Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

“I’m not,” he chokes out. “I’m not.” We’re not touching, but it feels like we’re already clinging to each other for dear fucking life. “I promise.”

Our foreheads nearly brush, his lips ghosting over mine, and in a husky breath, I whisper, “Can I kiss—”

His mouth presses to mine, the tension of this is happening, this is happening, this is happening stretches tendons in our necks and arms and bodies—and when it sinks in, we snap fully together. We collide into each other with breakneck desire, our lips crushing and teasing open.

I drop my hardbacks.

Barely hearing them clatter at our feet, my freed hand clutches the back of his skull, and he fists my Yale tee and claws at the hard edge of my face. Lip-locked, I feel his curiosity. His hand that strokes the roughness of my jaw. His waist that arches against my pelvis. The outline of his erection brushes against my hard length. Fully-clothed, he can feel me.

I can feel him and the twitch of his dick as he craves more. I’m burning the fuck up, and his tongue slides against mine with effortless skill that welds me to him with molten steel. Fuck.

I grind forward into him. He pushes back, still trapping me against the elevator wall. His breath hitches against my mouth, maybe overwhelmed at the newness of being with a man. Like he’s been starving for this his whole life and wants to drink his entire fill in one go.

Thirty-three floors.

We have to descend thirty-three floors together before the elevator reaches the ground.

His hand curves around my neck, my traps, feeling my muscles. A groan is trapped in my throat. Holy fuck. Making out with Jack is like strapping into a carnival ride and whirling at high speeds. Dizzying, adrenaline-fueled.

Muscles flexed, I thread my fingers through his hair and deepen a teasing, playful kiss, my grin against his mouth, his smile against mine.

I squeeze his ass.

“Fuck,” he groans roughly when our lips break, his forehead pressing to the wall beside my jaw with a staggered breath. His hand is still on my jaw. Our eyes are open, and I watch his head turn and his attention draw to our bodies. We’re two men pushed chest-to-chest, pelvis-to-pelvis, and it’s taking everything in me not to palm him. To feel him against my hand.

And then Jack drags his hand back and forth over his length that bears hard against his jeans. “I’m so hard, dude,” he breathes. “It’s killing me.” His gaze lingers on my mouth.

Christ.

Blood cracking another thousand degrees, I glance over his shoulder at the numbers ticking downward. Floor 3. He follows my gaze and sees too. We pull apart. Lit up to an indescribable degree.

I grab the hardbacks, still set to broil. He faces the elevator doors, his hands on his head and breath coming hard.

He seems relaxed. Like he’s basking in the aftermath of a good fuck, even if all we did was kiss. He made the first move. This time, at least. I almost can’t believe it. But then again, his blood cells might as well be named Charisma and Confidence, swimming around in his veins.

As I near him, I notice Jack has a single freckle by his temple. The randomness makes it even more beautiful. Makes him beautiful.

Call me a poet.

D-rated, probably, but hell, I’m a poet after kissing this guy.

Books in my grasp, I stand beside Jack. His gorgeous honey-brown eyes pool against mine, and then he smiles, still catching breath.

I grin. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you’re alright, Highland.”

He drops his hands off his head with a soft laugh. “I’m better than alright. That was…” He zones into the elevator number. Ground floor.

Our stop.

I want to hear what he has to say, but I’m on-duty, and protecting Charlie has to take priority. “This conversation isn’t over,” I tell him with a wider grin while we exit the elevator. “Just on ice for a second.”

“Good, because I need to cool off before we see Charlie.” He adjusts his package and walks with me to the parking deck.

Charlie. That little bastard hooked me up with Highland, and somehow, it worked.

I unlock my Hell’s Kitchen studio apartment as the time closes in on 4 a.m. And that’s exactly what happens when you have to chase after Charlie’s shadow all day.

Say hello to the never-ending job. Home to sleep-deprived, hungry motherfuckers, which is why I remember to bring snacks. Or else I’d accidentally drop twenty pounds.

I complain a lot, but I love it. Being a bodyguard.

My life didn’t make sense before security, and it doesn’t make sense without it.

Today was typical, but not with Jack in tow. What started as a trip to the Morgan Library, ended up being another visit to NYPL, a pitstop at the hospital to donate blood, drinks and dinner at The Purple Room, and a handoff of cash for entrance into a private garden after-hours.