A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

  I hold the sides of the corset together as I unhook, and when I’m done with the last one, I steal a glance at him.

  His hooded eyes are on fire. He nearly slaps my hands away, rips the top down my arms, and tosses it to the floor. He stops to stare at my bare torso as I sit on the table, my hair falling just above my rosy peaks. His jaw flexes. “No one,” he growls, roughly thumbing my nipples. My head falls back, and I revel in the sensation that travels directly from my breasts to my groin.

  I suddenly feel the heat of Dan’s mouth sucking one nipple while he fondles the other breast. I run my hand through his hair. My legs tremble. “Mmm . . .” I lean back on a locked elbow.

  Dan straightens up, stares at me a moment, and unbuttons my pants. My desire may be through the roof, but his intensity is overwhelming.

  With my button unbuttoned and my zipper unzipped, he rocks the sides of my pants down. Left . . . right . . . left . . . right. I lift my hips. He yanks them down to my ankles, where he casts off my shoes and whooshes off my pants by pulling on both legs at once.

  Sitting on the table, topless and wearing only lacy panties, I try to grasp the hem of his shirt.

  “No,” he barks, backing up a little. He shifts and lunges forward, his tongue finding mine in a heartbeat. His weight forces me to lie back on the table. He straightens up and whips off his shirt before tossing it to the floor, too. Like a prowling panther, he climbs up onto the table and smacks his head on the light fixture suspended from the ceiling.

  “Fuck!” He pulls back and rubs his head. “Fuck!”

  I sit up. “Are you okay?” I catch the swinging light and reach out to rub his head.

  He stops wincing almost immediately and hops off the table, glaring at me. Then he pulls me to my feet, scoops me up, and carries me to the bedroom, muttering, “No fucking one.” Once we’re inside, he kicks the door shut and plants me on his desk. I’m not sure why—the bed is right there. I’m about to ask him when he shoves the rolling chair across the room hard enough that it smacks and rattles the dresser.

  Oh boy. Say nothing.

  I glance around the desk—there’s stuff all over it. As it is, I’m sitting on papers and, ouch, possibly a pen. I pull the pen from under my thigh. He takes it from me and drops it on the floor. As if reading my mind, he reaches around me and swipes the mountain of crap off the desk and onto the floor.

  Holy. Shit.

  Clang! Bang! Thud! “Better?” he asks, raising a rhetorical eyebrow at me.

  I nod like a good girl, and for the briefest of moments, I see the flash of a very satisfied smile on his face.

  He holds me tight as he attacks me again with lips that are swollen from hard, unyielding kisses. His tongue, forceful yet needy, searches my mouth just like his eyes do when he pulls back.

  “No one else, Claire.”

  I nod, but he clarifies anyway.

  “No one else is going to touch you like this, right?” He draws a slow line down the center of my chest to my panties, hooks a finger inside, and snaps the lacy material against my skin.

  I shake my head.

  “Or like this?” He cups one breast firmly and kneads it, thumbing my nipple and sending erotic shocks through me.

  Breathing heavy, I shake my head again.

  “Say it.”

  “No,” I whisper and swallow hard.

  His hands slide along my inner thighs while his hooded eyes capture mine. His thumbs circle on either side of my heated and desperate center.

  His thumbs inch inward . . . I tremble with anticipation.

  Finally, he lightly strokes the lace-covered spot that screams his name. And then he stops.

  “How about here, Claire? Anyone else going to touch you here?”

  “No . . . no, Dan. Please,” I say, breathing in shallow spurts.

  He shifts the crotch of my panties to the side and slides his fingers along my core. “I might be a bit younger, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I know you can have anyone. You didn’t need to prove it tonight.”

  What? He wants to discuss this now? With his hand . . . there? “I wasn’t . . . trying . . . to prove anything . . .” I can hardly focus.

  “Why were you leaving with him?”

  “I wasn’t.” I pant.

  “Whose fingers do you want here, Claire?” He slips a finger inside.

  “Oh God,” I gasp, my head warring with my body for focus. “Yours . . .”

  But then his fingers are gone, and they reappear a second later at my hips, grabbing hold of my panties. He tugs them off and drops them to the floor. Standing back, he examines my naked form.

  Our eyes lock.

  He shakes his head at me, narrowing his eyes. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I need him close. I want him with me, in me, and no longer angry.

  “Please.” I’m desperate for his body to make up with mine. Leaning back on one arm, I slip my hand across my belly and down my thigh. He watches me carefully, in control of his face, but not his jaw, which flexes.

  “Please?”

  His face slackens as his hands go for the button and zipper on his pants.

  Oh, thank God!

  A quick glance at me later, he shoves his pants and underwear down, freeing the ride I need to board. He’s absolutely spectacular from head to head to toe.

  He kisses me hard, trying to remove his pants the rest of the way with his feet. With my eyes closed, I feel him shift—left, right, left, right—and then he yells, “Oh fuck!”

  My eyes open in time to see him plunk down onto his ass, pants still lassoed around his ankles. I want to laugh, but oh no, it’s too precarious a moment for that.

  On the wood floor he sits, head down, knees up, as the silence stretches on. I wait for his reaction to determine mine. He reaches under his foot and holds up a pen.

  “Your pen?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow. His face is bare of emotion. I, on the other hand, find it highly amusing. Even though I don’t actually laugh, I have to bite my lip not to.

  He offers me the pen for some reason. I hop off the desk and reach down to take it from him when he grabs my forearm and yanks me down on top of him.

  “Ahhh!”

  He wraps his arms around me, and I lift my face to his, afraid he’s still furious.

  We gaze at one another for a long moment until he cracks a smile. “You want to laugh, don’t you?”

  I’m relieved, but continue to bite my lip. “No.”

  He shakes his head, his face lighter, softer, and wearing that beguiling smile I love. “Go on, laugh, even though I’m trying to be cool here.”

  “I’m not laughing,” I say, biting down harder. “And . . . clumsiness is the new black.” I snicker.

  He smiles wider. “Clumsy? I’ll show you clumsy.” He rolls on top of me and kicks his pants off the rest of the way. This time his lips are softer, his kisses sweeter and more affectionate. It’s only minutes before we’re full throttle again.

  Eventually, we lie sated and exhausted, half on the hardwood floor, half on the area carpet. Dan’s head rests on my chest as I comb my fingers through his hair. After a few moments, he leans up, gives me a tender kiss, and gets to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up.

  I scan the room as he leads me to the bed. Papers and pens are scattered all over the floor, scripts are tossed around, books lay open—face up and face down—his surprisingly unbroken lamp is knocked on its side, the desk chair is pushed against the dresser, sticks of gum are everywhere and clothes are strewn across the floor.

  “Ooh, you made such a mess.”

  “Well, I blame you.” He snickers, peeling back the sheet and holding it up for me to get in first.

  “Me? How do you figure?” I giggle, sliding in as he scoots in beside me. He wra
ps himself around me and kisses my head.

  “Yeah, you. You nearly made me shag you on the desk.”

  “I made you? You carried me over there, Captain Caveman.”

  He snorts. “That’s because you whispered, ‘Shag me on the desk, Dan.’ Must be an American thing.”

  I laugh. “Desk sex is an American thing? Well, then you should be happy I’m broadening your horizons.”

  “That you are.” He laughs. I burrow into his warm chest, so tired and so relaxed.

  “Are you still pissed?” he asks softly, stroking my arm with his thumb.

  “American pissed or English pissed?”

  He laughs. “English pissed—drunk, Yank.”

  “No, you pretty much killed my buzz in the bar. Were you drunk?”

  “No, I wasn’t. I just—”

  I lean up on an elbow to see his face, which looks a little lost. “You just what?”

  “I just never had that happen before.”

  “Never had fans dry humping you?”

  “What is wrong with you?” He laughs. “No, I mean, yes, I mean, no—”

  “Whatever. Women dry hump you in public. I get it.” I laugh.

  “Stop it. They do not . . . not really anyway.”

  I roll my eyes. “We both know you get dry humped; the question is . . . what never happened before?”

  He grins but is serious, nonetheless. “I never almost got into a fight in a bar. I just never got so angry, so . . . what’s the word?” He looks off, searching.

  “Possessive?”

  “Yeah, possessive. I’ve never felt so compelled to protect what’s—um . . .” He exhales. “What I hope is mine.” His expectant green eyes wait.

  My smile is a mile wide. “I’ve never had anyone fight over me before. It was kind of nice. Except for the part where you accused me of being a floozy and going off with a stranger.”

  He grimaces. “I’m sorry about that. I saw the guy following you and thought you were leaving with him because you were pissed off about those fans—”

  “Actually, I wasn’t pissed off about the fans.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He smirks.

  “This may be a little shocking because, honestly, I’m kind of surprised myself, but I realize the fan thing is a part of your life and your job, and even though I don’t like it, it’s there. It’s part of your ‘package,’ if you will. I mean, I definitely like your other package better, though, you know?”

  He laughs. “Yes, yes I do.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear as I continue. “So after your unprovoked attack upon my neck this morning, I figured if I’m going to be . . . yours, which . . . I would very much like to be, then I’m going to have to start trusting you.” I look down. Saying it out loud makes this real and far scarier, but it feels surprisingly good.

  He smiles. He curves his hand around the back of my head and pulls my face to his. His kiss is soft, but my yawn interrupts us.

  “Time for sleep, Claire,” he says gently.

  I snuggle into his chest, his arms holding me a little tighter than before. I yawn again, and before I fall to sleep, I whisper, “No one else, Dan.”

  His chest vibrates with a soft chuckle. “No one else, Claire.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Who’s talking so early?

  I turn over, exhausted mentally, emotionally, and—ooh my back—physically. The thought makes me giggle which makes my belly ache which makes my head hurt.

  I sit up. My head isn’t throbbing too badly. I rub my eyes and survey the room. Such a mess. I smile and flop back on the pillows . . . no one else.

  Speaking of no one else, where is Dan?

  I hear the voices again. It’s Dan and Colin in the kitchen. Like any self-respecting girl, I try to eavesdrop, but it seems the harder I listen, the harder it is to make out any coherent words. I do, however, catch a “Claire” from Colin followed by a “sod-off” from Dan followed by what sounds like laughing and wrestling.

  A few quiet moments later, the bedroom door opens.

  “Good morning. Been up long?” Dan asks, shutting the door. I gawk at his bare chest, which is what happens when a hot, well-built man wears only pajama pants.

  “For a few minutes,” I say, smiling wide.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and kisses me softly on my lips.

  “You still look tired,” he says, brushing my hair away from my face.

  “Yeah, well, someone kept me up half the night.”

  “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

  “That’s because you were too busy claiming me as your own.”

  He laughs. “Who was that bloke?”

  “I have no idea, but he was kind of sexy.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I nod. “Especially when the pen took him out.”

  Smiling and blushing, he shakes his head.

  “What were you and Colin talking about out there?”

  “Sorry. Did we wake you?”

  “Only when I heard my name.” I grin.

  He nods and says nothing.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Well, what were you saying?”

  Dan smirks. “He was giving me a hard time about what a state it is out there.”

  “Oh! The clothes!” I slap a hand to my mouth.

  Dan laughs. “It’s all right. They kicked everything out of the way to get past.”

  I hide under the covers. “Oh God.”

  He pries down the sheet to peek at me. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s definitely not as bad out there as it is in here. You’ve got a lot to tidy up.”

  “I’ve got to tidy up? How do you figure?”

  “You made the mess.”

  “Me? I think not. You, sir, were a man on a mission last night. You wouldn’t even listen to me about my top.”

  “What about your top?”

  “I tried telling you the strings wouldn’t loosen it.”

  He snickers. “Actually, it’s not that bad out there. It’s just your top . . . and your trousers . . . and your shoes . . . and my hat and jacket on the floor.”

  “Oh God. So Colin thinks I’m a slut now.”

  “Well, you did one hell of a pole dance.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  I swat him hard on the shoulder.

  “Ouch!” Dan says, rubbing the spot. “What? It was hot!”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course you think it was hot—you’re a guy. Guys are hardwired for that.”

  He nods, but I can tell his mind is preoccupied. “When you straddled the pole—” Dan stops to fan himself.

  The heat rushes into my cheeks. “Stop! Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”

  He laughs. “Having a good time is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I shake my head. “Okay, moving on . . . I’d like to know, by the way, why you always hop out of bed in the morning. I’m always waking up alone.”

  “I do?”

  I nod.

  “Fuck. I didn’t even realize it. Shove over,” he says, pulling back the sheet to slide in. He stops to take in my nakedness. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

  I shrug, scoot over, and snuggle up next to him while he wraps me up in his arms, which feel so good, so right.

  “So today’s my day off. We get the whole day together. What would you like to do?”

  “Hmm . . . you could skate out of bed before I wake up . . . or you could give me a tour of the set.” I laugh while he groans. “Or you can almost get into a fight at a dance club.”

  “You’re never going to want to visit
again, are you?” He laughs a little, sounding nervous.

  Visit again . . . such a bittersweet thought. The sweetness of visiting again cut with the bitterness of leaving. My natural instinct is to allow the bitter to take over, but for once in my life, I’m not going to let it. I’m going to savor every sweet moment today offers. I’ll deal with tomorrow’s bitter when I have to. “We’ll just have to see. This right here is pretty nice. Let’s stay like this today and I’ll visit again.”

  He squeezes me. “Done,” he says, and soon he’s kissing me and kissing me and caressing me and kissing me.

  And then my belly growls—like a possessed alien. Dan pulls back.

  “What the hell was that?”

  I giggle. “My belly.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”

  “Well, it looks like we’ll have to leave here sooner rather than later.” He kisses me again and makes a move to get up.

  I grab onto him. “No, not yet. I can survive for a little longer. I don’t want to share you with anyone yet.”

  “No?” he turns, beaming.

  “No. I’ve shared you this whole time . . . with everyone—and I mean everyone.” I chuckle. “I just want to be alone with you a while longer. Okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s more than okay.” He lies back down with a big ol’ grin on that gorgeous face. I settle into the nook between his shoulder and chest.

  We talk about everything and nothing. Not only is our conversation effortless, but the lulls are easy, and Dan’s arms make for the warmest, safest spot I’ve ever been snuggled in.

  It occurs to me that it was never like this with Mark. Talking was overrated in Mark’s book, and simple, affectionate gestures were more or less a prelude to sex. Yet with Dan, affection is just a part of being close and as natural as all the talking and laughing we do.

  Eventually, my belly demands food again.

  “Christ, Claire, are you sure nothing’s about to claw its way out of there? Get up, let’s go and get some breakfast.”