Page 39 of Rhythm and Rapture

"For complete results," I confirm, and there's desperation beneath the scientific justification that I can't hide anymore.

They converge like they've rehearsed it, but this is pure improvisation. Roman moves behind me, Ash to my side, Felix remaining in front—three points of a triangle with me at the center.

"I need..." I start, then stop, unsure how to articulate what I need when I've never had it before.

"We know," Roman says, his voice a dark promise as he moves closer. "We've got you."

And suddenly they're all touching me—in all the right places—my breasts, my inner thighs, slipping their fingers inside me. It should be overwhelming. Roman's hand in my hair, Ash's fingers tracing patterns on my arms, Felix's hands steady on my waist, grounding me even as everything else spins out of control.. Itisoverwhelming. But somehow having all three of them there makes me feel safer, not more vulnerable.

"Peak heart rate approaching," I try to narrate even as they systematically destroy my composure. "Subjects showing coordinated response patterns—oh god..."

"Forget the numbers," Roman growls against my neck. "Just feel."

Ash leans in for a deep kiss, his lips capturing mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue traces patterns that match the rhythm he's been drumming against my skin, turningour lips into music. Felix's thumb finds my clit, alternating between circling and strumming with the same precision I've only seen him use on stage while performing. Behind me, Roman's mouth finds the nape of my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where spine meets skull, sending electric shivers cascading down my back. As if my body is an instrument they’re learning to play.

The synchronous exploration of my body makes me finally understand why they call it chemistry—every touch catalyzes new reactions, creating compounds of pleasure I never knew existed or could be capable of feeling.

"The data—" I gasp at one point, still trying to maintain some pretense of documentation even as my world tilts on its axis.

"Still want to document this?" Ash teases gently, his fingers never stopping their maddening rhythm against my skin.

"The only data that matters," Felix says, sliding off my panties, revealing my wetness and steadying me as my knees threaten to give out, "is what you're feeling right now."

"Everything," I breathe, the word escaping like a confession. "I'm feeling everything."

I laugh, slightly hysterical, as the absurdity of trying to quantify this hits me. "I can't... I don't know how to document this. Also, I don't think there's a scientific journal in the world that would publish these findings."

"Their loss," Felix murmurs, and then they're moving me toward the bed that's been set up in the corner of the studio—because of course Lorna thought of everything.

"Don't document," Roman tells me, his voice rough with desire but tender with care. "Just feel."

And for the first time in my adult life, I stop thinking and surrender completely to sensation. The scientist in me will want to analyze this later—to understand how three men who were strangers days ago have become the safest space I've everknown. But right now, in this moment, I'm just Sabina. Not hiding behind a mask or a lab coat or scientific terminology.

Just me, discovering that sometimes the most important experiments are the ones where you throw out the hypothesis and simply experience the results.

Chapter Fifteen

WatchingFelix work is like watching a master musician tune an instrument. Every touch deliberate, every pause calculated. He's got her lab coat completely unbuttoned now, and the way she trembles as he slides it off her shoulders makes my own hands shake.

"Beautiful," Roman murmurs, and we all feel it—this moment where performance becomes reality.

Sabina stands before us in red lace and promise, every monitor showing what we can see with our own eyes. She's coming apart at the seams, our brilliant professor reduced to pure sensation.

"All variables," she gasps suddenly, looking at each of us. "The experiment requires testing all variables simultaneously for accurate data."

"Together?" Roman's voice could melt steel.

"For complete results," she confirms, and there's desperation beneath the scientific justification.

We converge like we've rehearsed it, but this is pure improvisation. Roman behind her, his hands in her hair. Me at her side, finding the rhythm of her escalating responses. Felix in front, guiding everything with that careful control.

"Peak heart rate approaching," she tries to narrate even as we systematically destroy her composure. "Subjects showing coordinated response patterns—oh god..."

"Forget the numbers," Roman growls against her neck. "Just feel."

FELIX

The transformation is beautiful. Our controlled professor finally stops analyzing and starts experiencing. The monitors capture data, but they can't show the moment she truly lets go—when her hands stop seeking the tablet and start seeking us instead.

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