Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

“Because I always satisfy, Miss Dale,” I growl, allowing my head to fall back onto the sofa cushion.

“Now,” I command, stroking my aching hardness through the leg of my jeans.

“Come sit on my face. I am going to make you cum for the first of many, many times, Miss Dale,” I snarl.

“Yes, Mr. Wagner—right away Mr. Wagner,” she plays a ditzy secretary as she hikes up her skirt and takes a seat astride my face.

Daphne’s hips grind into my face as I devour her—her hands grip the back of the sofa as she rides me.

“Fuck, Magnus–I’m so goddamn tight,” she whines as I suck on her clit.

I reach under my chin, carefully negotiating first my index, then my middle finger inside her slick, hot tightness.

“More, please,” Daphne moans.

I increase my speed, fingers curling toward her g-spot; tongue flicking like a joy buzzer.

“I don’t know if I can wait Magnus,” Daphne pants.

I moan against her, her entire body shuddering with the vibration of the sound.

“I want your knot,” she whines.

Again, I can’t help myself—a sound, low and sonorous—escapes me.

As much as I want to lose control, to bury myself to the hilt inside her—to make her cum again and again on my rock hard girth—it is not what we decided as a pack. Knotting her on our first date was not in the courting cards. We are doing this the right way—taking it slow, making sure everything is as it should be before any premature attachments are made in the heat of the moment.

I close my lips around Daphne’s clit and slip my ring finger inside her, my three fingers stroking firm and deep.

The sudden additional fullness is enough to send her over the edge.

“Magnus I’m cumming!” she calls out, thighs nearly crushing my skull with the power of her orgasm.

Exhausted, she tumbles off of me and onto the free sofa cushion, her skirts still hiked around her beautiful bow-curve hips.

“And what did I tell you, Miss Dale?” I pant, catching my breath.

Daphne, also winded, gives me a devilish grin—settling in on the far end of the rattan sofa, her legs still spread wide to reveal her slick pussy.

“Are you not satisfied?” I prop myself on my side, wiping my mouth with the monogrammed handkerchief from my pocket.

“Well, Mr. Wagner—while that was an incredibly impressive performance, I would be telling tales if I said that I was already satisfied.” Her eyes sparkle with lustful mischief, and I am nearly undone.

“Well, I have a reputation to maintain Miss Dale—so if you please?” I gesture for her to recline, already climbing onto the sofa on my belly—face once again between her legs.

“Of course Mr. Wagner,” she hums happily—slouching into the sofa as my tongue finds her again.

“By all means.”

Sol and I agreed to meet at the beach.

Not just any beach. My beach.

The thought gives me pause. I’ve always thought of the public beach down my street where I surf in the early morning, and spend my days off reading trashy novels in the baking sun with my tanning lotion on—as my beach. Ever since I moved into this little apartment, it’s been mine even though hundreds of other locals and tourists cross the sands every day.

Now, with this crazy twist of fate—Tern’s Nest really is a tiny piece of paradise on a small slice of what is truly my beach—if this isn’t some fantastic dream I’m about to wake from. I keep pinching myself, as if it can’t possibly be real.

Since we made our plans before Magnus had shown me the unbelievably grandiose gift of my new nesting bungalow; when Sol had suggested I plan the first part of our day together and he would handle the evening, I told Sol to meet me at the beach down the street from my apartment with his swimsuit.