swarm with a strong pulse of need. I question whether Oscar has been with someone who couldn’t take him in their mouth.

  Maybe I’ll be the first that can’t do it—fuck that thought, dude. I’ve never failed at the things I’ve set out to do, and it might take me longer to reach some goals, but in the end, I always reach them.

  And I hang onto his words about guiding me if I struggle. I could’ve picked a worse man to blow. A complete bastard.

  Oscar isn’t that.

  I trust him, and I tug him a couple more times before I slide him in between my lips. Nerves begin to wash away, replaced with instinctual want and craving.

  Heat gathers, my dick begging for the back-and-forth friction that I’m giving Oscar. I know how this feels. To have a mouth run back and forth along my shaft. The pressure. The lit nerve-endings. And doing it to someone else, it’s…unlike anything.

  My fingers dig into his ass.

  A gruff noise splits apart his lips. “Fuck.”

  We’re in an inferno. Sweat building on us both while I sit and he stands. While I give and he receives. I’m trying to take more of him, but it’s not easy.

  “Breathe through your nose,” Oscar instructs.

  I didn’t realize—but yeah, I’m not breathing. I intake a lungful and keep working him over with my mouth. His muscles contract, and another noise rumbles through him. So unlike the high-pitched cries I’m used to hearing.

  Deeper. Throatier.

  The sounds almost make me come in my fucking pants. Hold it together.

  “Jack,” Oscar says my name in a husky whisper.

  My dick responds, enjoying that.

  I pop him from my mouth to breathe better, and remembering what’s been done to me—what I’ve liked in the past—I slide my tongue down his shaft. Oscar’s head almost lolls back, tendons taut in his neck, and I realize how much I’m watching his reactions.

  How much his grunts and body twitches light me on fire. I like making people feel good, but making him feel good turns me on in more extreme ways.

  Oscar bows his hips, and he fills my mouth again. I’m about to ease back for friction, but he grips the back of my head and leans more forward. He even presses a knee to the couch. Deepening…I think I’m coming a little.

  Fuck.

  Fuuuuuck.

  His shaft slowly sinks further between my lips. “Hold still,” he tells me, and I wonder if he can see how attracted I am to this.

  Because he pumps his hips. I’m watching as he does the work and guides his length between my lips back and forth. Pleasure wraps me in a vice. My arousal is a live-wire he’s toying with, and Oscar disappears inside my mouth. He hits the back of my throat, and I gag a little.

  He slows, careful not to hurt me, but thankfully, he continues satiating us. I’ve never been this hard. He thrusts.

  I clutch his waist and his ass, feeling him flex forward.

  I’m about to burst, and I just want…friction. Ravenously, quickly, I unbutton and unzip myself. His heavy breaths are noises I’ll go to bed dreaming of tonight. His movements are faster with a starved pace that I feel. His hand tightens on my head, fingers clenched in my hair, and I dip my hand under my boxer-briefs.

  With him in my mouth, I stroke my swollen erection just once, and we both release hard.

  “Fuck,” Oscar groans.

  He tastes bitter and salty, and I have no trouble swallowing it down.

  Oscar eases out of my mouth, and I breathe harder, especially as he notices I came in my palm. I’m about to ask if he has a cum rag, but he already says, “Here.” He leaves for the kitchen and returns in seconds with a dishtowel.

  I wipe myself up.

  We’re both on a euphoric come-down. Oscar lowers with a satisfied breath on the couch next to me. He leans in and presses a warm kiss to my cheek.

  It instantly makes me smile. I turn my head more to him, and our mouths instinctively meet. I deepen the kiss, and when our lips break, he plants kisses at the base of my jaw and says gruffly, “Christ, Highland.” He cups the back of my head in affection before standing up. “Next time, wait a bit and I’ll do that.” He nods to my unzipped jeans. “I feel like I missed out on something.”

  I don’t mention how I probably would’ve erupted in my jeans seeing and feeling him come, even if I didn’t touch myself.

  The thought of Oscar fisting my cock though—that almost makes me hard again. I hang onto his words: next time. There’ll be a next time…

  I smile and zip my jeans. “Looking forward to it.”

  He grins back and pulls up his boxer-briefs, then his shorts. He takes my cum towel and saunters to the nearby laundry room with the confidence of a king. “You’ll get some sleep now?” he asks over his shoulder.

  I watch him throw the towel in a hamper. “Can I ask you a question first?”

  He comes back and takes a seat on the coffee table. “Go ahead.”

  It dawns on me in this moment that I’m used to discussing other people’s sex lives. Sex is such an intrinsic topic of We Are Calloway. From Lily Calloway’s sex addiction to Rose Calloway’s sex tapes and all the way to how those have affected the people closest to them. Their sister Daisy. And their children.

  Jane struggled with guys assuming she liked BDSM like her parents, so she often talked about that to me. I listened and recorded the interviews that later would air.

  Moffy always said no, whenever I asked if he wanted to talk about sex. What’s it like to be the son of a sex addict? Really, I was happy that he didn’t feel like he had to voice this truth to the world. Maybe this part of his life wasn’t bothering him, then.

  But there’s only one person I want to talk to right now. I feel more like a viewer, wishing and hoping to relate to some aspect of another person’s life. And I know that person is Oscar sitting across from me.

  “When did you know?” I ask. “I mean, when did you know you were into guys?”

  Seriousness draws across his face.

  Shit. I scoot forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable—”

  “That’s not it.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine answering anything you want. It’s just I’m thinking maybe we should have talked about this…before this…” He motions from me to him.

  “We didn’t have penetrative sex,” I remind him. “Our agreement is still intact.”

  He laughs, one that fades in a softer grin. “I like how you included the word penetrative.”

  I smile, leaning back. “Thought it’d help.”

  “I’m pretty sure I just penetrated your mouth, Highland.”

  Fuck. I take a shallow breath. “No anal sex then?”

  “Yeah, but to be entirely clear here, oral sex is still sex. But when I said no sex, I meant anal.” He grimaces at himself. “Sorry, I should’ve been clearer upfront—”

  “No, it’s okay,” I assure. “I assumed that anyway.” I summon a brighter smile.

  He still looks upset, like he shouldn’t have relied on assumption. “I’m not used to being with someone where this is all new to them. So it’s good if you ask questions because I might forget that you don’t have the answers.” He snaps his fingers. “Penetration.”

  Why the hell am I so nervous? I feel like I’m sweating. Like he’s a heartbeat away from calling this off between us, and I’m scared it’ll screech to a halt too fast. “What about it?”

  “We don’t have to have it—anal sex. It’s not the end-all, be-all. So if that’s something you never want to try out, that’s cool.”

  I haven’t considered that before. Maybe I’m adventurous because the idea of never exploring anal sex bums me out.

  But I don’t tell Oscar that. What if he’s saying he’d rather not ever go there with me? I rest my elbow on my knee, my eyes roaming him. “Do you no
t like it?”

  “I love it, but I’d never pressure someone for anal or make it essential.” He scratches his eyebrow. “Alright, honestly, I’ve never been in a relationship without it, but Farrow has.”

  “With Moffy?”

  Again, Maximoff doesn’t talk about his sex life, but I’m realizing that Oscar knows because of Farrow, and now I feel like a prying fan. Quickly, I add, “Don’t answer that.”

  I really don’t need to know.

  Oscar nods once, then says, “When did I realize I was into guys?” He repeats my earlier question.

  “Yeah.”

  “I was fourteen. Every summer, I went to this boxing camp in Upstate New York. There was this guy a year older who I couldn’t get over.” Oscar stares off with a grin and a laugh in remembrance. “We hooked up in Cabin 3 on the last day of camp.” His eyes focus on mine as he clarifies, “We blew each other, nothing further. And ever since then, it was apparent for me that I was attracted to guys. It took me roughly another year to figure out that I was still attracted to girls too.”

  A knot is in my chest. “Do you think it’s strange that I’m twenty-seven and just going through that? What you went through at fourteen?”

  “No,” he says with raw conviction. “Everyone has their own timeline, Highland. Yours just happens to be now and not back then.”

  I ingest his words like liquid courage.

  “And if anyone gives you hell for it in your lifetime or invalidates your feelings because they knew their sexuality for longer—don’t listen to them. They can’t tell you who you are. The fact that they’re trying to says more about them than about you.”

  I breathe that in. “Were you nervous about coming out to your family?”

  He scrunches up his face, almost to say, sort of. “I was more nervous about coming out to friends. I didn’t really think my parents would have a problem since they were adamant about joining the LGBTQ-friendly church. So I came out to them when I was sixteen and asked this boy out from high school—my first boyfriend.”