Page 20 of Rhythm and Rapture (Behind the Lens #5)

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 if that 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.

"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.