Page 35 of Rhythm and Rapture

She looks at the tablet, blinking several times as if remembering where she is and what she's supposed to be doing. "Right. Yes. The next variable. Ash's approach—unexpected, playful stimulation."

But when she looks at me again, there's something different in her eyes. Something that suggests the theoretical framework she's been using to manage her nerves is starting to give way to actual feeling. The Hidden Chemist is still there, but Sabina is starting to emerge, curious and brave and absolutely stunning in her vulnerability.

And that's exactly what I was hoping for.

WatchingRoman systematically dismantle Sabina's professional composure should feel like voyeurism. Instead, it feels like revelation. Every micro-expression she tries to hide, every physiological response she attempts to quantify, only makes her more human, more real, more magnetic.

Roman's hand travels up her arm with deliberate slowness, and I catalog her responses with the same attention I'd give to learning a new piece. The way her breathing hitches when he reaches her shoulder. How her free hand flutters, seeking something to anchor herself. The slight flush creeping up her neck, visible even in the strategic lighting.

I shift slightly, trying to ignore the heat building in my chest. Ash is practically vibrating beside me, his fingers drumming against his thigh. We're both caught between professional distance and something much more raw.

"Your pupils are dilating," Roman observes, and I notice he's right. Behind her mask, her eyes are blown wide with more than just arousal—there's trust there that hits me unexpectedly hard.

When she reports her heart rate—"Ninety-four beats per minute"—her voice wavers. I've watched hours of her streams. She can explain molecular structures while undressing without missing a beat. But Roman's simple touch has her struggling for words.

The monitors show the data, but I see what they can't measure. The way she unconsciously leans toward him. The quick swipe of her tongue across her bottom lip. How her weight shifts in those heels, making her calf muscles tremble.

When Roman starts singing to her—that song she'd quoted—her whole body changes. Tension melts even as her arousal climbs. It's intimate in a way that makes my throat tight.

She's letting us see her. Really see her. And fuck if that isn't the most arousing thing I've ever witnessed.

My hands clench and unclench at my sides. Part of me is taking mental notes, but mostly I'm just... affected. By her trust. By her bravery. By the way she's trying so hard to maintain control while clearly wanting to let go.

Soon it'll be my turn. The thought makes my pulse race in a way that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with her.

Chapter Thirteen

Finally.My turn.

Roman steps back but keeps watching her like he's memorizing every breath. I can feel the energy shift as I move forward—her eyes track me with this mix of anticipation and holy-shit-what-now that makes my blood sing. She's still trembling from Roman's touch, trying to piece her professor voice back together, but the cracks are showing.

"So I'm the chaos factor in your nice, controlled experiment?" I ask, letting my grin spread slow and wide. The mask makes everything feel sharper, more electric. Like I'm not just Ash the drummer but something wilder.

"Unpredictable variables often yield the most interesting data," she manages, but her voice catches on 'yield' and fuck ifthat doesn't make me want to show her just how unpredictable I can be.

"Now, unpredictable I can do," I say, and watch her throat work as she swallows.

But I don't reach for her. Not yet.

Instead, I turn to the lab table and let my hands do what they do best. The rhythm starts simple—just my palms against the metal surface. But then it builds, fingers joining in, creating layers of sound that fill the space between us. This isn't anything from our albums. This is pure instinct, something primal that's been building since I first saw her on screen.

My whole body gets into it—shoulders rolling, hips finding the groove. I can feel Roman and Felix watching, but my focus is entirely on her. The way her chest rises and falls, trying to match the tempo. How her fingers twitch against the tablet like she wants to join in.

"Interesting approach," she says, aiming for clinical but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Using auditory stimulation to create anticipation before physical contact."

I shift the rhythm, making it deeper, more complex. "Everything's music if you listen right." My fingers never stop moving as I prowl closer. "Your heartbeat, your breathing, the little sounds you make when you're trying not to react... it's all rhythm."

She's mesmerized. I can see it in the way her body sways slightly, already trying to sync with what I'm creating. Time to up the ante.

I abandon the table and reach for her wrist. Not grabbing—never grabbing. Just letting my fingers find her pulse point and play it like the world's most delicate drum. Her skin is silk-warm under my touch.

"You're matching my heart rate," she breathes, staring at where my fingers dance across her skin like I've just revealed the secrets of the universe.

"At first," I agree, then shift the pattern, making it faster, more intricate. I can feel her pulse trying to follow, her body betraying her mind's need for control. "Now I'm leading it. Feel that? Your body wants to follow the beat. It's instinct—humans have been responding to drums since we first figured out how to bang rocks together."

"Oh." The word escapes her like a revelation. The tablet in her other hand is going crazy with readings but she's not even looking at it anymore. "That's... I can actually feel my heart trying to sync with your rhythm. The physiological response to rhythmic stimulation is well documented, but experiencing it firsthand is..."

"Different from the theory?" I bring my other hand up to her shoulder, creating a complementary rhythm. Now she's caught between two patterns—pulse point and shoulder, different tempos that her nervous system is scrambling to process.

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