He reached out, his hand moving with slow, deliberate grace to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the sheer, unadulterated vulnerability of a woman whose mind had finally lost the war against her body.
'There you are,' he thought, a silent, triumphant roar in the quiet of his mind. 'There's the real Sabrina.'
He didn't need any more calculations. The system was quiet, the logic was gone, and all that remained was the heat, the steam, and the woman who was finally, beautifully, lost.
Inside the swirling, golden fog of her own mind, Sabrina was screaming, but the sound was muffled, as if she were shouting from the bottom of a deep, warm pool.
'What are you doing?' the voice of her intellect hissed, though it sounded distant, like a radio station losing its signal. 'Sabrina, pull yourself together!'
'This is madness!'
'This is a lapse in judgment so profound it borders on professional suicide!'
