Page 36 of Rhythm and Rapture

"Vastly," she admits, and the wonder in her voice makes my chest tight.

I watch the exact moment she stops being The Hidden Chemist and becomes just Sabina. The tablet drops to her side like she's forgotten it exists. Her eyes close behind the mask, and she's just... feeling. Letting the rhythm take her wherever it wants to go.

"There we go," I murmur, unable to stop grinning. "Stop thinking so hard, professor. Sometimes the best data comes from just feeling."

I add a low hum to the rhythm, feeling the vibration travel through my fingers into her skin. She makes this sound—soft, needy, nothing like her measured explanations—and I have to remind myself we're on camera. That this is a performance.

Except it's not. Not really. Not when she sways toward me like a flower seeking sun. Not when her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, feeling my heartbeat like she needs to know I'm affected too.

And I am. Fuck, I am. Watching her discover this, being the one to show her how music lives in everything—it's hitting me harder than any sold-out show ever has.

Felix shifts in my peripheral vision, and I know my time's almost up. But I can't resist one more thing. I lean in close, letting my breath ghost over her ear as my fingers maintain their relentless rhythm.

"Wait 'til you see what happens when we all play together," I whisper, just for her.

The full-body shiver that runs through her is better than any applause I've ever received.

"That's... I wasn't expecting..." Her voice comes out breathless and shaky, completely lacking that professor authority she wears like armor. The sound goes straight through me—vulnerable, surprised, almost whimpering as my fingers dance across her pulse point.

I can see her trying to process it, that brilliant mind of hers scrambling for scientific explanation even as her body betrays her. Her pupils are blown wide behind the mask, and I know she's cataloging every sensation even as she's drowning in them.

"That's the point, beautiful," I murmur, letting the endearment roll off my tongue like honey. The way her breath catches tells me everything—she's not used to being seen as beautiful, not like this. She's been the Hidden Chemist, the educator, the fantasy. But right now she's just Sabina, discovering what her body can do, and fuck if that isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. "Your body's making music and I'm just following the beat."

I trace my fingers up her arm, keeping time with the rhythm I've established. Her body sways toward me like she's magnetized, and I have to fight the urge to pull her against me completely. The cameras are rolling. This is a performance. But the way she's responding is anything but performative.

"The entrainment phenomenon," she manages, still clinging to her scientific life raft. "When biological rhythms sync with external stimuli..."

"Exactly," I grin, delighted that even lost in sensation she's still trying to teach. "But knowing why it happens doesn't change how it feels, does it?"

I add my voice to the mix, humming low while my fingers work. The melody just comes—something new, something that belongs to this moment and her. I feel the vibration travel through my touch into her skin, and then?—

She makes this sound.

It's nothing like her measured explanations or her teaching voice. It's pure need, raw and honest, and it shoots straight to my core. Her face flushes behind the mask, embarrassed by her own response.

"There it is," I say softly, gentling my touch but never stopping the rhythm. "That's not ‘The Hidden Chemist’. That's just you."

"Heart rate: one hundred twenty," she whispers, like the numbers can save her from what she's feeling. But her hand trembles around the tablet, and I can see she's barely tracking the data anymore.

Her eyes dart to Roman, still watching from his position with that laser focus of his. Something passes between them—acknowledgment of what's started, maybe. Or maybe she's just seeking anchor points as her world tilts.

“Silicon,” she calls out, and her voice cracks on his name. "Your turn. Methodical, controlled variable."

I ease back reluctantly, my fingers trailing away from her skin in one last flourish. The loss of contact makes her sway, and I steady her with a hand on her elbow.

"All yours, Silicon," I say to Felix, using his element name. But I can't resist leaning close to her ear one more time. "Remember—your body already knows the rhythm. Let it play."

Felix approaches with that calculated precision of his, and I watch her eyes widen as he reaches not for her, but for the tablet. When he takes it from her hands—gentle but inexorable—it's like watching him remove her last defense.

I move back to my position, but my whole body is still thrumming with the rhythm we created together. The taste of her responses lingers like the best song I've never written.

Yet.

Chapter Fourteen

My turn.The methodical approach. Where Roman overwhelmed and Ash distracted, I intend to deconstruct.

I approach with surgical precision, each step calculated. The studio lights catch the red rhinestones on her mask as she tracks my movement, those intelligent eyes trying to predict my strategy. That's what she doesn't understand yet—the most effective control often comes from removing her ability to analyze.

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