Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I haven’t seen any of the boys this stirred up in a long time. Maybe we really should have done this sooner.

Julian, likely just as distracted by Cosmo and already sporting a half erection–hesitates a moment too long.

“I said give it!” Cosmo barks.

Julian actually lets out a little moaning whimper, forced out of his erotic trance and into compliance.

Cosmo presses the card to his nose, deep purpley blue eyes rolling back into his head with pleasure.

“Fuck, she certainly smells good.” Cosmo, finally getting ahold of himself, manages to bite out.

“We can all see that you approve,” Sol rumbles, his eyes lingering on Cosmo’s cock straining valiantly against the fabric of his gray suit pants.

“Fine, we’ll have the fucking brunch.” He grinds out, hand already stroking himself hard through the heavy gray material.

Even though I’ve just gotten dressed, I’m already unbuttoning my linen shirt—unfastening the brass buckle of my belt.

My meeting isn’t for another hour or so, and it’s clear to see right now my pack needs me.

Thoroughly worn out, but delightfully buzzed on all sorts of brain and body chemicals, I make my way to the bar for my meeting with Lars, the cinematographer from Sweden who I’ve been in talks to make a folk horror film with once I’m out from under the thumb of my commercial contract.

After a few drinks, Lars excuses himself to take a phone call from his partner at home in Sweden and I take the opportunity to stretch my legs and get some ‘fresh air’.

The night is warm and sweet, the glow of the city at night painting everything in shades of gold and amber as I step around the corner of the building and open my silver-plated cigarette case.

I pull one of the tiny cones of unbleached rice paper from its confines and place the spliff between my lips–the sound of voices reaching my ears from deeper down the alley.

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad!”

I hear a man’s voice over the clicking sound of my spark wheel as I flick it backward, coaxing the lighter’s flame to life.

“Maybe you and I have a different understanding of bad, Vinny, because I would say that was a fucking disaster.” A woman’s voice, high and clear with anger, rose in response.

“Listen, sweetheart—you gotta expect a little bit of this and that if you wanna succeed in this business!”

It’s like a soap opera unfolding a few feet away. I can’t help but take a drag, and shuffle closer—my thin blueish ribbon of sweet, tangy smoke is the only thing that might give me away over the tall dumpster between us.

“Vinny, I’m not new to Hollywood, just to being an omega. I’m telling you, in no uncertain terms, that guy gave me the fuckin’ creeps!”

I hazard a glance, popping my head around the corner of the large blue metal dumpster to get a peek at the warring parties.

It’s the plucky little blonde ray of sunshine and Vinny Stigiliano—a well connected, if not sleazy, impresario.

Immediately I’m on guard. This could go pear-shaped very quickly—the young ingénue unduly pressured by her heavy-handed new agent.

“Daph! You gotta trust me,” Vinny pleads, wringing his hands.

I prepare myself, ready to launch to her aid at a moment’s notice.

“I am trusting you Vinny, I shipped up to Vancouver to go meet the Dubois pack, didn’t I?” She prompts.

The flush of anger high in her cheeks makes her look even more beautiful—though I have plenty enough experience to know that no lover ever wants to hear ‘you’re beautiful when you’re angry,’no matter how romantic it may seem.

“Well, yeah, but—” Vinny trips over himself.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Daphne holds her finger high in the air, giving Vinny no quarter to slither away.

“And I am still going for my audition with Sol Cooper’s pack tomorrow,” she intones seriously, still posing like a vexed librarian giving a lecture to a loud patron.