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

by Q. T. Ruby

  “You know, your staring is a little distracting. Let’s keep this fair, please,” I say.

  His eyes widen as he stalks around the table and snatches me by the waist. “Fair? This—” He nods down. “This is not fair. Not at all. Do you want me to lose? Do you not want to visit me?”

  “Of course I want to visit you. I’m just curious as to how badly you want me to . . . come,” I say suggestively, smirking and slinking out of his grasp. I aim.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him run his hand along the back of his reddened neck, completely uncomfortable and entirely turned on. I’m in awe of the power of boobs.

  I hit the ball while his eyes focus on nothing but my chest. The blue striped ball slips into the pocket; the green striped one plops in next. Now we’re tied.

  “I cannot fucking believe you are cheating like this,” he says quietly, sitting on a nearby barstool and still staring.

  I straighten up and look at him. “Cheating? How do you figure?”

  “What do you mean how do I figure? You’ve got . . . you’re . . . I mean, look at . . . they’re right . . . ugh! How am I supposed to concentrate? It’s entirely unfair.”

  I arch my back a smidge. “You’re just upset that I am going to win.”

  He narrows his eyes. “All this proves”—he waves a hand at my breasts—“is there is no way you’re winning. No chance. Because I will be having my way with them in Mexico. So you should put on your sweatshirt because this”—he waves his hand at my breasts again—“is pointless.”

  I tuck the tank top into my jeans, nice and snug, causing it to cling even further to my breasts. I look down at my two lovely friends and back up at his gaping mouth. “Nah, I think I’ll stay like this.” I turn back to the table and shoot again, getting a fourth ball in. “I’m up 4-3, my love.”

  “Don’t you ‘my love’ me. You are cruel and . . . ugh . . . fucking hot, okay?” He huffs as I try getting another ball in but miss.

  He stands to take his turn across the table from me. When he bends over to aim, I lean over, too; the shirt dips away from my chest, exposing much more cleavage.

  He freezes and stares straight down my shirt.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Dan,” I say seductively and straighten up.

  He shakes his head and aims, muttering, “So fucking unfair. So unfair.”

  Sadly, the magic of my breasts only lasts so long. Before I know it, he’s way ahead and gloating.

  “Well, my love, looks like your little plan didn’t work. Looks like I’ll be the ultimate winner,” he says, lining up his shot for the eight ball.

  I roll my eyes, annoyed that my near toplessness does nothing to derail his victory.

  “I am so good at pool. And here you thought your two distractions would make me lose. HA!” he says, pulling back on his cue.

  At the same moment Dan pushes forward on the cue, my cell phone rings, startling me and causing me to yelp, which causes Dan to hit the ball too hard, which causes the white ball to slip into the pocket.

  He hangs his head in defeat as I snicker and dig the phone out of my back pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. May I speak with Claire Parelli, please?”

  “This is she.”

  “Hello, Ms. Parelli. Please hold for David Schulman from The Image Group.”

  “Okay,” I say, confused. What’s The Image Group? Dan furrows his brow, silently asking if everything’s all right. I nod and hear a male voice on the line.

  “Hello, Ms. Parelli?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is David Schulman. I am an agent with The Image Group. I specialize in musical talent within the film industry and represent composers and musicians. A good friend of mine, Beverly Williams, passed along your phone number and thought I might be of use to you in your musical career.”

  I’m rendered speechless.

  “Ms. Parelli?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just caught off guard here,” I stammer.

  He continues. “Ms. Williams has an excellent ear for musical talent. Only twice before has she recommended someone to me, and both have gone on to achieve great success. She spoke very highly of your abilities, but also of your work ethic, which is a quality not easily found. What I’d like to do is set up a meeting between us to see if working together is something that would interest you.”

  With a rollercoaster of thoughts racing through my mind, I somehow manage to say, “When would you like to meet?”

  “Is tomorrow at eleven in the morning good for you?”

  “Tomorrow at eleven. Yes. Great.”

  “I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Parelli.”

  “Me, too. Thank you.”

  After he gives me the address, I disconnect the call and stare at Dan.

  “You all right? Who was that?”

  “That was a talent agent from The Image Group—a David Schulman? He wants to meet me tomorrow at eleven.”

  For a brief moment, we stand silent, and then we both squeak and throw our arms around each other. Dan spins me around, laughing along with me.

  “That’s bloody brilliant, Claire! I’m so happy for you!” he says as he puts me down and kisses me—an exhilarating, all-out kiss—right in the middle of the deserted pub.

  Just as our hands begin to think on their own, Dan pulls away. “We’d better stop.” He beams proudly. “You probably don’t know this, but David Schulman is one of the top agents in L.A. God, I am so fucking happy for you.”

  “Really? Oh my God, I can’t believe this! This is insane!”

  “No, it’s how it should be, my love. You deserve it.”

  Tears surface as I fill to the brim with emotion. Will he ever know just how much he’s changed me?

  “Are you crying?” he asks, shoving his face in mine.

  “I’m just so happy! I’ve never been so happy. It’s a little overwhelming, you know?” I dab my eyes with my finger.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” he says, grazing his fingers across my cheek to cup my head. He kisses me again; it quickly grows urgent.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” he says, stopping suddenly. Running his hand along the back of his neck, he exhales deeply. “Between all this happening for you, and you wearing that fucking tank top that made me lose—”

  “My tank top didn’t make you lose. You did that on your own.” I giggle, wiping my eyes.

  “On my own?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at me and grinning. He leans in closer. “You’ve got next to nothing separating your breasts and me, and they are just begging—and I mean begging—me to touch them . . . and kiss them . . . and taste them,” he says, his voice growing deeper as his eyes are glued to my chest. “Fuck!” he says, stepping back to give our bodies distance.

  I smirk and glance at the evidence of my win on the pool table. “Well, looks like I won. I guess you really aren’t that interested in having me visit you in Mexico.” I begin to turn away when he catches my arm.

  “Put this on,” he says, handing me my hoodie. “We’re leaving.”

  “Leaving? Our date is over?” I ask, slipping the sweatshirt on.

  “No. We’re going back to my house so I can show what the end of a proper date should be like.”

  “Cleaning up pizza boxes? Tossing containers of leftover Chinese? Sorting dirty laundry?” I ask with mock excitement.

  He laughs. “How’d you guess?” He grabs my hand and leads us quickly to his car.

  As we drive to his house, I look out at the sunset and say, “I loved our date. I hope we can do them more often.”

  “Wednesday afternoon dates . . . I like them an awful lot, too.”

  “It was perfect, especially since I was crowned the ultimate champion of pool.” I raise my
arms in triumph.

  “Uh, I think not. Your phone was a clear case of interference, not to mention your shirt, so you did not win fair and square.”

  “I most certainly did. I can’t help your need to ogle my chest, nor my phone startling you. You should have more concentration than that. I’m the winner, admit it.”

  “You are not the winner.”

  I lean over the console and nibble at his ear. “I’m the winner, Dan,” I whisper.

  He leans away from me. “Stop using your womanly wiles to take advantage of me.”

  “Take advantage of you?” I say, leaning over farther and sucking on his ear lobe. “I would never do that. If I was taking advantage of you, I would, I don’t know, rub my hand up your thigh?” Which I do. “And slide my hands up and over you . . . here.” He gasps as I travel over his bulging package. I nibble at his ear some more, continuing to take advantage for several minutes. I notice him grip the steering wheel tighter.

  Then I sit back. “That would be taking advantage of you.”

  He shakes his head, panting. “So mean. So cruel.”

  I giggle.

  Once we’re in his driveway, he screeches to a halt. Before I can get out of the car, he’s opened my door and is standing in my way, staring down at me. With one hand on the door and the other on the roof, he teases, “You aren’t being nice, Claire. Now, get inside. We need to finish what you started.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say innocently, grabbing hold of his waistband and yanking him to me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes widening and shifting around.

  Still seated, I hold onto his belt as he tries pulling away. “You’re right. I should be nicer,” I say, glancing up at him as I thread his belt apart and unbutton his pants. His mouth falls open as the interior car light fades off.

  “No. We can’t,” he whispers, looking around wide-eyed and anxious.

  I tug him closer and unzip his pants. “We can’t?” I ask with a smirk as I wiggle my fingers into the waistband of his underwear to let him loose.

  “No . . . because . . .” he mutters, watching my hand grasp him.

  “Because?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and stroking him slowly. “I don’t know, Dan,” I say, feeling him expand further in my hand. “I think you were right before. If I start something, I should finish it. I don’t want to be a quitter.” I glance up to see his desperate eyes and parted lips watching every move I make. He braces himself, gripping onto the door and the top of the car.

  I lean in and finish what I’ve started.

  “Oh fuck,” he groans, drawing in a sharp breath.

  I’ve never been so bold in my life, but with Dan there are no restrictions, no boundaries. My desire to please him overrules any thoughts that might otherwise interfere.

  Pleasure.

  That’s all I want to bring to this magnificent man. And pleasure I do.

  Eager to see his gratification, I peek up at him. I throw in a little humming noise, which elicits a “Holybollockingfuck” out of gasping, weak-kneed him in the moonlit night.

  “Fuck. Claire . . . I—” he moans out eventually, the veins of his neck bulging and his arms flexing as he grips onto the door and roof.

  “Shh . . .” I murmur, taking him in even deeper, keeping an eye on him. It’s beyond erotic to see him losing control.

  Several minutes and groans later, he pants and grunts, “Claire . . . stop. I’m going to . . .”

  “Mmm,” I reply, applying slightly more suction.

  “Fuuuuck,” he groans, his arms tightening their hold on the door as he explodes.

  When all is said and done, he shakes his head at me, still breathing heavy, but smiling very, very wide.

  “You,” he says, smiling wide while putting himself back together.

  I grin. “What about me?” I ask, as he offers his hand, helping me to my feet. He shuts the car door and traps me, his hands resting on the car on either side of my head.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, amused.

  Nose to nose, he stares at my mouth as he snakes a hand under my shirt and kneads my breast. “Finishing what you started.”

  “Oh no,” I say, swallowing hard, the cool night air racing up my shirt.

  He grins. “Oh yes.” He unbuttons and unzips my pants.

  “Dan,” I scold him with a smile.

  “Don’t you ‘Dan’ me.” He slides his hand into my pants and touches me just right. Oh so very right. I gasp.

  With hooded, seductive eyes, he asks, “Are you coming to Mexico?” Round and round his fingers slide, and all the while, he’s watching me.

  My mind draws blanks. “Um . . .” How is he able to do this? Get me so heated in the matter of seconds? It’s as if I walk around idling sexually, just waiting for his spark to ignite me. My legs grow weak as all my energies focus on the spot his fingers attend.

  “Are you?” he asks again, moving faster and harder.

  Panting hard now, I can’t answer.

  “Are you, Claire? Are you going to come to Mexico, so I can touch you . . . like this?” He presses on the perfect spot with the perfect amount of pressure.

  “Oh God,” I moan.

  “See? I know you want to. You can’t last weeks without this.” He presses that spot again. I whimper. “Can you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Tell me,” he whispers, brushing his mouth on mine.

  “No,” I mutter.

  He picks up the pace, pushing me closer and closer to release. “No, what? No, you’re not coming to visit? Or no, you can’t last.”

  I moan again. So very near the edge, but his talking keeps me from falling over it. I shake my head again.

  “Say it, Claire. Say you want my fingers on you . . . right here.” He slips two fingers into my warmth. I gasp. The only thing that keeps me from collapsing is his body propping me upright against the car.

  I nod, holding onto his shoulders.

  “Yes? No? Mixed signals here. Tell me.”

  “I . . . want you to . . .” I can’t finish. The extraordinary tightening possesses my mind.

  “Is that a yes? Yes, you’ll come to Mexico? Is that it, my love?”

  The magic words. Over the edge I fall so hard and fast I moan out a “Yes!” as I come.

  Slumping a little, I hold onto his shoulders for support as I catch my breath. He removes his hand from my pants and kisses me.

  I’m still coming down from cloud holy-crap-that-was-unexpected-and-amazing as he grins at me. “I’m glad you’re coming to visit,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah. Me, too,” I say, still dazed.

  I stumble to the stairs even while holding his hand. He glances back at me. “You going to be okay over there?”

  “Not sure. You are mean and cruel.”

  “Me? Ha!” He unlocks the door.

  After watching some TV and discussing our Mexico rendezvous, we wash up, climb into bed and snuggle in—his arms encasing me, my legs claiming his, his scent intoxicating me and quickly lulling me into deep sleep.

  * * *

  “Claire,” I hear a sweet voice calling. “Claire, wake up. It’s time for breakfast.”

  Reluctantly blinking, I manage to bring a blurry Dan into focus. Sitting on the side of the bed without a shirt and hair a mess, he smiles at me.

  So pretty.

  “You’re very sleepy this morning.”

  “Yeah,” I croak, rubbing my eyes. “Why are you up so early?”

  “Early? It’s nine thirty. Your meeting’s at eleven, right? I thought you’d rather not have to rush.”

  “Shit. It’s nine thirty?” I say, sitting up and tucking the sheets under my arms. Dan hands me a bowl; I look inside. Lucky Charms.
I smile.

  “I thought you’d better start your day off properly. You got lucky last night, and I figured we’d continue the lucky theme this morning.” He chuckles.

  I giggle. “You’re too sweet. Thank you.” I eat quietly as a rush of nerves about the upcoming meeting floods me.

  “You’re awfully quiet. You all right?”

  I shrug. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what it’s like to have an agent—how it all works. What if he doesn’t want to deal with me once he meets me?”

  Dan furrows his brow. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. He’s gotten your name from a high-powered music producer—”

  “Beverly is high-powered?”

  “Yeah.” Dan snorts like I should know that. “This town is incestuous, Claire. If you mind your Ps and Qs, do a solid job, and have talent—which you have in spades—then your name gets passed around. The opposite is true as well—piss people off, and you’re quickly on their shit list. I’d say you’re a pretty hot commodity if an A-list agent is calling you.”

  “Oh God.” I feel sick to my stomach.

  “What?”

  “A hot commodity? God, Dan, I could so screw this up, and then where will I be? What if something happens and I show up late, or what if—”

  “Claire, relax. I figure I’ll drive you. I know where they’re based.”

  “Thank you, I really appreciate that. I’m glad you’ll be there.”

  “You’ll do fine. Now eat up; you need your Lucky Charms.”

  I smile and continue eating.

  “You think you might phone your parents? Tell them the good news?”

  I sigh. “No. I’d rather not ruin my good fortune.”

  “Maybe they’d surprise you and be happy for you.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t know them, Dan. I am not following their plan. This goes against everything to them. It’s going to be hard enough getting my stuff out of their house. I’m not looking forward to that.”