Violinist in Venice

Violinist in Venice

Once I’ve settled into the hotel, I look out over Venice. The view is beautiful and I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to perform at a private, apparently very high class, event here. I think about that as I shower and try to adjust to the time change. Jetlag can’t shake me like it used to, but it weighs on my shoulders until I can’t resist the temptation of a nap.

When I get up, I head to dinner, still thinking about what I should wear to a masquerade as a performer. As I sip wine and look over the hotel lobby, I hear other people bubbling about the ball, how excited they were to be invited, how exclusive it is, how they’ll be able to rub shoulders with the right people.

I massage my temples. I have twenty-four hours until I have to be there and playing. It’s just another gig. Another performance where I can hopefully snare some food before it’s cleared. I was requested after my concert in Austria.

“I’m not a starving artist anymore,” I remind myself.

From struggling to get by to being nearly world renowned. This is my chance to break into another area – anticipated events of the rich and famous. With that reminder, I glance at the time and decide to go upstairs, see how many euros I have. I could always use my credit card to get a fancy dress.

Just before I leave, there’s a knock on the door. I didn’t order room service. I walk to the door and open it to find a hotel employee there. He offers me a box. I tip him even though I have no clue what it is, but the card on the front says, “From Dante to The Violinist”.

Well … apparently Dante is a very accommodating host.

I set the box on my bed and open it slowly, wishing Dante had included more information for me to go off.

After I open the black tissue paper I find a gorgeous gold gown. It will absolutely compliment my dark hair and green eyes, but I can’t imagine how much it cost him. The neckline plunges, but it’s so shiny, so over the top, so flawless that I can’t imagine not wearing it.

I slide into it, unable to resist and stare at myself in the mirror. The dress clasps around my neck like a collar, then holds tight to my body before flaring out at my knees. It’s a perfect fit, utterly luxurious since it feels like silk, and leaves my arms free. I can’t imagine a better dress and I’m not about to insult the host by not wearing it.

Carefully peeling it off myself, I set it back in the box and sigh. All that’s left to do is go. My shoes will be perfect, I noticed a matching gold mask in the box for me to wear along with a delicate bracelet.

Glancing at the time, I decide to make it an early night so I’m perfectly rested for tomorrows performance.

 

**

 

Back in the golden dress, I scrutinize my reflection. I can’t wear a bra with this, but I’m more worried about my wide hips. I’ll have to step carefully to be able to avoid ripping it. Taking a slow breath and feeling the fabric move with me sends shivers across my body. My nipples are hardening against the fabric already. I do my hair so it falls right down my back, put on some lipstick, my mask, then head towards the waiting gondola with my bracelet on, my invitation in hand, and my violin.

He greets me, lifts me in to the boat so I don’t have to test the strength of my dress, and takes me to a staggeringly tall building. I gape up at it, shocked by the total size.

The man helps me out and another man ensures that I’m safe. He scans my bracelet and nods once before mumbling to another who bows to me. “This way, miss.”

“Thank you,” I answer, breathlessly.

There’s too much to see. There are bare trees dressed only in lights welcoming guests in, but inside, even in the rooms for performers, there are gauzy curtains and pure decadence everywhere. No expense has been spared.

Just as I’ve finished categorizing every picture, every mural, every single thing in the room, I’m told to get ready to go. After a quick soundcheck in another room, I’m ushered to the stage. I peek out to see plenty of people, dressed in black, red, and white mingling with different masks covering their faces. The lights are low, but there’s no escaping the luxury.

Gatsby would be jealous. Everything is over the top in an effortless, yet tasteful way. The deep red walls of the ballroom, the hanging chandeliers and the bare trees radiating yellow light along the walls. There are waiters eagerly providing drinks so no one has to go to the bar, and tables that are only being used by the oldest guests.

“Presenting Elena Petrova, violinist,” a voice says once the light music stops.

Everyone faces the stage, but after I take a few breaths, I go to my place. Despite the bead of sweat sneaking down my spine, the second I start playing, the crowd is gone. I stick to classical music at first, but it slowly flows into notes of jazz, longer more melancholy tunes, then the pieces I’m best known for, most loved for – the love songs. I can take any song, no matter how modern, and make it work on a violin.

I hear people applauding, catch others dancing when I open my eyes, but the longer I play, the more the hair on the back of my neck pricks my skin. I’m being watched – and that’s normal, totally normal – so why is my whole body electrified?

As I finish the last song in my set, my fingers acing from the grip I’ve kept on my bow, my shoulder sore from how I’ve been balancing my violin, I finally look at the crowd. I smile as I set my violin down and bow as applause echoes in the otherwise silent room.

The earplugs soften it all, but I smile and mouth a ‘thank you’. Reaching back, I stroke my violin, wanting to hold it against my chest simply to feel safer, warmer.

A moment later and I’m packing my violin up. I prepare to head out, but a large security guy stans in front of me. “You’re performing twice.”

“Oh … I wasn’t aware.”

“It’s a sudden change,” he agrees, then shows me an additional check. My eyes almost bulge. It’s double the first one I was offered. “This is to cover that.”

“Oh … thank … thank you,” I breathe.

“Please, join the crowd while the band plays. Enjoy the party. I will find you when it’s time for you to perform again,” he bids, opening his arm towards the door I didn’t dare touch earlier.

I walk through it and I’m swept up by the crowd. As much as I try to get to a waiter for a drink or some food, I keep fending off others who are eager to speak to me. When five people are talking to me at once and my gaze is fixed on the waiter, nearly drooling, I only notice the change when everyone goes quiet and my body hums with that same electric current I felt on stage.

Looking away from the waiter, I find a tall, broad shouldered man with a mask that reminds me of plague doctors. His thick black hair waves down to his chin and his intense dark eyes snare mine. I can smell the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave and something else, like tobacco and brandy clinging to him.

The other people murmur something in Italian and drift away, leaving me alone with him. His eyes dip from my face to take in the dress I have on, all the way to my heels peeking out from under the fabric. He offers me his hand. “You look exquisite. I’m glad the dress fit.”

“Dante?” I ask.

He inclines his head. “If we dance, we can get you to the bar.”

“Is it that obvious I’m dying for a drink?” I tease.

He chuckles, low and beautiful. I bite my bottom lip as he pulls me closer, his hot palm sliding over my lower back while the other holds the back of my shoulder. “Elena, this whole event was worth putting together just to see you play again.”

“You’ve seen me before?” I ask as he twirls us through the floor.

“I love music, I always have. I wish I could play, but I don’t have the talent or patience, just the appreciation. It’s beautiful, mind blowing. A string of notes that can somehow touch people, make them feel so much.”

I smile despite myself. “That’s why I couldn’t just leave it as a hobby. I love seeing all sides of it, putting it together, stripping down modern songs to find the core and sharing it with the world.”

His fingers press harder on my back, drawing me closer, until my chest grazes his as we dance and move across the floor. My nipples harden until I gasp at the contact even with his button up and my dress between us.

“That’s a beautiful way to put it,” he agrees.

“I can’t believe you do this every year,” I murmur. “I hadn’t even heard of you, but it seems like everyone in Venice knows you.”

“They know of me, the same way I know of you. I’d like to fix that,” he muses.

“So that Venice knows you or …”

“I’d like to know you, explore your gorgeous mind and see how you’re able to create pieces of music that make me believe in more than lust.”

That one final word on his tongue heats my whole body. He dips me back carefully, releases my shoulder and when he pulls me back up, a glass of water is there, the ice tinkling against the crystal.

I take it from him, his hot fingers slipping over mine with the condensation. He gently fixes my hair and motions to a table. I sit carefully. “Thank you for the dress.” I glance around and notice that no one else is dressed in gold. “I feel like I stand out.”

“That was the point. Forgive me, but I don’t like leaving things to chance. I wanted to be sure I’d find you.”

“You said you’ve been to a show before …” I trail off.

“I saw your last two shows. The first – well, I was there for business and didn’t give your playing the respect it deserved, though it distracted me thoroughly. The second time, I only managed to get in the lower rows rather than the front,” he chuckles and pulls at his mask. “I love the violin, Elena. I love music that makes me feel and watching you play … I don’t just hear it or feel it, it’s like I’m experiencing it with you.”

My whole body hums. “It’s a whole story in a few minutes.”

“And you make it so everyone gets to be in the story. What do you picture when you play?”

“Other than the notes I’m supposed to hit?” I tease.

He chuckles. I take a long drink of water. Dante’s easy to talk to. He proves that over the next few minutes, eagerly asking questions, wanting full answers. He’s not just staring at my breasts, but I’ve seen his gaze slip plenty.

After a while, he clears his throat. “I suppose it would be too much to ask you to stay for longer than this weekend.”

“I don’t have another gig lined up, but hotels get expensive fast. I’m not sure,” I murmur. “Also, you’re still a stranger.”

“Are you afraid I’ll offer you candy?” He teases.

I laugh softly. “No. But stranger danger applies to adults, even if the stranger is the host … and kind … and attractive.”

He stands with me, walking me back to the door, but rubbing my hand gently. “We don’t have to stay strangers, Elena. Find me after this set and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“I just might, Dante. It depends on if you’re in the front row or not,” I challenge.

His gorgeous smile answers. “I will be.”

When I take the stage again, Dante is right there, directly in front of me, his eyes burning through my body as if he knows more than how I feel about music, why I chose it, where I’ve travelled. He knows more than some one-night stands know.

Not that I should put him in that category. We haven’t even …

My eyes stroke over his body. Tall, broad, obviously muscular … I could do worse.

I bite my bottom lip as our eyes meet, then I play. Everything in this set has a needy, hungry edge to it, like every song just heightens the desire already simmering in the room. The dancing changes, people getting closer, but Dante just watches, pushing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

His forearms are tan, firm with muscle, gorgeous. I almost miss a note while drooling over him. Making myself focus, I finish the set while keeping my eyes closed, thinking of the songs, the order, how to string them together to a beautiful climactic moment before softening into a romantic melody to end the set.

Cheers echo and I take another bow before heading back to my room. I check my bow, making sure it doesn’t need to be replaced, play a few notes, then look up to find Dante there. He watches me with an intense gaze, laced with desire.

“You were in the front row,” I breathe, my own heart thundering in my chest.

“And yet you’re here, not on my arm, distracting me from every business man who wants to get in my pockets.”

“Speaking of – you paid me too much.”

“It’s a convenience fee. I sprung another set on you without warning. It’s hardly what you deserve,” he disagrees, closing the space between us. “You deserve so much more, Elena. The things you make me feel. The way you close your eyes and lose yourself in the music, how your fingers move across the strings, watching you play is better than listening.”

“Dante,” I breathe.

“The passion there is so much more than love. Who makes you feel so much?”
I swallow. “It’s what I want to feel with someone. No what I have.”

A second later, I realize I just outed I’m single. Dante pushes his mask up, revealing that his sharp jaw and beautiful lips are just the start of a gorgeous, panty-dropping face. No wonder so many girls were fighting for his attention at the stage, asking him to dance.

This man has pockets padded with hundreds and has clearly hit the lottery when it comes to genes. I don’t know if I’m jealous of him, or want him on top of me.

“I’m tired of the party. Will you join me … privately?”

“Are you asking …” I trail off, not wanting to be presumptuous.

His hand strokes mine while the other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close. “I want you, Elena. Your skill, your conversation, the way you talk, the way you … look.”

“But we just met.”

“Logic and passion, always at war,” he hums. “Which will win?”

“I don’t think you’ve tried to win me over yet,” I counter.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he says, and I see the lust, the hunger, the determination in his eyes. It pales in comparison to the restraint in his soft hold on me. “Trying, but I’m losing my grasp on that concept.”

What the hell? I’m in Venice, a god of a man is wrapped around me, how can I say no?

“Give me a taste of the real you and maybe we can have a private party of our own,” I challenge.

Dante groans and takes a slow breath. He releases my hand and pulls my mask off before stroking over my cheek, then under my bottom lip. I shiver. He leans forward slowly, his nose brushing mine. “Are you sure you want this here?”

“Are you going to make me take it?” I demand.

He chuckles, his lips brushing mine. “No, Elena. I’m certain I’d give you whatever you asked for.”

His lips mold to mine, but that softness lasts until I kiss him back. He feasts on me, kissing me hungrily, his tongue stroking across mine, hot and determined and domineering. He kisses me like I’m his and his alone. His hand strokes down to my ass and he digs his fingers in, jerking me tighter, until every breath I take is filled with his scent, until I can’t move without feeling him against me.

My dress is too tight, this room too hot, and the sparks bursting across my skin, burning through my resistance until I’m just needy and aching is too much to tolerate. I moan and pull at his shirt, desperate to have him closer, to feel him against me in every way possible as he nibbles my bottom lip, sucks my tongue, teases me by almost letting me go just to pull me back for another long, thorough kiss.

“You strip down music,” he purrs against my lips. “I’m going to do the same to you. I’ll strip you down, explore your depths, find the core, and …”

“And?” I whimper.

“Fuck you so thoroughly and completely that you’ll forget every other man has ever touched you,” he growls against my mouth.

“Not here though?” I guess.

“Oh no. My guests got to hear you play, they don’t get to hear you moan,” he decides.

He takes my hand and leads me to another door. He hits something on the wall and the elevator opens. He pushes me into it, hits another button, then pulls me close by my dress. “Such a shame about the dress.”

“What?” I look down at it. “It’s flawless. I’ve never had anything fit me so perfectly.”

“Like I said,” he answers, grabbing the plunging neckline and ripping it. “A shame. I’d replace it, but this is for me only.”

I gasp and brace myself against the walls of the elevator as he keeps tearing the dress until he’s on his knees and the dress is barely more than scraps. I want to ask how much he paid for it, how much he just threw away, but he pulls my leg up, putting my heel on his shoulder as undoes the clasp on the inside of my ankle. He kisses the spot as he frees me of my shoe. He continues kissing along the inside of my calf until he gets to my thigh and groans.

“You managed underwear.”

“Just a thong,” I pant.

Less than thirty minutes and I’m wetter and hotter than I’ve ever been in my life. What kind of man is this? The groan from his throat spreads across my thigh as he kisses further up, pushing my tattered dress out of the way so he can cup my ass. His fingers are lava against my skin, branding me, claiming me as his.

“Don’t be gentle,” I whine, head falling back. “No restraint. No control.”

“Gentle can be torture itself,” he agrees.

When the elevator stops, he picks me up, wrapping me around him as my ankles lock against his back. He kisses me hungrily while dragging the dress off me. I’m sure we’re leaving a trail of clothing as we strip each other, dropping shoes, his tie, the collar of my dress, his shirt, until I find myself on a bed.

I pant as I watch him reach for his belt. I lick over my bottom lip as he jerks it free of the belt loops on his pants. “Oh, Elena. If you want me to use this on you, I need more than one round.”

“If I still like you after the first one,” I tease.

He grins, then grabs my ankle, dragging me towards him. I gasp, sure I’m going to fall off his huge bed, but his hands simply stroke over my thighs, my belly, and up to my breasts to cup them. A low sound leaves Dante’s throat. “So perfect. You fill my hands.”

My back arches and he presses one knee between my legs so his thigh is right against my pussy. I grind against him eagerly. I’m so wet, so empty. I need him. There’s no other thought in my head.

“So responsive too,” he croons while pinching my hard nipple until I moan and squirm against him. “Elena, I could search hundreds of countries and not find a woman like you.”

“You found me,” I whimper, rubbing myself on his thigh continually. Even that friction is enough to edge me. “What are you going to do with me, Dante? Please don’t just talk.”

He chuckles and kisses me slowly, lazily, as if we have a limitless amount of time. His mouth trails over my throat as his fingers continue teasing my nipples, tugging and rolling them until I let out a needy, impatient sound.

“So impatient,” he croons. “I’ve waited so long for you. I’m going to enjoy you in every possible way, Elena. I’m going to make sure I’m thorough, that I don’t miss a thing.” His lips brush across my nipple and he sucks it hard.

I gasp, riding his thigh harder and faster even though I feel how hard he is against my hip. “Please, Dante.”

He moves his leg and I whine, but his fingers slide into my panties, rubbing my clit as he groans. “So wet for me.”

“Yes!”

I pull on his pants, desperate to have them off. He shakes his head. “Patience, sweetheart.”

“I don’t have any!” I complain.

His fingers push into me and I gasp. His fingers are so much thicker, so much bigger than mine. He curls them in my pussy, rubbing my g-spot until I moan and lift my hips against him. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids.

“Dante!” I beg.

“See why we couldn’t do this in your room. I want every sound you make, every beautiful moan to be mine and mine alone,” he says before switching to my other nipple. “Sing for me, Elena.”

“Fuck! Just like that, so good, yes,” I pant as he works his fingers into me again and again, the slick sounds echoing in the room. He groans and nips my breast, making my back arch. “Please, Dante. Fuck me, please!”

My body burns for him. Even his fingers fucking me hard and fast, spreading inside me like he has to stretch me for his cock have me dancing on the edge of my orgasm. He kisses down my belly and I open my eyes.

His gaze is fixed on me until he bites my thong. I nod, hopelessly eager. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched me and I’ve never had anyone like Dante want me, touch me, even look at me.

Dante drags my panties down my thighs, but leaves them at my knees. I almost complain, but he grabs my thighs and pushes them up, until my knees hit my chest. He kisses down the back of my thighs.

Each soft, open mouthed kiss is closer to my pussy. I whine as I grip his sheets. “Please!”

“I want to know how you taste, Elena. I’m going to show you how greedy I am.”

“But-”

He exhales over my pussy, making me whine. He’s right there, so close and I can’t do anything but wait in this position. He groans. “So fucking beautiful. You’re dripping for me.”

“Yes,” I agree.

He licks over my slit slowly, his flat tongue so much softer, wetter than his fingers. After that one long lick, he pushes my thighs wide and licks deeper, faster, focusing on my clit and taking everything he wants.

I’d begged him to hurry, been so impatient, and now I miss his thoroughness. Every quick flick of his tongue makes me dizzy and I can’t keep up with the way his mouth works. He sucks my clit and his fingers fill me again. It’s too much.

I yell, grip his head, try to kick my panties off, nearly convulse on his bed because it’s just too good and I don’t know if I want to pull away or for him to hold me down. Thankfully, Dante’s iron grasp on my thighs doesn’t slip. He holds me in place until his wicked tongue and determined fingers push me over the edge.

I wail his name, howl it, sing it, just like he asked me to do. My hips rock against his tongue as I ride out my orgasm until I lay limp on the bed. Dante stands and grabs my panties, shoving them in his pocket before he drops his pants, revealing every hard inch I’ve felt and there’s a whole lot there.

“Delicious,” he groans. “I won’t be able to watch you play again without tasting you and remembering how you scream my name.”

I whimper and reach out to him. “Please, Dante. I need you.”

“How? Use your words, Elena.”

“I need you to fill me with your cock, to fuck me hard and wild,” I pant.

He grins and climbs onto the bed, pushing me back. He spreads my thighs wide, stops, grabs a pillow to put under my head and nods. “Eyes on me as I fill you, sweetheart.”

I glance down at his thick cock, then back to him. “Yes.”

I watch his face as he slides into me, precious inch by inch. I hold onto his toned biceps, digging my nails in as my pussy stretches around him. His lips part before he grits his teeth, his cheeks heating. His eyes sharpen. It’s beautiful. Seeing exactly how good it feels for him while I’m struggling to watch him, struggling to keep my eyes open.

He feels so good, so amazing. I gasp and move forward, desperate to kiss him. “Please. No more waiting. No more foreplay. Just you”

Dane growls against my lips, digs his fingers into the back of my hair, tugging as he kisses me harder. His tongue in my mouth matches the pace of his thrusts, over and over, more and more damning.

I gasp and cling to him as he bites my bottom lip. I press my slick forehead to his shoulder. “Dante!”

“You feel so fucking good, Elena. Pure heaven,” he says before continuing in Italian.

I don’t need to speak the language for his words to burn through me. I roll on top of him and ride him hard, holding him down. He looks me over as my hair brushes his chest until I sit back, bracing myself on his knees as I circle my hips while bouncing on his perfect cock..

I’m so close already. Teetering on the edge as my pussy squeezes around him.

He groans and cups my breast. “Bellissima!”

“Fuck me all night,” I beg.

He rolls us over and takes over, fucking me so hard, so deep, with so little restraint, that I can’t think. His hands and mouth all over my body, his cock filling me, it’s all overwhelming, beyond pleasure. This is ecstasy, pure and true, like a drug pulsing through my body until I come, screaming his name until I’m hoarse as I gush for him.

Dante lets his own groan free and jerks out. He grabs my head, pulls me forward and I take his cock down my throat just before he finishes. He makes a soft sound and his hand softens in my hair. He pets me gently as I slowly free my mouth and swallow. Dante lays down with me and gently wipes my lips before kissing me.

I press my face to his throat until he gets up and offers me chilled wine. I drink it eagerly and he smiles with approval. “Stay, darling Elena. One weekend. See what I can give you.”

“If I’m staying, it’s not for what you can give me,” I pant. “It’s for you.”

He kisses me slowly, like he can feast on the wine I just swallowed. When he draws back, he grins. “That’s twice as good.”

“Catch your breath he says while standing.”

I blink at him. “Why?”

He shows me the belt. “You asked me to fuck you all night. I plan to spoil you thoroughly. You have five minute before we start again.”

I definitely love Venice.