Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I follow, watching the sunlight pour over her like the golden honey basenote of her perfume.

Before I know it, I’m beside her—my hand coming to rest at the pinch of her waist as I pull her toward me.

“Plenty of time indeed,” I manage to bite out before our lips meet.

Her body responds immediately. Her hands find their way into my hair, her soft breasts press against my chest as she melts into me. My tongue is in her mouth, my hands slipping through the folds of her cotton skirts to cup her round, firm ass through the thin fabric.

Unexpectedly she pulls out of the kiss, our mouths making loud smacking sounds before she laughs, breathlessly.

“God, I must come off as such a fucking gold-digger, getting all hot and bothered after this architectural digest tour of my soon-to-be ocean side fuck palace,” she babbles maniacally before her mouth snaps shut—lips curled in over her teeth—realizing what she’s just blurted out.

I burst out laughing in the split second between her delivery and the recognition of the bluntness of her own outburst.

“Hardly,” I struggle to tame my laughter.

“In fact, I think my ego may have been bruised if you hadn’t been sufficiently moved by our efforts; Julian’s artistry and my hefty financial contributions.” I allow my hands to stay where they are, she makes no effort to move them—in fact, I can feel her press her thighs together; a little hitch in her breath as she presses against me–our faces already drifting close together once more.

“I look forward to thanking all of you for your courting gifts intimately.” Her eyelids droop, almost falling closed as we fall into another kiss.

Her hands slip from my tousled hair—fingers knitting at the nape of my neck. My own fingers move gingerly from the curve of her ass to the back of her thighs. She needs little coaxing, giving a small hop, her legs wrap around my hips, her arms slip over my shoulders as she tightens her grip around my neck.

She moans into my mouth as I lift her a little higher—resting her on the nearly counter-width wooden railing topper looking over the sea.

I break the kiss, giving her a devilish smile as my hands slide up her golden thighs, beneath the flouncy hem of her sundress.

Her eyes widen as my fingers find the lacy waistband of her panties, my index fingers hooking over the small stretch of fabric–removing the delicate garment, exposing the honeyed petals of her desire between those perfect, thick thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about tasting you since you crashed into me with your goddamn breakfast,” I rasp hungrily, navigating my way downward.

She tastes almost as good as she smells, sticky-sweet.

I lap eagerly at the slick beading along her pink lips, helping her knees to drape over my shoulders, legs dangling down against my upper back—my hands still cupping her firm ass.

“Magnus!” she gasps as I circle the point of my tongue in scrolling loops over the hardened bead of her clit.

I close my lips around the swollen bud, and suddenly both her hands are in my hair, urging my face further between those honeyed thighs.

I suck gently, one of her legs twitching slightly as she moans loudly.

Amidst the suction, I flick my tongue across her clit and she nearly jumps—her hips buck her pussy into my face.

I release her from my mouth, attending to her dripping slit with several deep, probing sweeps of my tongue.

“Magnus!” she calls out again—her legs wobbling unsteadily against my back.

I halt my ministrations and look up at her—helpless and flushed. I can see the wobble in her elbows, the struggle for her to keep herself upright under the burden of her own pleasure.

“Here,” I growl, rising from my knees to help lift Daphne from the railing, her mouth finding mine as we kiss. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and her legs grip around my waist.

Carefully, I set her down on the nearby outdoor sofa—its plush white cushions and upright rattan back overlook the ocean.

Daphne lets out a weak whimper as I break apart from her.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible tease, Mr. Wagner?” she pouts, spreading her legs wide to let me look at her.

Clever girl, she knows I like to watch.

“No,” I smirk, settling into a seat on the floor, my back against the bottom cushion of the sofa. My eyes never leave her—I watch keenly as she begins touching herself.