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He shifts onto the lounger and sits behind me. I move between his legs and tug the blanket over both of us. His hard thighs wrap around me, making it impossible to focus entirely on my computer.

“I’ve had this melody I can’t get out of my head.” I shift a few clips around, frowning. “There’s an easy kick for now—I’ll figure out the rest of the drum structure later—but I’m working on the frequency. I want to drop the frequency down on this part”—I point at the screen—“probably eighty hertz, close to sub. You don’t really hear it anymore, but you feel it.”

After making the adjustment, I hit a keystroke to play the phrase again.

Harry tugs me back against him. “How do you know what to change?”

“Experience. Intuition. Fucking it up enough times.” I tilt my head up to grin at him, and the expression on his face hits me square in the chest.

His scent is like the ocean surrounding us—mysterious, undeniable, overwhelming.

“Sounds like running a business.” His voice is full of humor as he strokes my arm lightly.

“I can change frequencies to change the feel of something too.”

When I lift my arm, his touch lands on my side.

I suck in a breath. It’s more intimate now.

Instead of hesitating, he strokes down farther.

“Every amateur with a computer thinks he can make music,” I quip, but when his fingers slip down my stomach, I have to swallow my groan.

His breath is warm on my temple. “I could.”

“Oh really? You’re a prodigy?” It’s a joke, but when the loop starts again on my computer, his fingers move with it.

I bite my lip as I try to focus, but his touch is lighting fires between my thighs. He nudges the waistband of my shorts, revealing the edge of dark lace beneath.

His exhale is hunger and satisfaction at once as he strokes a finger where my panties meet my skin.

“Did I mention I like these?” The low pitch of his voice is pure seduction.

“You might’ve hinted at it.”

My heart thuds harder, all from the slow touch of his fingers. From knowing he’s looking at the lace I put on. Knowing I put it on for him.

“I’ve watched you give in when you play, but I never see you give in anywhere else. I want to see it.” Harrison’s chest vibrates under me. “I want to feel it.”

His touch slips lower, where I’m already wet.

I arch up off the lounger, but his other arm bands around me to hold me to his chest, the impressive hardness probing my lower back.

I’m a knot of pure need, every part of me reduced to the spot where his fingers touch me. The connection feeds the part of me starved for attention, affection.

“Oh my God,” I mumble.

It’s the most exquisite feeling. He knows what he’s doing to me. It’s deliberate and every bit as sexy as his shallow hiss of breath at my ear.

I want to turn over and look in those cool, blue eyes, see if they’re shattered with heat. I want to kiss him, to press every inch of me against him, to feel as if we’re coming together and I’m not at a disadvantage anymore. But I’m trapped between his hands and body, and when I move an inch, the computer slips.

I grab for it.

This was supposed to be a demonstration.

I try to refocus on what I was saying, but his finger moves lower, sliding through my wetness, and I inhale sharply.

“I’ve never understood why a producer invests so much time getting the parameters just right,” he murmurs. “Humans can handle limited sensory input. Like right now, you can feel my breath on the side of your face. But when I do this…” Harrison adds the heel of his hand to the mix, rubbing against my swollen clit. It’s dissonant and raw and euphoric at once.