Page 107 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

I reached out, my hand covering his where it rested on the counter. "That's exactly what makes you remarkable." Theo looked down at our hands, then back to my face, his analytical gaze softening with something warmer.

"May I?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, and I nodded, understanding his unspoken question. Theo leaned forward with deliberate care, his movements precise as always as his lips met mine. Unlike the kiss we'd shared earlier, this one was unhurried, exploratory—as if he was conducting thorough research on what made me respond. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone with scientific precision that somehow still felt tender.

When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Theo's eyes were darker behind his glasses, the analytical sharpness tempered by something more primal.

"Your physiological responses are fascinating," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. "Increased pulse, dilated pupils, flushed skin." Despite the clinical assessment, his voice had roughened, betraying his own response.

I smiled at his observation. "You make it sound so scientific."

"Everything is, at its foundation," Theo replied, though his usual clinical detachment was undercut by the way his fingers lingered against my skin. "But science doesn't diminish beauty or meaning. It enhances it." His eyes studied my face with that intense focus that made me feel like the center of his universe. "The chemical reactions occurring in your body right now—the oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin—they're measurable, predictable. But the experience they create..." His voice softened. "That's beyond quantification."

I leaned into his touch, drawn to this unexpected blend of analytical precision and genuine warmth. "For someone who processes the world through data, you have a surprisingly poetic side."

"Poetry is pattern recognition," Theo said simply. "Finding meaning in the rhythms and connections others miss." His hand slid to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he studied me. "May I kiss you again?"

"Please," I whispered, already leaning toward him.

This time, his kiss was less exploratory and more confident—as if his earlier research had yielded conclusive results he was now applying. His lips moved against mine with deliberate intent, cataloging each small sound I made, each subtle response. When his tongue traced the seam of my lips, I opened to him willingly, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

Theo's methodical approach to intimacy was unlike anything I'd experienced—each touch seemed calculated for maximum effect, each movement precise and purposeful. Yet there was nothing cold about his attention; rather, it felt like being the subject of complete and utter focus, as if nothing else in the world existed beyond the points where our bodies connected. His hands moved to my waist, lifting me effortlessly from my stool and pulling me between his knees. The new position brought us closer, my chest pressed against his as his arms encircled me.

"Your heart rate has increased by approximately twenty-seven percent," Theo murmured against my lips, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard it. "Mine has as well. Fascinating correlation."

I couldn't help but laugh softly, even as desire pooled low in my belly. "Only you would be calculating heart rates during a kiss."

The corner of his mouth lifted in that rare almost-smile. "Observation is automatic for me. But that doesn't mean I'm not..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Affected."

As if to prove his point, one of his hands slid lower, tracing the curve of my hip through the thin fabric of my robe. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, my body responding instinctively to his careful exploration. Theo noticed, of course—he noticed everything.

"Cold?" he asked, though the knowing look in his eyes suggested he understood perfectly well that my reaction had nothing to do with temperature.

"Not at all," I whispered, my hands sliding up to cup his face. "Quite the opposite, actually."

Theo's eyes darkened behind his glasses, his analytical gaze now heated with something more primal. His hands tightened slightly at my waist, drawing me impossibly closer as he leaned in to kiss me again. This time, there was less careful exploration and more hunger—as if his self-control was finally beginning to fray around the edges.

I responded in kind, my fingers threading through his hair, disturbing its usual neatness in a way that felt strangely intimate. Theo growled softly against my mouth, the sound so unexpected from him that it sent another wave of heat through me. His hands slid beneath my robe, finding the bare skin of my waist where my tank top had ridden up. His fingers were cool against my heated skin, methodical in their exploration as they traced patterns up my sides.

"Your skin's temperature is elevated," he murmured against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. "Fascinating physiological response."

"Are you always this analytical?" I asked breathlessly as his mouth moved to my neck, pressing precise kisses along my pulse point.

"Yes," he admitted without apology, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin in a way that made me gasp. "Though usually I maintain better internal monologue control."

I laughed softly, the sound turning into a moan as his hands slid higher under my tank top, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts in a teasing touch that made me arch against him. "I find your responses... compelling."

"I find your observations compelling too," I whispered, my hands sliding down to his shoulders, feeling the surprising strength beneath his typically buttoned-up exterior. "Though I might prefer fewer words and more action at the moment."

Something flashed in Theo's eyes—amusement, desire, and something deeper—as he adjusted his glasses with his free hand. "A reasonable request. I'll adjust my approach accordingly."

True to his word, Theo's mouth found mine again in a kiss that contained none of his usual restraint. His hands moved with purpose now, one sliding up to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my tank top while the other held me firmly against him. I gasped against his lips as his thumb circled my nipple, the precise, scientific touch sending shocks of pleasure through my body. My own hands weren't idle, moving to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them to reveal more of his skin to my exploring fingers.

"Your fine motor skills remain remarkably coordinated despite elevated arousal," Theo observed, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard it as my fingers worked their way down his shirt. "Most individuals experience decreased dexterity under similar conditions."

"I work with my hands," I reminded him breathlessly as his mouth found that sensitive spot just below my ear. "Muscle memory."

"Fascinating," he murmured against my skin, the word more sensual than clinical in his deepened voice. He helped me push his shirt open, revealing a lean, surprisingly muscled torso that my hands immediately moved to explore. My fingers traced the contours of his chest, mapping him with the same attention to detail he always showed the world. He seemed fascinated by my touch, his analytical mind cataloging each response, each small reaction to my exploration.

"Your observational skills are impressive," he said, his breathing slightly uneven as my fingers traced the lean muscles of his abdomen. "Most people wouldn't notice the scar here." His hand covered mine, guiding it to a thin white line just below his ribs.

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