Page 34 of Perfect Pitch

On that thought, peace settles in and I find sleep.

My hand is fisted in the air while the other is flying across my Access Virus TI2 Polar Synthesizer. Screaming, writhing bodies below me have already picked up the pulsating mix created by the Blue Man Group and remixed by David Guetta. But it’s my lyrics reverberating over the crowd.

It fuels me when they’re singing my words back at me.

Cause I’m strong, so damn strong, born strong

Nothing can break me, I’ll carry on, carry on

Won’t let anyone tell me I’m wrong, so wrong

Yah, I’m strong, so damn strong, born strong

I knows that life is tough: But I’ve got the power to rise above

I’ll keep on moving forward

And won’t be cornered

My fist comes down as I begin rocking back and forth on my heels as my fingers fly up and down on the keyboard. Almost as one, catcalls and wolf whistles rise up. I can’t keep the grin off my face.

Time to have a little fun.

Thankful I had this idea before we built the set design, I step on a pedal which allows my synthesizer to move on the pipe it’s resting on. I give it a negligent flick before I stop it with a hip and begin playing with my hands behind my back. My hips begin shaking as I keep singing into the microphone.

The crowd goes insane.

I wink into the camera lens that’s trained on me before I scan the faces I can just make out at the edge of the stage lights.

That’s when I see him.

He’s waiting center stage, just to the left of where my podium ends. Quirking a brow at me, he saunters past security as if it’s his right—his due. And what do they do? They’re practically genuflecting to royalty as they let him pass. He climbs the stairs at the side of the stage, his destination evident.

Me.

No games.

No subterfuge.

My nipples harden and my clit aches as he strides across the stage in his dark suit and equally dark shirt which is unbuttoned. I can’t prevent my lips quirking as I rake my gaze down the front until it lands at the bulge beneath his belt.

My breath catches as I sing. His eyes narrow before his face settles into one of predator fixating on his prey.

No matter how many times I’ve seen it—seen him—just a flash of his damn tattoo has my insides quivering.

And he knows it.

I’ve stomped on the lock so the synthesizer won’t give way behind me when Mitch presses his body against mine. The screams that were thrumming through my veins have faded away as if they never existed to begin with. He slides his fingers down over the body contour hugging dress I’m wearing, his fingers tangling in the hem. “Here?” I whisper, leaning around him in shock he’d put me on display like this.

But we’re alone. I’m astonished. “They’re all gone.”

He yanks me forward until I’m pressed up against him. I feel the bulge of his hard cock press into my stomach. “It’s just you and me.”

I’m about to open my mouth—to what? To kiss him? To drop to my knees, rip open his pants so I can yank out his cock and suck on it? To hop up and wrap my legs around his hips? But I do nothing as his next words send me reeling in my stilettos. “People want what they want and they’ll do anything to get it.”

I wake up with tears in my eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt me.”

With that, I roll over and let the tears falling down my face wash away the agony of my dream.

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