Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I easily could try my hand at ‘50’s housewife chic’ or ‘girl next door sundress and sandals,’ but everything I tried on felt wrong. I don’t feel like any of those things tonight. I want to be Daphne. Open. Honest. Ready to move forward with authenticity and with love. So, I do what makes me feel most comfortable. I slip into a pair of Sol’s boxer-briefs, their inseam just long enough to appear from the bottom of one of Magnus’ oversized featherweight sweaters—one of Julian’s satin scrunchies tied in the messy bun stacked on top of my head.

To my surprise, Magnus arrives first. He looks exhausted as he drags himself in through the front door—kicking his leather loafers off and shuffling toward the couches in the conversation pit.

I descend upon him with an absolutely filthy martini and a delicately rolled indica joint.

“Magnus, you’re going to hear me say it a lot this evening, but I just want to start by saying how sorry I am,” I begin, doing my best to keep from disintegrating into a blubbering sobbing mess straight away.

He looks up at me, at the peace offerings in my hands.

For a moment, I’m worried he’s going to tell me to leave him alone, to give him space. Instead, Magnus reaches up and takes the frosty glass along with the joint perched in its large cut glass ashtray from me—placing it on the coffee table before he pats the cushion beside him on the couch meaningfully.

I hide my hands in the long sleeves of his sweater and carefully tuck my legs beneath me as I take a seat next to him.

He looks at me carefully, the golden flecks in his garnet eyes seeming to dance with the low light of the candles I’ve lit around the living room in an attempt to create the most inviting ambience possible.

I almost flinch as his hand comes to my face, his fingers gently sweeping over the high round of my cheekbone and tucking a stray curl that’s escaped from my very messy bun behind my ear.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” He sighs, his lips pressing together.

I nod and half-shrug, doing my best not to spill fresh tears.

“My own damn fault for fucking up.” I try to talk tough, but my voice cracks and I hate how pathetic it sounds.

Magnus holds my gaze with a curious intensity.

“In your estimation, how did you fuck up?” He queries, his hand gently caressing the side of my face all the while.

“I violated your trust—Sol’s and Julian’s too.” I blink back my tears reaching my own hand up to cover Magnus’.

“I want to be completely clear that I don’t think that bonding myself to Cosmo and the rest of Pack Silver by proxy was a mistake,” I say, my words unwavering.

“I think it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I can feel my lips wobbling and the tears threatening to break the dam, but I push on.

“I can’t wait until I bond with the rest of you, until everything is official—but I understand if the rest of you feel like you need to wait after how Cosmo and I behaved. I know that it takes a lot to build trust and almost nothing at all to break it beyond all repair.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Magnus’ lips.

“Has anyone told you that you’re incredibly compelling when you want to be, Miss Dale?” he intones, loosening the silvery green tie at his throat.

I can’t help but smile back, I feel a palpable relief, like a cinder block being lifted from my chest.

“Though, I do think you do need a little punishment,” he smirks devilishly, sitting back on the sofa.

I raise my eyebrows.

“And what do you think would be appropriate, Mr. Wagner?” I bat my eyelashes innocently.

“Well, we don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves—lest we end up in even more hot water with one another as a pack,” he chuckles to himself, absently patting his lap.

“But I think a little spanking might be in order,” he rumbles, a mock seriousness drawing his features into a comical scowl as he gestures for me to lay across his lap.

“Yes, Packmaster,” I simper, stretching over his lap

“You will have five strokes—one for each of us, I should think that will do the trick.”

“Yes, Packmaster,” I echo.

Magnus helps bend me over his knees, hiking my sweater up and pulling the elastic waist of my purloined boxer briefs down below the curve of my ass.