Oscar passes Charlie the phone. “Dad?” Charlie says, his voice controlled. “Can you just talk to me for a second?” He slides down the wall and tucks his head between his knees.
I touch my camera that’s still around my neck. It’s been rolling this whole time, and that fact knots my stomach.
“Hey.” Oscar sidles next to me and his eyes skim my camera too.
After about a month of filming, I know this footage today is gold. It’s a producer’s dream to have their subject in such a vulnerable position. To confess something so personal. And yet, would Charlie have ever told me this without being under the influence? Without being trapped in an elevator?
I don’t think so.
Ethically, morally, I feel stuck at a crossroads.
Before I make a decision, I have more questions, and they’re not for Charlie. “Did you know?” I whisper to Oscar. “That that’s the reason he lets people hurt him?”
Oscar nods. “If intelligence is a ladder,” he tells me softly, “Charlie’s trapped at the top. And it’s a frustrating place to be.”
A tortured genius. It feels like a hook for Born into Fame, and I hate it. I hate that I know it might sell. I hate even thinking about it here. I don’t want to exploit Charlie. He’s currently crying on the ground, high out of his mind, talking to his dad.
The elevator jerks.
Charlie’s head pops out of his knees. “Oscar?”
“We’re getting out of here,” Oscar tells him.
36
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
“He’s asleep.” I close our bedroom door in the suite. Charlie’s safe and sound in his bed. His room is just across the living area. It’s one of those times I’m glad we’re staying in a ridiculously expensive hotel with giant multi-bedroom accommodations.
If he was staying in a normal hotel room, for my own conscience, I’d be standing outside his door in the hallway all night.
Luckily, I can relax here. Especially with Jack around.
My husband—if he even still wants to be that. He’s got a hip against the window, drapes drawn back, like he’s been watching the city streets, but right now, his eyes are on me.
I can’t believe we haven’t spoken about our marriage in over fifteen hours. It feels massively like my fault. If he drunkenly married any other guy, they’d have hashed it out immediately. Not put it on pause for a trip to fucking Austria.
I’m stiff against the door, air and silence separating us. Now that we’re alone together it’s almost like I can’t find the words. I finish tying a rolled banana around my forehead and I say, “I wouldn’t blame you, if you want to get an annulment, Highland.”
His face cracks. “What?”
Pressure mounts on my chest. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to stay in a marriage with me because of some drunken decision. So if you want to get an annulment, it won’t change anything between us. I promise you that. We’ll just go back to how it was.” I keep pushing the figurative window open for him in case he needs to escape this situation.
Jump back out.
Being with me isn’t easy, and I don’t want to trap him here after a drunken, stupid night. I loved that stupid night.
His expression is frozen in a perpetual wince. “I don’t understand…do you want an annulment?”
No.
No hesitation. I want to stay married to Jack Highland, but I can’t say those words. I run a hand through my thick curly hair. “Would it be alright if I didn’t answer that?” I ask him. “Because if I say one way or the other, I’m going to feel like you’re making a decision based on mine.”
He looks me over. “But you have decided?”
I nod once.
He holds onto the window ledge. “You know that your non-answer is an answer, Os. You’re a good guy, I know you’d be upfront and tell me that you want an annulment if that’s where your head was at. So this is just to…what? Put the decision on my shoulders?”
“It is your decision, Highland.”
He sucks in a tight breath. “This marriage is between both of us.”
“And we couldn’t even talk about it for over fifteen hours,” I say into a bitter laugh. “Whose fault was that? Mine.” I point at my chest. “You really want to be married to someone who treats you like the other guy and not the main focus?” Tears threaten to rise. “I give so much of myself to my job, and unfortunately that job revolves around one person. Charlie. How could you want that?”
Realization washes over him. “Oscar, I’ve never felt like I’m in a competition with Charlie for your attention.” He takes a step closer, but he stops. I take one and stop.
The strain in the room is like pushing two wrong ends of a magnet together. It hurts to move forward.
“I don’t give you as much as I give him,” I say, my insecurities bubbling to the surface.
Jack shakes his head. “That’s not true.” His confidence in that one statement sends a ripple through my body.
“Jack, you don’t have to placate me—”
“I’m not feeding you a line, Oscar,” he says, his voice choked. “I have all of you. Charlie gets Work Oscar. Bodyguard Oscar. Which is a very particularly endearing version of you, but it’s not the complete package. You’ve given me all of you.” He walks closer. “And yeah, it blows a little that we haven’t had time to talk—I’m not going to sugarcoat that—but timing isn’t our best friend. I’ll get over it.” He’s inches away, but we don’t reach out to touch.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have to get over it,” I tell him. “You could be married to someone else that’d give you more time.”
“I don’t want time,” Jack breathes. “I want you. Your support. Emotional, mental, physical. I want it all.”
Our fingers brush against one another, but we still don’t crash together. Don’t hold hands. Something feels unresolved between us. So I just ask, “But do you want to be married to me?”
Our eyes latch, and he winces again.
My heart crushes inside my chest. Smashed down to nothing. I can’t breathe. I try to keep an impassive face. I told Jack that it wouldn’t change things, if he wanted an annulment.
I’m trying to keep that promise.
“Oscar,” Jack whispers. “I do want to be married to you, but…”
My chest rises and falls in his silence, and it takes all my energy not to run away from the pain compounding against me.
Jack’s gaze washes over me. “I’m doing this wrong. I’m hurting you.”
I don’t deny that. “There’s not really a right way to do it, Long Beach,” I tell him. “Like I said, if you need the annulment, if this is too soon, I’m fine with that. I’ll be okay.”
“Will we be okay?” Jack wonders. He motions from his chest to mine.
My throat swells. “I think so.”
His eyes redden, overwhelmed emotion passing between us. “I love you,” he tells me. “I can actually see a future with you, Oscar. It’s this crazy, high-adrenaline future where we’re both running around the world together. I’m filming my docuseries, and you’re protecting your client. And at the end of the day when we’re both exhausted as fuck, we climb into bed together and hold each other and we don’t even have to catch each other up on our day because we just know.” He puts a hand to his chest. “I want that. So what I’m about to say has nothing to do with you or your job. Okay?”
Pain spindles between us because it feels like he’s setting me up for the crash down. Not even a gentle let down. Like he’s passing me a parachute before we both jump out of the plane.
“I need time to decide whether I want an annulment. Whether I feel like, for the both of us, it’s the better option.” He hugs his strong arms around his body, closing off.
Seeing him like that breaks my heart.
I finally reach for him, grabbing his wrist and separating his threaded arms. I pull him closer. Our knees knock, and my hand slides to his palm. His flies to my collarbones over my tattoos, planted in a wa
y that feels like he’s claiming me.
“I have to explain why,” Jack breathes softly.
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve been dating one month. Every article, every magazine, every voice on social media, they’re all going to say our marriage is just more of a publicity stunt to combat the Oslie rumors.” He grimaces. “I love you so fucking much, and having that type of negativity attached to a marriage feels crushing. You deserve confetti and congratulations and every good thing that comes with this type of announcement.”
“You deserve that too, Highland.”
He nods, but tears gather in his eyes. “Maybe if we wait to get married down the road. People won’t be so critical. It’s a possibility.”
I know.
But I don’t care about other people. I can be married now to him and face all those voices. Do I wish Jack is where I am? Sure, but we all have our own timelines, and I can’t force his. Even if it hurts.
“The problem I’m having is that every time I consider getting the annulment, it makes me physically sick,” Jack says into a deeper wince. “Which is why I probably need time to make the decision.”
In his heart, I don’t think Jack wants to end this marriage. I breathe easier knowing that, but it still doesn’t change the fact that our rings are going to remain in our pockets for a good while. Maybe forever, depending on where his head lands.
“I’m good with that.” Saying those words, I’m starting to feel it.
Because he needs time, and I need him to make this decision with a clear level-head. I want him to want this marriage completely and without reservations.
I add, “So we probably shouldn’t tell anyone what happened.”
“Would you be okay with that?” Jack asks. “Because I know you’re close to Farrow and Donnelly—”
“They’ve kept so much shit from me, bro. Farrow dating Maximoff. Donnelly hooking up with Luna.” I laugh softly. “It’s my fucking turn.” I lay a hand on top of his, the one that’s planted on my collarbones.
A moment passes between us. Understanding. We’re going to remain married, but for how long—who knows?
Jack edges closer, digging my back into the closed door. We grind in together like we’re slowly mending something that fissured. His lips brush against my ear. “I’m sorry you have to wait for me.” To make a decision, are the unsaid words.
“For you, I don’t mind waiting,” I whisper back. Our hands are roaming. Our bodies bucking into one another. Gripping his ass, I push him harder against me. His lips part against my neck.
“For anyone else,” I tell him. “They can go fuck off.”
I feel his lips rise into a smile, and he pulls back just enough to wedge his hand down between our bodies. He rubs my dick over the top of my pants. His eyes flit to mine, his smile turning into a full-on charming grin. “How do you feel about fucking a married man?”
“Depends,” I say, kicking off from the door. I walk him back towards the gold four-poster bed with a cream comforter and fluffy décor pillows. His ass hits the mattress.
“On what?” His eyes fall to my lips.
“If that married man is married to me.” I pick him up by the ass and he lets out a guttural aroused breath as I toss him further back on the mattress. I hop onto the bed and straddle him before he has time to move anywhere. His chest rises and falls, his hand on top of his head, winded, out of breath. All of the above.
He lies beneath me.
Gorgeous.
Tens across the board.
But we’re playing with fire by talking about our marriage while we do this. Because it feels a little like twisting a rope around our hearts. Squeezing the organs until they rupture.
Still, I want to play this game because even if it’s just tonight, I’d rather sink into the feeling of being married to Jack. Tomorrow, we could end it all, but at least we have this now.
Drinking him in, I only drag my eyes away to rip my shirt off over my head. He kicks off his pants. I help him with his shirt. We’re hands and limbs and lips. Smoldering each other.
He breaks apart in a jagged breath. “Os.” His eyes veer towards our luggage by the door, and he puts a hand on my shoulder like he’s about to push me off.
I put a hand to his shoulder. “You stay and keep looking beautiful. I’ve got it.” Climbing off his athletic build, I strut buck-naked to my backpack. I grab the lube and condoms. When I return to the bed, Jack’s already tugging himself.
I smile. “Hold up, Long Beach. Wait for me.” I slide my hand under his, rub him a couple strokes, and kiss the hell out of his lips.
My cock aches, wanting inside him too badly to eke this out. I break apart and slide a condom on my hard shaft. When I glance back up, Jack’s shivering.
“You cold?” I run a hand over his thigh.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not cold.”
My heart beats faster. “You nervous?”
“No.” He blows out a breath. “This feels different than the other times. Good different. I’m just more…overwhelmed, I guess.”
“I am, too.”
His brows jump in surprise. “You are?”
I laugh. “Meu raio de sol, we’re married. For tonight at least. I’m your husband.”
That last statement charges a stronger voltage in the air. Arousal builds as our eyes search one another.
“And I’m your husband tonight,” Jack says, amplifying the powerful current even more. He’s still shivering, and I know how to heat him up.
Leaning down, I press my lips to his, guiding them open the same time as I open him below with my fingers. We fall into a rhythm as I lightly thrust against him. He deepens the kiss, and when he cuts away to let out a ragged, chopped breath, I have to pull my fingers out of him.
My erection throbs. I spread his legs open a little more and run a hand along his shaft. “You ready?”
“Please.”
Fuck. I answer him by sinking inside him, slowly filling him. It feels too good for words, and my bliss is only heightened by the arousal in Jack’s eyes. His hands fly to his head as I pump into him. Chests nearly flush, my lips press against the base of his jaw.
The bed rocks with my force, and my breath heavies and staggers as I push in and out, creating beautiful intoxicating friction. Jack’s erection slides against my abs, and I reach down to give him a few pumps. Pre-cum coating my palm.
When I pull away, he has this tortured look in his eyes. He’s about to reach down.
I slow my thrusts so that I can take his hand and put it back on his head. “Do me a favor, Long Beach,” I say in heavy breath. “Keep your hands on your head.”
A. It’s fucking adorable.
B. I don’t want him touching himself tonight.
He gives me a worried look. “Then I can’t touch you, Os.”
Ah, yes. This is his insecurity about being selfish. “You don’t need to touch me,” I tell him. “I’m inside you, Highland.”
His face flames. “God.” His muscles twitch. And he nods, a moan rough on its way out. “You feel good inside me.”
I’m on a fucking ascent right now. Nerves pricking, blood cranked up. And I rock against him in two hard movements that cause his eyes to snap closed. “Os.”
“You alright?” I ease to a gentler rhythm.
His eyes open slowly, his hands fisting his hair. “Dude, please do that again.”
I pump in two jackhammer movements that cause a deep, guttural groan from his chest. It blazes every nerve-ending in my body, and I press closer as I keep a steadier pace. Something that won’t make him too sore tomorrow.
Thrusting my hips, flexing smoothly down and in.
My hand returns to his length. He shudders after two strokes, and I pull away again. The whimper on his lips sounds fragile. Our foreheads slide together. Breaths melding. “Os,” he pleads.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
My movements have slowed so much that I feel him trembling against me. Like he crave
s those two hard pumps either from my hand or my cock and I’m giving him neither.
But I want to eke out every last second of this.
If this is all we have.
Sweat coats our bodies, built between us like a blanket of heat. My hair sticks to my forehead, and Jack takes a hand off his head. Just to push my hair back for me. Tenderness wraps around us, and we’re practically cradling each other as I rock in and out of him. His muscled chest glistens in sweat, and he leaves his palm on my head. Fingers threaded into my hair now. I’m thanking every star and moon and sun for sending him to me.
My body aches for a pleasured release, and when I up the pace, Jack’s fingers coil in my hair. “OsOsOs.”
“Fuck,” I moan and groan, grabbing onto the headboard as I push harder, wanting deeper.
He glances down at his erection like he wants that touch.
I press my lips to his forehead. “No hands, meu raio de sol.”
Hand clutching the headboard, I thrust two more times with a firm, direct goal. I feel him shudder in a full-body release, and mine happens seconds later. The out-of-the-universe climax drains oxygen from my brain, and it takes a second to catch my bearings.
Slowly, I roll off him, and he immediately pulls me back into his arms. Hanging his bicep over my sweaty chest. We’re curled up together. Limbs threaded. Neither of us bother getting underneath the covers. “Oscar,” Jack breathes.
But that’s all he says.
That’s all he needs to say.
We just made love, and emotion still strings between us like a lit flame. His head buries against the crook of my neck. I am so in love with him.
And I’m so fucking scared of losing him.
37
JACK HIGHLAND
Keeping our marriage quiet for over two weeks has been harder than I thought it’d be. Considering, I’m the one who wanted time to decide on an annulment, I shouldn’t feel this need to tell people that Oscar Oliveira is my husband.
But there I was minding my own business at the WAC offices, eating a ham and cheese sandwich, casually scrolling through some entertainment sites, when I landed on an article about “the Pro” in Security Force Omega. Embedded in the story was a shirtless photo of Oscar. I recognized his yellow bathing suit trunks and the orange bandana. Sand beneath his feet. It was taken in California.
Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7) Page 37
