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

by Krista Ritchie

  “Sounds like the opposite of an award,” Oscar teases and unzips my jeans. Our ravenous kisses steal oxygen from my lungs. I slide a hand down his abs, lower, and grip hard to his bulge.

  “Fuck,” Oscar mumbles, breaking from my lips.

  I harden at the sound, even more as he yanks my jeans to my muscular thighs and palms the outside of my boxer-briefs.

  I swallow an aroused knot in my throat. My abs flex, head dizzying already.

  Squeezing each other, we’re moving in short, hungry strokes while our mouths fasten and explore. I don’t feel like breathing tonight. Just give me Oscar.

  I thrust my hips against him, creating more friction against his large hand. It feels so fucking good to be in his grip. Our breaths synchronize in heavy, panting waves, and we free ourselves from the last confines of fabric, tugging down our boxer-briefs.

  Jesus, the feeling of his palm stroking my full length. I retreat in these pleasured feelings and pump him with my own firm force. “Highland.” His voice is stern, along with his hands that push my shoulders down. Sexy. Sexy. Fuck, he’s sexy.

  I ease to my knees.

  He’s figured out that I love blowing him. I get amped whenever it leads here. For one, seeing and feeling him come turns me on. For another, I feel less selfish. I’m putting forth some effort to help him reach a peak.

  Giving Oscar that eye-rolling, moan-inducing high is an achievement I want to unlock.

  With my hand clutching his bare ass, he carefully guides himself between my lips. His movements are purposeful, forceful, like he’s here to get off and nothing else and for some reason that blisters my senses. Lights me up.

  I take him deeper than I did the first time I tried.

  A noise rumbles through him.

  I harden more.

  Our eyes latch. His gaze melts in affection on me. Lips broken open with aching breath as I work him with my mouth.

  “God,” he moans, huskily. Deeply.

  I pop him out of my mouth to breathe.

  He laughs.

  “Give me a sec.” I inhale, exhale.

  He caresses the side of my jaw. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I spread my knees more and grip him in a fist. Two more strokes, and he arches his hips, filling my mouth for me.

  I flex my muscles as arousal slams against me with that one maneuver. He sees the contract of my abs, my biceps, my thighs.

  His fingers suddenly tighten on the back of my head as he releases in a few shuddering jerks.

  I swallow his load. Holy shit. He eases back.

  I blow out a dizzying breath and rise to my feet.

  “You’ve got something—” Oscar reaches out and wipes his thumb across my lip. Our gazes hold tighter. More heat boils between us. His hand drags down my abs and grips my length. I shut my eyes that almost roll.

  Fuck, yeah. He’s excellent at this.

  Oscar starts stroking my erection. “Legitimately attracted to you.” He eyes me in his hand. “You’re really fucking hard, Long Beach.”

  I pant into a smile that falters in a staggered breath. I almost come—and then, my phone buzzes. Fuck.

  It could be the other exec producers.

  The verdict on my job.

  “I have to take this.” I lean closer to his muscular build, chest to chest, just to wrap my arms around his waist and grab the cell by the keyboard behind him. I’m taller than Oscar, so I can read the text from this position.

  As I click into my phone, Oscar keeps moving his hand up and down my dick.

  Pick-up shoots updated on the WAC schedule. Check your emails. – Ali

  Shit.

  “Everything alright?” Oscar asks. He pumps me in two long strokes, and I have to press my mouth to the top of his shoulder to stop a full-body shudder. My fingers slip off my phone and press into the table.

  He stops suddenly.

  “Keep going,” I groan into his shoulder.

  “But what was that?” He’s already rubbing me again. “You look like Bambi died.”

  “Just work.” I lay my palm flat on the table, eyes hooked to my phone that lights up with another unread message. “Work again.” Not wanting the distraction, I flip my cell. I have such short windows of time with Oscar when he’s off-duty, and I don’t want texts or online hate to interrupt it.

  His hand feels slicker, pre-cum increasing friction and my arousal. “Os.” My voice catches, and I rock into him over and over until I’m almost at a release. He drops down and takes me into his mouth just as I reach my peak.

  My breathing heavies for a long minute, and he climbs back to his feet. My head is spinning from the climax and incoming stresses. Two obliterating opposites.

  He lifts up the elastic of his boxer-briefs and asks, “What were the texts?”

  I pull up my pants, squeezing my cock back into my boxer briefs. “We’re scheduling pick-ups which means we have to reshoot B-roll or make-up for bad footage.”

  I explain to him that if production fucks up, we can’t ask Jane to go try on wedding dresses again. We just lose out on the moment.

  We’re not on a set. This is real life.

  And I add, “More WAC filming means less Charlie filming, and at this point, even if I keep my job, I might not get the chance to finish the actual show. Or it’ll end up being a rushed piece of trash.” I circle around my desk, hunting for that old camcorder I left here last week.

  “I’ve seen your work, Highland, it’s not rushed. It’s definitely not trash.” Oscar zips up his pants. “You’re putting too much pressure on this. Be like Elsa and just let it go.”

  I catch the Frozen reference and laugh. “Well, Elsa makes that shit look easy.” I search my desk drawers, and I wonder if he’s worried I’ve put too many chips on Charlie. Bet too much on one losing number.

  Oscar is gearing me up for the eventual fall. So I’ll land softly.

  But he hasn’t realized that he’s been a crash pad for me from the start. In a way, having him helps me take greater risks. Knowing that he’ll be there at the end of it all. That’s the best feeling.

  “Thanks for coming tonight,” I tell him. “When I texted, I didn’t know if you’d be free. Is Charlie hanging back at his apartment?”

  “No, he’s at a club in the city.”

  Confused, I slowly stand up from a drawer. “So shouldn’t you be with him?”

  He shrugs. “I got a temp to cover for me.” He says it like it’s nothing, but if it’s not a scheduled paid day off, Oscar doesn’t go off-duty for just anything or anyone. “I figured my boyfriend, who doesn’t text me while he’s at a shoot, probably either wanted my dick or to talk. Either way, I’m here, bro.”

  My smile inches up. “Glad to know how I can’t get your ass running to me.” I dig in a filing cabinet. “After Jane’s wedding, I’ll be happy to never have to film another one for a good ten years. Maybe twelve.”

  Oscar bends down to grab his T-shirt off the floor. “What about your own? I assume marriage is probably in your ten-year portfolio plan. All lined up with the white picket fence. An apricot tree in the front yard.”

  I laugh. Apricot tree.

  Found the camcorder.

  I set the thing on the desk. “Maybe I should get you to redo my vision board, Os. It’s definitely missing the apricot tree.”

  “You dodged that question fast, Highland.”

  He asked, What about your own wedding?

  I tinker with the camcorder. “I guess I assumed I’d have a wedding. I thought whoever I was with would want one, and I’d do what I could to make them happy.”

  “Such a people-pleaser,” Oscar teases, leaning slightly on the desk.

  Closer now, my eyes trace the scar above his brow and the curls that touch his lashes. “I like pleasing people. You, mostly,” I say into a smile.

  He claps for me. “You’ve done well in that department.”

  I take a bow and smile brighter. “Really, if I could avoid having a wedding o
f my own, I would. I’ve attended so many at this point that it just feels…empty?” I search his eyes, realizing I want his answer to the same question. And I can’t tell where he’s leaning, so I just ask, “Have you dreamed about a wedding?”

  Oscar slowly shakes his head. “Who’s got the time?”

  I laugh softly. “Don’t I fucking know it.” My brows rise. “Your parents wouldn’t be upset?”

  Oscar reattaches a radio on his waistband. “Maybe a little at first. But they have Quinn and Joana, and they know I’m busy as it is. They’d get it.”

  I can’t be certain, but I think my parents would be the same way.

  Oscar eyes the camcorder in my hands. “You fix that ancient piece of shit yet?”

  “Almost.” I slide in a new battery. “I had to buy a couple new—or I guess old—parts on eBay. Plus, this new battery.” I click the power button and the side panel screen lights up with footage.

  This…is not what I expected.

  Kinney Hale sits anxiously on a four-poster ornately carved, black bed. Her dyed black hair is chopped with blunt bangs. She’s twisting her hands together on bouncing knees.

  “This is a security camcorder?” I have intense doubts about it now.

  His heated stare punctures the screen. “Not a fucking chance.”

  “Okay,” Kinney exhales. “This is video diary entry number…I can’t even remember anymore. But something really intense happened to me in school, and I just need to get it off my chest—”

  We shouldn’t be listening to this.

  I make a move to turn it off, but Oscar grabs my bicep, stopping me.

  “—there’s this boy in my grade, and he’s a complete waste of space.” She battles surging tears. “We have art together, and he followed me into the supply closet and told me you can’t know you’re a lesbian, if you’ve never seen a dick. So he pulled down his pants.” She crosses her arms. “Yes, future self, I saw Tye Smith’s penis, and I really, really hate that all I did was stand there. I should have throat-punched him! That’s what Aunt Rose would’ve done.” Her green eyes glass. “I just looked at him and said still a lesbian.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Then he told me well, Kinney, you haven’t touched it yet. Then the bell rang, so he left. He left before I left! God, what’s wrong with me? And like, I can’t tell anyone because this is just so embarrassing.” She grimaces and stands up quickly. “Uh, I can’t.” She strides to the camera and must shut it off because the footage goes dark.

  I quickly hit the power button. “We shouldn’t have seen that,” I tell Oscar, my chest taut.

  “You, keeper of all secrets, are worried about one more?” He’s already pulling out his phone.

  “It does get to me,” I say. “Having other people’s secrets isn’t always easy.”

  He leans forward and puts a comforting hand on the back of my head. “You’re not going to have to keep this one, Highland.”

  I have a secret I’ve been keeping from you. I should say it.

  Right here.

  Come on, dude.

  I open my mouth. And I realize centering this situation on myself feels so wrong.

  I bail on that idea and focus on the real issue.

  Looking deeper in him, I ask, “What are you talking about?”

  I can’t imagine sharing what we learned here today with anyone. The diary was personal. Private. She didn’t want anyone to see it, and I should have just shut it off from the jump.

  “Kinney’s fourteen,” Oscar says. “That bastard should be expelled from her school, at the very least.” He meets my shock. “I’m a bodyguard, Highland. Your job is to keep their secrets, but I have a duty to protect them. Right now, Tye Smith is a security threat. I’m calling her brother.”

  I know why he wouldn’t reach out to her parents first. Maximoff is the safe place for the younger kids, so going to him first means Kinney won’t feel betrayed by security.

  33

  OSCAR OLIVEIRA

  I’m brilliant, and so are my ideas. Historical evidence: I came up with the fake-dating strategy between Thatcher and Jane. Did not mean for them to hook up or get engaged. But a second reward just means I’m inadvertently even smarter than I realize.

  So Maximoff didn’t hesitate when I threw out another top-tier idea.

  “Rainbow Brigade’s first emergency meeting is coming to order,” Kinney decrees, lighting a few candles on the table like this is a fucking séance.

  Hey, we are unburying feelings.

  All six of us are wedged in a corner booth in Superheroes & Scones, a comic-book coffee-shop hybrid in Philly. After-hours, the store is dead quiet. Most of the lights are turned off except for the one above the superhero-centric café area.

  “First off,” she says, “thank you all for coming on such short notice.” She intakes a breath, and Maximoff extends an arm over his sister’s bony shoulder.

  It’s been a long night.

  Once I told Maximoff what happened, he approached Kinney, and she agreed to go to their parents together. The Hale family talked it out, and Kinney decided she didn’t want to report the incident to Dalton Academy, even at the urging of her mom and dad.

  In the end, they’re agreeing to respect her wishes. They probably hope she’ll change her mind, once she takes some time to think it over.

  What was jarring was that Kinney kept this to herself. Didn’t even tell the girl squad, her best friends. And Maximoff said that he wished she felt safe enough to open up to someone.

  I had a light-bulb moment.

  And here we are.

  The first ever emergency Rainbow Brigade meeting.

  Though we’re not her own age or women, Kinney created the Rainbow Brigade to feel included among trusted family members and bodyguards who are LGBTQ. What better space for her to come to in a crisis than the one she built?

  Great seating arrangement in the corner booth, as well. Kinney is in the middle with Tom and Maximoff on either side of her. Jack is close to me, my arm over his broad shoulders, and Farrow and I are sitting comfortably at either end.

  Highland spreads his long legs more against mine, so he’s not kicking the Hale prince across from us. Love that for me too.

  “Secondly, I’d like to remind everyone that what you heard or saw on my camcorder stays here,” Kinney says, pushing candles among the bottles of root beer. Those were provided by me and Jack after a gas station run. The pints of ice cream and spoons are Farrow and Maximoff’s contribution.

  Tom Cobalt just stole a Thor hammer off the merch wall.

  We all promise Kinney to never tell a soul without her permission.

  Tom raises a hand. “Question, Kinney-witchy-boo.”

  She glares at the nickname. “Ask.” Her voice is deadpanned.

  I swig the root beer like it’s my popcorn.

  Farrow is amused as fuck too. The famous ones bring endless entertainment, which always softens and lightens the raw, heavy parts.

  Though, my boyfriend is a little more reserved than usual. I wonder if it’s because of paparazzi tonight. When Jack and I exited his offices and walked to his car in a hurry, a cameraman shouted at him, “Are you gay or bi, Jack?!”

  It’s not the first time the media has pressured him to pick a label. They want some kind of confirmation that he’s into me and it’s not a publicity stunt. Like us kissing isn’t fucking enough.

  I hate that he’s being pressured at all.

  Tom edges forward in the booth. “When are we finding this Tye Smith guy?” he asks his question. “Because I propose we put bees in his locker. I know a dude—”

  “No,” Maximoff cuts in firmly.

  Tom waves Thor’s hammer like what the hell. “Then what’s this meeting for if we’re not going to plot revenge?”

  “It’s a safe place,” Maximoff emphasizes the obvious. “For any of us to come and talk to each other.”

  We all have that already. Back when I was single, I’ve been to gay bars with Tom, Maximoff, an
d Farrow. And Tom will ask questions. He constantly goes to Maximoff for guidance. We’re all willing to share in informal settings, but the formal one is needed too.

  For Kinney and for moments where we’re too busy to hit the bars or grab a coffee.

  I loved the LGBTQ club I joined in college, and the famous ones don’t trust easily. But they trust security. They trust production. They have us.

  Maximoff continues, “And if you need advice or if something shitty happens and we feel like we can’t go to our parents or our friends, we can come here.”

  “The Rainbow Brigade,” Kinney says as she slides a button and pin to Jack. “Welcome to the club.”

  He picks up both, staring at the letters.

  I squeeze him in a closer hug as his eyes redden with involuntary emotion. He seems surprised at his sudden surge of feelings.

  I’d love to hear his thoughts, but he looks too choked to express them right now.

  “Thanks…” Jack laughs into a brighter smile and lifts the button. “I’ll wear this proudly, Kinney.”

  “Cool.” She tries to act nonchalant. Girl is bad at acting because clearly this shit means something to her. And it means something to us, or else none of our asses would be here.

  Farrow and Maximoff even left Ripley with his grandparents, all their attention focused on the Rainbow Brigade.

  Tom twirls the plastic hammer. “Okay, but the bees—”

  “No,” Farrow and Maximoff say together.

  “I’m in,” I say, digging into a pint of Rocky Road.

  Tom snaps his finger to me. “We’ve got one.”

  Maximoff blinks like his brain just malfunctioned. “I’m sorry, I just realized we have way too many Slytherins in this group.”

  “Eh, could use one less dork,” Farrow says, smiling a smartass smile on his husband.

  “Continuing on,” Maximoff ignores him.

  We all laugh.

  “Our confessions,” Kinney announces, and seriousness befalls on the booth. She smooths out lacy sleeves of her black dress. “We’re all here to confess something that we’ve kept in.”

  That was my bright idea.