Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

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.