Page 36 of Rush

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"It's not that simple."

"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."

I step closer, close enough that I can feel her breath on me. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"Don't I?"

My hand comes up before I can stop it, wraps around her wrist. My thumb finds her pulse point.

It's racing.

The touch feels like possession, like claiming, like everything I'm not supposed to want.

And I hate myself for it, hate that I can't seem to let go, hate that touching her feels this good.

"Rush," she says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Your hands are shaking."

I look down. She's right, my hand is trembling where its wrapped around her wrist.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just breathe."

I force myself to breathe, to focus on something other than the violence still humming in my veins.

"You're okay," she says. "I'm okay, everything's okay."

"I could have hurt you."

"But you didn't. You protected me."

"I could have lost control."

"But you didn't."

She steps closer and puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart. "Feel that? You're here, you're present, you have control."

"I don't feel like I have control."

"That's because you're coming down from adrenaline. It'll pass."

She's right. I can feel it ebbing now, the violence slowly receding.

But my hand is still around her wrist, and I can't seem to make myself let go.

"You should tell me to leave," I say.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to leave."

"Everly—"

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