Page 1 of Claim Me (Dmitriyev Bratva #2)

M arissa

The music vibrated deep within my core, the staccato beat of the passage in the Rachmaninoff Prelude extending to my fingertips.

With every deep rumble swirling in my chest, I was left breathless in awe and wonderment.

Every powerful boom reverberating in my chest excited my mind, the increasing tempo fueling my heartbeat.

There was nothing so freeing as being lost in the moment, finding peace in the driving bass.

My fingers flew across the keyboard as my body moved in time like a metronome.

I felt every audience member leaning further forward in their seats.

Remaining in awe, their emotions were turbulent, anger and sadness mixing with utter joy.

As the lights shimmered across the stage, the other musicians became ferocious in their interpretations of the powerful piece. Every keystroke satisfied the darkest passion, rough and sadistic while remaining hypnotic.

I darted a single look toward the audience, hopeful he was there watching me. Patiently waiting.

Hungering.

A mysterious fan with imploring eyes and wanton desires.

I’d envisioned a man gorgeous and muscular, a knight in shining armor brought by destiny.

Whoever he was, he was my fantasy and I longed for him to finally step away from the shadows, taking what he’d laid claim to the first night he’d tempted me with gifts.

Tingles coursed through me, heat exploding in every tendon and nerve ending. The music. The man.

The longing.

Beads of perspiration dared to defy the flow, a single one sliding down the bridge of my nose. I used the entire keyboard, rolling my fingers from white to black keys, my head bobbing ferociously as the final passage drew near.

A single tear formed in my eye, the love of what I was doing on full display.

I was proud yet anxious, struggling with the deep sadness roaring through me.

As soon as I brought my hands down in the last chords, the last run of my fingers from one side of the piano to the other, I felt utter vindication.

When finished, I threw my head down, the dramatic ending exactly what I was hoping to achieve.

The applause was thunderous, rumbling beneath my feet as I took a few seconds to relish the moment. I watched as if frozen as both the bead of sweat and the tear fell, lightly splashing across the keys in their own dance of joy and salvation.

The moment I finally lifted my head, staring into the audience, I was more emotional than I’d been in my entire career.

The lights blinded me from distinguishing faces, but I could feel the outpouring of love.

This was my moment, something I’d worked my entire life to achieve, never believing it possible.

As I took my bows along with everyone else in the symphony, I reminded myself that dreams really could come true.

I could feel him, the heated vibrations pulsing deep within my pussy.

Once the curtain was down, I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. I’d worked for years to achieve a single goal. To be a soloist. I spun in a circle, stomping my feet to continue the vibrations. They allowed me to know this was real and I was very much alive.

“So beautiful!” someone called.

“Very proud of you,” the conductor said. “Absolutely stunning. We need to discuss your upcoming piece for the world tour.”

Oh, my gosh. We’d heard rumors we’d be heading overseas.

I sucked in my breath as I watched his hands in fluid movements.

He was a true maestro. Excitement tore through me.

I hadn’t been certain I’d be allowed another solo.

To think of doing so in Milan or Paris was incredible. “Oh, thank you. Yes. Yes. We will.”

“Call me in a couple days.”

At least we had some time off to reenergize and enjoy the moment, but I was even more excited about the next concert. The program was entirely different, the selections free and full of passion. Music was my life.

“Thank you, sir. So much.” I fanned my face, rising onto my tiptoes to try to locate my best friend, finally watching as she pushed and shoved her way closer.

“You did so great!” Teresa squealed as she bounded in my direction. A violin virtuoso, she’d been first chair for the evening, the selection astounding her as much as I’d been when I’d received the solo. We’d both worked so hard to achieve this very moment, never fully believing it would happen.

We jumped up and down together before she wrapped her arm around my waist as we did our victory dance toward the dressing rooms.

“So did you.”

“Did you notice the reporters?”

I shook my head. “If I had then panic would have set in.”

“Bullshit. Gah, I can’t believe the concert hall was packed,” she added as we pushed our way through the crowd. I continued looking at her, so entrenched in what she was saying I ran into another performer.

“Oops!” I laughed, giving a hand sign as the celloist grinned.

“You can make it up to me by going out for a drink.” The musician’s hand brushed down my back and instead of the tingling sensations I’d felt before, his touch was creepy.

I could tell Joseph was shouting, which was unnecessary.

I shook my head, avoiding eye contact. “I’m finally back home in Seattle.

I need my warm bed.” I also craved a tall glass of wine all by myself.

Maybe a movie under a warm blanket. I put my two hands together, placing them by my ear and leaning my head against them indicating sleepy time.

He gave me a heated look. “That can be arranged.”

I swatted him while Teresa wagged her finger. “Not this time.”

Sighing, his gaze turned darker, but he nodded. “One day, Marissa. One day.”

He was so sure of himself. Of course it didn’t help almost all the female musicians fawned over him.

We both waited as he moved into the crowd, no doubt eager to start his evening of drinking with the guys.

“He never gives up,” she mused, shaking her head. “Kind of creepy if you ask me.”

“No, he doesn’t, which is a problem, but he’s a nice guy.

” He’d asked me out on countless dates over the last few months.

I’d accepted one. He’d reminded me why his nickname was Mr. Handsy.

I’d caught him lingering in the corridors waiting for me to walk by afterwards.

He wasn’t a bad guy, but my world revolved around my music.

I opened my dressing room door, another little thrill.

For tonight, I had a dressing room of my own.

Maybe it was the size of a closet, but that didn’t matter.

I only hoped my brother had made it to the concert.

He’d be so proud of me. He’d been my greatest supporter over the years.

“You might want to give him a chance. Maybe a cup of coffee.” Teresa leaned against the wall, giving me one of her infamous looks. “That’s right. You already did that. How many times did he shove his tongue down your throat?” Her laughter caused me to shake my head.

The hallway was abuzz with activity and excitement. We were home for a full week before heading out to Europe. “You are incorrigible.”

Shrugging, she studied my hands. “I know, but I’m just looking out for you. At least have a drink with me. We need to party.”

“That I can do.” I walked in and immediately froze.

Very slowly a smile crossed my face. This time the sweeping sensations were explosive.

My made-up images of my adoring fan centered in my mind.

Soft lips. Hard muscles. A big, thick cock.

I licked my lips as I thought about swirling my tongue around his shaft. “My God.”

“What?” she asked.

“Take a look.” A tiny thrill tickled me all the way to my toes. The roses were from him, the sexy stranger I’d never met. I’d been right. He’d been in the audience. Maybe he was waiting for me.

Teresa trailed behind me, peering around my shoulder. “Wow. Those roses are incredible. Suddenly, you’re popular. Maybe he’s a hot guy. Ooh-la-la.”

I was shocked to see them, the instant thrill followed by a moment of sheer fantasy even filthier than before.

It was the third time an admirer had sent flowers.

Always blood red. Always accompanied by a beautiful quote.

After the first, the fantasy had been born, the person responsible a handsome man who adored my music, someone exploding with passion.

Another series of tingles slipped down my spine.

“Maybe,” I breathed. “They are… amazing.”

“Perhaps they’re from your brother or…” She squeezed my arm, issuing her famous pout. “No, my guess is some gorgeous man wants to sweep you off your feet. He must be rich. Your lucky day. I’m jealous.”

“Oh, stop. Besides, what if I have a boyfriend?”

She swatted me. “You wouldn’t keep something so decadent from your bestie. Whoa. There’s a package for you too. This kind of thing only happens in romance books.”

True enough.

There was a silver bag with a glorious red bow that perfectly matched the shade of roses. Another moment of shock and awe settled in. Only my brother knew my favorite color was red. Maybe Teresa was right. I was home in Seattle. Charlie had promised he’d try to attend.

Suddenly, an unsettling feeling replaced the giddiness.

Hesitantly, I moved toward the crystal vase that glistened in the LED lighting, pressing my fingers around the stem of one while I inhaled.

The scent was incredible, the velvety petals tickling my nose.

Staring at the bag, I was almost fearful to discover what was hiding beneath the crisp tissue paper.

Teresa moved to where I could see her. “Well, open it. Don’t keep a girl waiting. I certainly have never received a gift after a performance. I’m already jealous,” she encouraged even though her mouth twisted into a pout. She was almost as excited as I was.