Page 22 of Rhythm and Rapture (Behind the Lens #5)
Chapter Fifteen
Watching Felix 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.
Chad's cameras record everything from multiple angles, but what they can't capture is the energy in the room. The way three different approaches—intensity, chaos, and control—blend into something entirely new. The way her responses teach us as much as we're teaching her.
"I can't—the data—" she gasps at one point, still trying to maintain some pretense of documentation.
"The only data that matters," I tell her, steadying her as her knees threaten to give out, "is what you're feeling right now."
"Everything," she breathes. "I'm feeling everything."
And that's the real experiment—not the numbers or the recordings, but this moment where theory becomes practice, where chemistry transcends textbooks, where equipment clatters to the floor as we abandon the carefully arranged lab setup in favor of something far more primal.