Page 42 of Rush
"Then do it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I start, I won't stop."
"Good."
His eyes drop to my mouth and the air between us feels electric, charged with everything we're not saying.
“This ends badly,” he says.
I don’t argue, instead, I step closer.
He swears under his breath, low, like he already knows he’s lost this, his hand catches my jaw, firm, holding me there.
My breath stutters, I know he feels it, and thankfully, he doesn’t let go.
"Everly," he says, and my name sounds like a prayer.
"Yeah?"
"I need you to walk away."
"No."
"Please."
"Make me."
He leans in and I think he's going to kiss me, but he stops with his forehead against mine. His breath is hot on my lips.
We're sharing air, sharing space, sharing this moment that's stretched too thin.
"Rush," I breathe.
"I can't do this."
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't. If I kiss you right now, I won't stop. I'll take you home and I'll fuck you and I'll ruin everything."
The words are raw and honest, and they make my entire body flush hot.
"Maybe I want you to ruin everything."
He makes a sound low in his throat. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I know exactly what I'm asking for."
His other hand comes to my hip, grips tight enough that I feel it through my jeans.
"I'm not good for you," he says.
"Stop saying that."
"It's true. You deserve someone who's not one bad day away from violence."
