Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

Julian and I look at one another, unsure of how to lead and follow. We don’t know how to begin this dance. It’s new territory for all of us.

Daphne watches, every ounce of her attention on Julian, and I.

Julian stands, subduing his bobbing erection by tucking it up into the waistband of his slacks before he makes his way to my lounge chair. Though I’ve got nearly five inches on him while standing, sitting down, we’re closer to the same height.

I lean down, Julian purring softly to calm both of our nerves. We kiss, a fairly chaste affair compared to the tongue wrestling and minor groping between Julian and Daphne earlier. Still, she sits—eyes twinkling with intrigue, as our faces part.

“Alright,” I sigh, gripping the bottle in the center of the floor.

Everyone holds their breath as the green glass oracle spins around and around.

Somewhere in the cosmos, the fates laugh, and the bottle stops on Sol. How’s that for dramatic irony?

I’m preparing to make like Julian, tucking my obtrusive boner up and into the elastic band of my boxers in order to avoid wagging my pitched tent all over creation on my way to Sol’s pool lounger, when Sol is suddenly in front of me.

Sol pushes me into a forced reclining position against the back of the long chaise lounge—my legs flail as I’m knocked off balance.

“What are you?” I begin, barely above a whisper, so only Sol can hear, but he’s already clamoring over me, knees firmly planted on either side of my hips.

“Just, shut up, Cos,” Sol rasps, low and urgent in my ear, taking my face in his hands.

Then his mouth is on mine. I can feel the scratch of his golden stubble against the angle of my jaw, the flex of his abdominal muscles as my hands rove down his body, and Jesus, Mary, Fuck, I can feel his knot, hard and pulsing through the thin fabric of his shorts—my own cock beginning to swell at the base, throbbing with need. I almost lose control of my higher functions and just start ripping Sol’s clothes off to keep either one of us from descending, hard and ravenous, upon Daphne—only a few feet away.

We must continue on like this for a little too long because Magnus clears his throat loudly and officiously to get us to stop.

Sol dismounts me, reluctantly. Once he steps out of the way, I can see Daphne—a hot flush on her cheeks, and her chest rapidly rising and falling with ragged breaths as her bare knees press tightly together.

“Thank you for the show, gentlemen,” Magnus purrs benevolently, gesturing for Sol to make his turn of the bottle.

Doing his best to chivalrously hide his ‘excitement,’ literal and figurative, Sol spins the bottle.

Wouldn’t you believe it, the lucky bastard scores, again. It lands directly on Daphne.

Her face bursts into a grin, then becomes unexpectedly stricken.

“God, this is so embarrassing—but um.” She stands from her place on the seat and immediately darts a panicked glance to the seat cushion.

While the cushion looks completely unharmed, my eyes are instantly drawn to Daphne’s shapely legs. Slick glistens on the insides of her golden thighs—from the hem of her sundress to her knees. Even though she’s on the prescribed suppressants, she has all of us on the edge of our seats—wagging our tongues.

“We’ve got some extra shorts and t-shirts hanging about that you can take a dip in,” Sol offers, ever the gentleman, putting the lady—the omega’s needs first.

I know Magnus would love to lick her clean if he had his way. For now he sits silent, his willpower not to give in to his primal urges like an iron grip on the reigns of his wild desire. I do my best to mimic his facade of cool control.

“And I can wash your things in the meantime—if you like. We have dry stuff you can hang in until your things are ready,” Julian adds.

Daphne gives a sheepish nod.

“M-might as well finish the game first, since I’m already a mess.” She gives a breathy titter.

Sol doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s upon her in a step and a half—his hands gripping the round of her shoulders as he plants one on her.

We all watch Daphne melt into his arms, Sol’s hands moving to cradle the back of her head as he tilts her back slightly, their tongues pushing past one another.

Julian actually clasps his hands under his chin as he watches, as if we’ve got one of his favorite rom-coms up on the flatscreen.

I’m trying not to jump them both. The knot at the base of my cock is turgid and hot—almost as bad as if I were in a rut.

Fuck.