She shuddered as she felt his fingertips sinking in the soft flesh of her hips, and she was sure she was going to have bruises tomorrow. She tightened...her arms around his neck wanting trying to escape his bruising fingers. He chuckled, and she could kill him happily that very moment for that. She felt something for him, and he would use her passion against her, while he extracted his revenge. His original plans were changed. He was going to have her, no matter what, and he would make her suffer. And any kind of music tutor I thought I needed. When Mom died, I was a budding violinist. The night they buried her, I locked the door to my room and I played my violin, every sad song I could work up, and that night I determined that I was not doing credit to her memory with that level of skill. Love, yes. But something clicked and I decided that those evenings that Mom sat there as my beginner's screeches slowly turned into identifiable music, those evenings that she sat through my recitals,. More

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