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

by Krista Ritchie

  These past five days trying to film Charlie and push back paparazzi has been taxing. Physically, sometimes mentally. A little emotionally.

  They shove their cameras in my face and yell, “Jack! Jack! Did you know about Oscar & Charlie before you kissed the bodyguard?!” It’s irony, right? I have a camera. I’m there to film Charlie, and the paparazzi are filming me while I film him.

  But Charlie gave me permission to prod into his life. And I’d say I’m nowhere near as aggressive or caustic as most paparazzi. They make me look like a butterfly gingerly capturing footage and not actually weighed down with fifty-pound equipment.

  I have a high threshold for uncomfortable situations. I make the best, do my best. But I almost reached my limit while on a WAC shoot filming Jane, Sullivan, and Luna at a pub together. Not only did another cameraman ram an elbow in my back, but he ruined all my footage by screaming questions at me.

  I had to scrap everything.

  Charlie is even over the outrage. He actually gave me and Oscar a whole day’s notice before booking a flight to Greenland. A private plane and shuttle ride later, we arrived.

  He literally flew to the Arctic to escape it all.

  I position my lens towards panoramic views of Disko Bay’s endless teal water and picturesque icebergs. It’s peaceful and calm outside. A stark contrast to what we left.

  But I find myself eyeing a prettier view. Oscar rests his forearms on the deck’s railing, leaning in a nonchalant lunge, with a paperback in hand. His winter gear is worn well, a total pro at harsh climates, and as my smile rises, I shift my camera. Until he’s completely in frame.

  I zoom in on his face. His curly hair warms his ears, and his eyes drift over towards the yellow cabin to the right of ours.

  Charlie lounges on a porch chaise and reads a book, bundled in an outdoor blanket.

  If I didn’t understand Oscar’s job, maybe it’d aggravate me that he keeps glancing over there. I’ve been no better with my focus on taking footage of the scenery.

  Anyway, his concentration on Charlie is letting me capture Oscar in all his glory. I watch him through the camera, my smile widening. He runs a couple fingers back and forth across his unshaven jaw before flipping a page in his book.

  We’re dating. My pulse skips in anticipation of where that’ll lead us, practically giddy. The more I’m around Oscar, the more enchanted I feel—and with my work becoming a giant stressor, I hold stronger onto these feelings.

  I zoom more.

  Oscar turns his head back to me. A grin edges across his mouth, his eyes on me, then right into the camera. “Are you filming me, Long Beach?”

  “You’re in my frame,” I smile more and tilt up the camera to capture the light in his brown eyes. “Prettiest part of the setting so far. What do you have to say, Oscar Oliveira?”

  He rotates fully towards me, elbows resting back on the railing. Paperback loose in his hand. “That it’s not possible to be the prettiest part of the setting when I’m looking at the prettiest thing here.”

  His eyes never abandon mine.

  Something luminous brims inside my body. “How’s flirting with the cameraman going for you?”

  He mimes checking a watch that he’s not wearing. “Too early to tell, but so far, so good. I’ll let you know more when I have him naked and in my arms.”

  Breath staggers in my throat. Jesus fuck. Do I want to fool around with Oscar? Is that even a fucking question, dude. The more we’re drowned in work, the less time we’ve been able to explore further, and there is no other exploration that sounds as enticing as letting him discover my turn-ons and me discovering his.

  “Keep me updated,” I banter with a smile. A cool gust blowing through, I shiver and zip up my outer-layer of the winter jacket and fix the baseball cap on my head.

  Oscar kicks off from the railing, fitting his paperback in a back pocket. “Still can’t believe you packed that hat and not a beanie.”

  “I wasn’t thinking.” I shake my head, remembering. “Something distracted me when I was packing.” I see his confusion as he approaches, so I come clean. “The other execs heard that I had no footage of the girls at the pub, and they asked me what happened.”

  “You tell them paparazzi encroached your space?” He tugs down the zipper of his jacket and unspools a scarf around his neck.

  “No.” I tense. “I lied.” I run a hand through my hair four or five times.

  “You lied?” Oscar looks shocked. “Have you ever lied to them before?”

  “Never,” I say strongly. “But I knew if I told them the truth, they might limit my involvement in shoots, and it’s important to me to be the camera operator for Jane, Sulli, and Moffy.”

  “Why?”

  “They trust me,” I explain. “We’re all friends, and if I had to sit out, it feels like a loss for them and me. And maybe it’s pride too.” I crack a dying smile. “I’ve never been kicked off a project. So I lied and said the equipment malfunctioned.”

  Oscar nods a few times. “I probably would’ve done the same thing.” That actually makes me feel a bit better, but his face is serious. “So they’re off your ass?”

  “Yeah.”

  He’s still tense like me. “I hate that being with me is affecting your job this fucking terribly. It wasn’t supposed to be like this—”

  “It’s okay, Os.” I rest my hands on my head, really on the blue baseball hat. “The pros outweigh the cons.” I flash a smile at him. “You’re my pro.”

  He grins. “I am a pro at many things.” He slowly twists his scarf around my exposed neck. “Like keeping you warm, Long Beach.”

  I blaze inside, our eyes trailing hot tracks over each other. I drop my arms to his shoulders, and he spins the brim of my hat backwards. Just to lean in and kiss me.

  Our mouths meet with a slow build-up of prickling heat. My fingers slip up into his soft hair, our bodies singing with primal pleasure against each other. Every kiss feels like we’re spinning in 360-degrees. Blood rushes out of my head, dizzying. Exhilarating.

  And then he clutches my jaw too hard. Where a bruise formed.

  I wince between my teeth.

  Oscar breaks a kiss. “Sorry.”

  I breathe hard.

  His concern tightens on me. “Was that…here?” His thumb brushes the tender skin along my jawline. A Canon made impact with my chin. Paparazzi hazard.

  “Yeah.” I try to catch my breath. Partly in need of oxygen because I’m too attracted to this guy. Partly because of the media mess we left behind. Hot, I unravel the scarf and let the ends hang against my chest.

  He glares at the deck, then at the icebergs. “I’m not sure I can protect you and Charlie at the same time, and it’s driving me nuts.”

  “You’ve done enough.” He’s caught more than one projectile headed for me.

  His eyes return to the bruise on my jaw. “Let’s go count your bruises, Highland.”

  I let out a weak laugh. “I’m not delicate like you think. This is now a casualty of my job, and I’m choosing to stick it out.” I grip his shoulders. “I’m not going to pretend to be a bodyguard. I’m not one. I probably can’t hit a man to save my life, but your job is to protect Charlie. Just let me film.”

  He nods, then grins, “Did I just get a Jack Highland pep talk?”

  I begin to smile. “Did you like it?”

  “I didn’t like the part where you put yourself down,” he admits. “If you need to hit a man to save your life, I know you could save yourself, Highland.” He turns my hat straight but lifts up the brim. “But I’ll be your hottest back-up.”

  I believe that.

  He reaches for my hand. “Come here, I want to show you something.” He brings me to the edge of the deck, our elbows meeting the railing. The sun hovers just above the horizon, casting an orange glow on the sea. “Check the time.”

  I pull out my cell and click into the local time.

  No?

  “That can’t be right,” I whisper.

/>   “It is.” His mouth curves. “Midnight.” He leans a hip against the railing. “It’s called a midnight sun. It only happens during the summer in places around the Arctic and Antarctic Circles.”

  Wow.

  My eyes try to paint the portrait in front of me. The sun coasting along the teal iceberg-scattered sea. A whale splashes in the distance, spraying water overhead.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  “Charlie asked me where I wanted to go,” he breathes. “I wanted you to see this.”

  My lips part in surprise.

  He takes a deep breath. “It reminds me of you.”

  A noise between a shocked breath and an overcome laugh escapes me. My stinging eyes are on him. No one has ever made me feel like the focal point. The center of attention. I’m never the subject.

  He doesn’t just see me. He acts like I should be the lead of not just one movie but every movie, and fuck if that doesn’t feel good—I don’t know what else could.

  I take another glimpse of the midnight sun. “The brightest light shining during the darkest hour,” I smile. “That’s pretty good.”

  “I’m only doing my best work with you, Long Beach.”

  I smile, but my lips fall gradually. “What happens when the light dims? You’ll still be interested then?”

  “Oh yeah.” Oscar nods. “I’m every star circling around you. You need a spark, I’m there.” He says it like a promise.

  It wells up in me. My eyes redden, my smile more overcome. I’m always a positive force for others, and to have someone be mine is everything and more.

  Oscar grabs the ends of the scarf and draws me in. Our lips collide in a hungered kiss. We pull and grip for more contact. And our eyes speak the same passionate need, just you and me now.

  Gathering my camera equipment, my dick strains against my pants. Oscar types out a text with one hand and holds the door open to our blue house for me. He explains, “I’m letting Charlie know that he needs to call me if he goes into town or hears anything outside.”

  My lips lift. “You’re off-duty then?”

  “Yeah, for now.” He shuts the door behind us. “You have me all to yourself, Highland.”

  Our eyes devour. And I put my camera shit away as fast as possible. When I told Jesse about the travel plans, he pleaded with me to stay back in Philly to edit footage. Really, I think he knew this was his chance to freely surf, and the Arctic is the last place he wants to be.

  So it really just is me and Oscar.

  The quaint mountainside house is outfitted with a full-sized bed, fuzzy blankets, knitted pillows, and a woven rug in front of a wood-burning fireplace.

  Romance is alive in Greenland.

  We shed layers upon layers. Until we’re down to boxer-briefs and Oscar kisses me up against a distressed blue-painted armoire. Lips stinging, head spinning, my shoulders dig into the wood but my hips flex towards him. Rock-hard, I’m aching for his hand and skill.

  I curse and bang my head back for breath.

  He grinds forward, causing a deeper noise from both of us. The roughness of his jaw brushes against the light stubble of mine as he whispers, “How badly do you want my cock inside you tonight, Highland?”

  I’m so fucking hard. His words almost make me explode. We’re dating, committed. The no sex agreement has flown out the window. I keep drinking him in, head to toe. Oscar has the physique of a pro-boxer, even if he’s not one anymore.

  I wonder how he’ll feel inside of me. How close I’ll feel to him, how his weight and strength will be up against my body. It’d be a first for me, and firsts are always slightly nail-biting—but that adds to the appeal.

  How badly do I want his cock inside of me tonight?

  “More than you know,” I say in shallow, wanting breath.

  He palms my hard-on. “Think I have a pretty good idea.” His playful grin usually coaxes mine out.

  I’m too waist-deep in pleasure to smile. Too enamored with Oscar’s confident, caring hands that feed my need. He yanks the elastic of my boxer-briefs down my muscular waist. His hand grazes burning trails down my thighs as he lowers to his knees.

  I stand at solid attention. My hand cradles the back of his head, and I watch his eyes trace every dip and cut of my body. His gaze softens on the bruises and welts.

  “You like to do this often?” I wonder since he hasn’t given me head yet. This is a first. A guy blowing me—Oscar blowing me, or at least, he’s about to, and I might be leaning partially against an armoire, but I feel like I’m on the edge of my seat.

  “More than you know,” Oscar grins, using my words. “You’ve just kept coming too fast for me to even try.”

  I let out a low laugh. “I promise I usually last longer, dude. You just have a perfect grip and touch.” He could wrap his palm around my length, stroke twice, and I’d shoot my load.

  “I do know how to handle a dick, Long Beach.” Oscar rubs me before taking me between his lips with expert ease. Oh…my…fuck. A groan rakes against my throat.

  I arch my hips further, wanting deeper.

  He moves in-out in his mouth, the pressure lighting up nerve-endings. Sending shockwaves throughout my entire body. My muscles burn, my hand sliding down his unshaven jaw. Pleasure tightens my balls, and like he knows, he squeezes them with just the right force.

  My other hand flies to my head.

  He eases my dick out of his mouth with a grin, skates his tongue across the length, then goes back in for more. I’m basking in this moment.

  So caught up in us and what he’s doing to me that my body climbs to the peak faster and faster. Racing to the top, and as soon as he quickens his pace, I jerk forward. Head rolling to the side with a knotted groan escaping my parted lips. “Oscar.”

  I’m spinning.

  He swallows, rises to his feet, and milks my climax with a couple more strokes. I flinch against him, that pleasure rippling out of me. We’re eye-locked. Lips ghosting lips.

  “That was…the best head I’ve ever been given.” I’m still shaking in ecstasy. “No lie.”

  Another grin toys at his lips. “It makes it easy when I love the cock I’m sucking. And the guy.”

  I smile more. Is he saying he loves me? Probably not. But I’ll always pocket Oscar’s praises, just like I know he won’t throw away mine.

  He backs up, strips off his boxer-briefs, and walks naked to the bed. I’m so interested in what the hell he’s doing, I don’t follow his footsteps.

  Oscar throws pillows onto the woven rug. When he glances back, he must see a shiver skate through my limbs. “You’re cold?”

  I rub my biceps. “Yeah. I need your heat apparently.”

  He laughs. “Weak California blood.” He kneels at the wood-burning fireplace and throws on a couple logs.

  I use the bathroom, and when I come back out, Oscar has his forearms on his knees, sitting on the woven rug and watching the fire crackle.

  Buck-naked, I take a seat next to him. Warming my palms, I turn my head. He kisses me; I kiss back just as strongly, and we’re about to sink into something I desire.

  I put a hand to his chest, pausing the moment.

  His body tightens. “You alright, Jack?”

  Jack. Whenever he uses my first name, he sounds serious. It sets me more on edge.

  “Let’s talk,” Oscar urges. “Screw this no talking beforehand bullshit, I’m through with that.”

  I exhale. “Okay. Let’s talk.” I want to make this clear. “I’m dying to have sex with you, Os. I’ve been dying to have sex with you, so that’s not where I’m leading you.”

  “What then?” He pushes curls off his forehead. “You’d rather give, not receive? You’re afraid of it hurting?”

  I tilt my head. “You’re not that far off.”

  Oscar rubs his eyes. “You’d rather top?”

  I smile because I’ve known for a while that Oscar prefers to top. No one would ask me things like, how badly do you want my cock inside you? without wanting to go
there. I could fuck with him, but that’d almost hurt my soul a little.

  “I’d rather try bottoming,” I say honestly.

  His hand falls to my knee, confusion lining his forehead. “Alright, now I’m at a complete loss of where you’re taking me, Highland.”

  Figured.

  I smile. “I was just wondering if there’s something I can give you first. I haven’t tried to finger you or anything. You haven’t really asked, and I didn’t know if it’s because you thought I was afraid to try or if you didn’t want it.”

  Realization washes over his features. “I didn’t think you were scared. I just like being the one fingering.”

  I look him over. “So have you ever been fingered or bottomed before?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “But it’s been a while. My first time receiving anal was nineteen. College. And I haven’t done it since college.”

  “How come?”

  “I just get off more being in you than you in me.”

  I smile, about to joke about how he hasn’t been inside me yet, but Oscar beats me to the punch and says, “I’m not talking about another guy’s asshole when I just want yours, bro.”

  I’m hard again.

  His erection is already begging for touch, and we’re drawing closer. “If you do want to top one day, I’d bottom for you,” Oscar breathes. “But truthfully, I can’t promise I’d be into doing it every time we have sex.”

  I appreciate him being upfront.

  “I think that’ll be okay,” I say quietly, fire warming my skin. Warming us. Embers crackle, and flames cast shadows on our bare bodies. “How bad does it hurt the first time?”

  “I’ll work you up enough that it shouldn’t.” He kisses my jaw, then my lips, and I drag a hand down his abs to his length. While I stroke him, he bears his weight against me. Guiding my back against the woven rug, and my neck and head meet a pillow.

  We kiss deep, rougher as our legs intertwine. My waist bucks up. He keeps bearing down, his palms planted on either side of my deltoids.

  I glide my hands along his ass, and I lose myself to the sensation. How my legs spread on either side of his hips. His erection teases against my entry, but he eases me more with a finger, then a lubed plug. The pressure overwhelms me, contracts my calves, my abs, every single tendon of muscle.