Page 28 of Key of Kink

Restraint.

Not the musical kind—the other kind—which was inconvenient, considering I was meant to be focusing on breath control, balance, and not murdering Finnley if he warmed up in falsetto again.

Instead, I was focusing on a scene I had no business replaying.

Quinn.

I liked the way he hadn’t rushed the ending of our scene. He hadn’t tried to stretch it past its natural close either. It had been clean, contained….

And apparently, not forgettable.

I paused at the door to the studio, gripped the handle, and exhaled slowly.

This is precisely why I don’t hold onto scenes.

They were meant to end, to be filed away neatly, successful and complete.

This one refused to file. This one hadn’t been far from my thoughts for the last three nights.

Will he be there next time?

And why was I even asking myself this question?

Obsidian ran on rhythm. Certain nights were busier, certain members favoured certain hours. I knew the patterns well enough to guess when he might appear again.

This isn’t me planning. I’m assessing probability, that’s all.

If he comes on Thursday, I’ll adjust the tempo. Something with more deliberate pacing. Less testing, more… refinement.

Quinn liked precision. He liked knowing where the lines were before leaning against them.

I still hadn’t opened the damn door.

“Not planning, my arse,” I muttered. “Yeah, right.”

I’m considering options. There’s a difference.

I pushed open the studio door and stepped inside, forcing myself to breathe, each tread of the stairs grounding me.

Music required presence. Harmony demanded attention.

I walked into the studio, dimly aware of voices, bodies. Part of my mind was elsewhere, cataloguing, adjusting, imagining the next negotiation as though it was a chord progression I hadn’t quite perfected yet.

This is not me being invested. I’m just being thorough.

If Quinn returned—and statistically, he would—it would be irresponsible not to have considered what came next. Of course it would. I was not looking forward to it, I was simply being prepared.

There’s a difference.

I was aware of how that thought echoed.

Theo glanced up from his clipboard, his head cocked to one side as if he could hear the discord in my head.

“You okay?”

I didn’t miss a beat. “I’m fine.”

His lips twitched. “That’s usually my line.”