Page 29 of Rush
"You feel like barely contained violence."
"Does that scare you?"
"No. It makes me want you more."
He makes a sound low in his throat and leans in. His mouth is so close to mine I can almost taste him.
"Everly."
"Yeah?"
"This is a really bad idea."
"I know."
Then he kisses me, and everything else disappears.
His mouth is hot and demanding and exactly what I wanted. He tastes like beer and danger and something darker I can't name.
His hand slides into my hair and he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss, and I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I cared.
But I don't care about anything except the feel of him against me, the heat of his mouth, the way his other hand grips my hip like he's trying to anchor himself.
I grab his cut and pull him closer. He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.
This is want, raw and unfiltered, and it's better than I imagined.
He pulls back just enough to breathe. "We should stop."
"Probably."
But neither of us move. We just stand there breathing hard, his forehead against mine.
"I want you," he says, and the admission sounds like it's ripped from somewhere deep.
"I know."
"This is going to end badly."
"Maybe. But right now, I don't care."
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense, and I feel it everywhere.
This is dangerous—he's dangerous—but I want it anyway.
I want the risk, the heat, the barely controlled violence that's simmering just under his skin.
I pull back, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
"We can't do this here," I say.
"I know."
"People will talk."
"Let them."
I almost laugh because that's so not what I expected him to say.
