Page 27 of Rush
"Rush."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't." But he doesn't pull away, just stays there, his forehead against mine, his hand still cupping my jaw. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me."
"I can't lose control with you."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what I'll do if I stop holding back."
The admission is raw and honest, and it makes my chest tight.
I pull back enough to look at him. "You think you're going to hurt me?"
"I think I'm capable of it."
"So am I. That doesn't make me dangerous."
"It's different."
"How?"
He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes like he's in pain.
I touch his face and his eyes open. "I'm not afraid of you, Rush."
"You should be."
"Well, I'm not. And I'm not fragile. I'm Diesel's daughter. I grew up around men like you."
"Men like me?"
"Dangerous, intense, wrapped in leather and bad decisions."
His mouth curves despite himself. "That's one way to put it."
"Stop treating me like I'm going to break."
"I'm not."
"You are. You're so afraid of losing control that you won't let yourself feel anything."
He's quiet for a long time, then he says, "What if you're right? What if I lose control and I can't stop?"
"Then I'll stop you."
"What if you can't?"
I look at him and I see it—the real fear underneath all the control.
He's not afraid of hurting me; he's afraid of becoming someone he used to be.
"Who hurt you?" I ask quietly.
