Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 108

I collapse back onto the mattress with a grunt, my chest heaving, sweat slick down my spine. My cock drags free of him slow, and I have to shut my eyes against the rush that follows....hot, raw, the kind of burn that leaves every muscle quaking. For a second all I can do is breathe, drag in ragged gulps of air while I feel him melt against me.

Xander doesn’t even bother pretending to keep his distance. He lets me pull him in, his body heavy, boneless, his weight a comfort I didn’t know I’d crave. He drapes himself across me like he belongs there, chest pressed to mine, heartbeat syncing with my own. His skin is hot, damp and alive against me.

When he lifts his head, just barely, I catch his chin in my hand. My thumb brushes his jaw as I tilt him to me and kiss him once, it's short but firm enough to leave my lips tingling. He drops his head back down, tucks himself into my neck like he’s got nothing left to prove, and something inside me twists.

That was—fuck, there aren’t words for it. Nothing I’ve had before even comes close. Every filthy thing I’ve chased, every cheap release, I may as well have been touching air compared to this. Now that I’ve had him, buried myself inside him, heard him fall apart under me… I know I’ll never want anything else. I’ll never be able to stomach the thought of another set of hands on him, another mouth, another body. He’s mine.

The thought is possessive and dangerous, maybe even a little sick, but it settles deep, iron-clad, unshakable. And when I tighten my arm around him, feeling the slow drag of his breath against my chest, it doesn’t scare me at all.

Xander shifts up beside me, lying on his side, head propped on his hand like he’s got all the time in the world to just stare at me. And he does. A whole minute passes, heavy silence stretching between us. I turn my head toward him, meet those eyes, and there’s something so piercing in the way he looks at me I almost want to squirm under it.

Then his spare hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly over my face, tracing me like I’m something fragile and rare. He exhales, a soft sound, and says, “I wish I had one of those old vintage cameras. The kind that gives you just one shot. I’d capture you like this.”

I blink at him, my chest tightening. “Like this how?” My voice comes out low, rougher than I intend.

His fingers keep moving, slowly grazing along my jaw. “At ease. Like you finally let the world slip off your shoulders for once.” His words hit me in a place I don’t even want to name. “I’d look at it every damn day. But for now…” His mouth curls faintly, and his hand drags lazily down my chest. “…I’ll gladly look at the real thing.”

His eyes flick downward, catching on the way I’m still half-hard. There’s a gleam when he looks back up. “You’re insatiable.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. I don’t even think about it, I just pull him closer, closing that space between us again. I don’t know why, can’t fucking explain it, but I need him pressed to me, his weight over me, grounding me. “It’s your fault,” I mutter against his skin, my hand sliding down his back. “You look sinful. Sexy in a way that has me on edge whenever you're out of my sight because all I can do is worry about all the people making their damn move on you.” The words fall out raw, unpolished, but I mean every one of them.

He chuckles low, fingers circling one of my nipples almost absentmindedly. Then, after a beat, he drops it. “Adam was the last-minute client.”

I frown, head pulling back a fraction. “Which Adam?”

He smirks at my tone. “Adam Crest.”

My chest tightens. “What the fuck did he want?”

Xander’s hand pauses on me, then moves again, deliberately slower now. “ What do most people who walk into a tattoo shop want? But that doesn't matter, I wanted to dig. I thought maybe I’d get something about you out of him.” His eyes flick up, gauging me as his palm slides to rest over my heart.

The muscle under it kicks hard, traitorous. He must feel it, because his expression shifts to something careful and cautious. “Didn’t succeed. He’s a sealed vault. Wouldn’t even say how you met.” His gaze drags over my face, searching, like he’s reading every twitch of muscle. Then softer... “Just said you’ve known each other eight years. That’s...a really long time.”

The way he looks at me...fuck. There’s this raw longing there, this hungry curiosity he can’t mask, and yet underneath it, something else. Something that guts me. Acceptance. Like he already decided he’s not getting answers, not breaking into whatever I’m keeping locked, and he’s just fine with that. Settling for scraps.

I fucking hate it. Hate the resignation in his eyes.

My chest’s a fucking mess. It's tight, frantic and conflicted. There are too many thoughts crashing together, too many goddamn emotions, and I can’t untangle them all. But one thing is crystal clear, letting him go isn’t an option. It’s selfish, yeah. It’s reckless. And the future terrifies the shit out of me. But none of that matters, because I can’t...won’t...lose this beautiful, fiery, maddeningly passionate man who just won’t stop crawling under my skin.

I shift, pushing myself upright until my back hits the headboard, dragging in a breath. My mouth opens, then closes again, because I don’t even know what the hell I’m about to say.

But I know I have to say something.

Xander doesn’t move up beside me like before. Instead, he shifts to lie on his stomach, arms crossed under his chin, head tilted just enough to keep those eyes on me. Watching... he's always watching.

The silence stretches, his gaze heavy, and then he asks if I'm mad he tried to dig for answers from Adam. His tone comes out soft and genuinely curious. But I can't even answer because the sight of him like that...hair messy, face soft, body stretched out, bare and marked from what I just did to him..is fucking devastating. He looks so goddamn good I can’t stop staring. And if he wasn’t already too raw, too wrecked from the way I just fucked him into the mattress, I’d flip him over and sink back into him right now. Take him again until neither of us remembered our names.

I swallow hard, try to steady myself, but my head drags me somewhere darker. To last time, when I’d told him about the orphanage. About Father Elias and how I’d held myself back. And how Xander had looked me dead in the eye and told me what mattered was that I hadn’t given in. That I hadn’t crossed the line.

What would he do if he knew I eventually had? If he knew I’d spilled blood.

If he knew I'd done it more than once....

The thought guts me. My chest tightens, and I have to turn my head, close my eyes against the weight of it. I’ll never tell him that. I can’t.

But there are things I can tell him.

“When I was fourteen,” I start, my voice low, tentative, “I ran away from my foster home. Me and a friend.” Just saying it feels like dragging a knife through my ribs. I don’t want to go back there, don’t want to see those nights again, but I force myself to. I’ll keep it light, skim past the worst of it. He doesn’t need to know why we had to leave.

Xander does what he always does, just looks at me and listens. Like he’s memorizing every piece of me I give him.