Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

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.