Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 111

The alarm goes off way too damn early, shrill and unrelenting against the quiet. My eyes snap open, and without thinking, I reach under Xander's pillow, fingers finding his phone. One swipe and the thing is silenced. He stirs beside me, groaning softly, dragging a hand over his face as he blinks awake. Six a.m. Friday. Which means he’s supposed to leave eventually.

He shifts onto his back first, looking every shade of sinful, his chest rising and falling, hair a mess I want to bury my hands in again. Then he rolls onto his side, lips curving faintly as he catches me watching in the dim morning light. His hand finds my hair, fingers pushing through, lazy and tender. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

I should say it back....I don’t. The word that claws its way up is different. Almost desperate. “Stay.”

His brow arches, amused and definitely curious. “Stay?”

I lean in, my mouth brushing over his shoulder, teeth grazing down as I hum my answer against his skin. The truth is I can’t fathom him just climbing out of this bed and walking out the damn door. I’ve felt this before, when we’ve parted ways in the past, when I’ve watched his back as he left...but it was a lot duller then. Muted, something I could definitely survive. Now? It’s sharp, unbearable. Like every second that pulls him away from me is one I won’t get back.

He stretches, a slow, languid move that makes his body ripple under the sheets, and then that sound leaves him...low, throaty and obscene in its simplicity. I know it’s intentional, because it damn near kills me where I lie. My jaw tightens. My chest feels tight.

“I’ve gotta hit the gym,” he says, half a tease, half a statement, like he’s testing me.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, to scoff at him. Instead, I let my hand find him. I trace over the broad plane of his chest, down the ridges of his abs...hard, sculpted, warm beneath my touch, until my fingers are at the dip of his V, that dangerous, tempting line that begs to be followed. My throat goes dry. I drag my palm lower, slower, savoring the feel of him.

When I look up, he’s already watching me. Eyes dark, lips parted, every bit of him tuned into what I’m doing.

“If it’s a workout you’re after…” My voice drops, thick and full of heat, as my hand slips further, fingers curling around his cock.

His breath shudders out, his head tipping back, eyes slamming shut as a groan punches out of him. Fucking music. That’s what it is....dark, dangerous music that hums straight through my blood.

I shove the covers down just enough, exposing the way my hand holds him, the obscene beauty of it. For a second, both of our gazes flick down, caught on the same image, the proof of what I do to him, what he lets me do.

And Christ, I swear my pulse could rip through my veins. And just like last night, all I can think is...he's mine, all of him.

He’s still catching his breath, chest rising under my hand when his voice comes rough, shaky.

“Maybe…I can skip the gym.”

My brain does the quick math, skipping the gym means he’d give me an extra hour and a half, maybe a little more if we stretch it. Not bad. Not nearly enough, but I’ll take every damn minute I can wring out of him.

I lean into his ear, let my lips brush his skin as I murmur, “Or you could call in late for work.”

He turns his head slightly, eyebrow arched, amused. “How late?”

I shrug like it’s nothing, even though I’m dying for him to say yes. “ I'll have you there by ten. Ten-thirty at the latest.”

That earns me a scoff, his laugh vibrating low in his chest as he shakes his head. “I’ve got a client.”

“I’ll tip you,” I counter, voice dark, promise laced between every word. “Better than any client ever could.”

My hand drifts back to that spot I found last night, the sensitive one at the small of his back...and the second I press my fingers there, he jerks with a sharp flinch before shoving me off. His laugh cracks through the air, unguarded, rich and so fucking beautiful.

“Asshole,” he chuckles, scooting to the edge of the bed like he’s putting up distance. “You’re cut off. You lost your privileges.”

I grin and snatch his arm before he can get too far. “The hell I did.”

He lets me reel him back in without much fight, his body warm and solid as he settles against me again. Then he cups my jaw, thumb brushing over my cheek like I’m something fragile even though I’ve never been that a day in my life. The look in his eyes is sharp...heated and intense, before he lowers his mouth to mine.

The kiss is nothing soft. It’s a claim, hard and consuming. He shifts, sliding his body over mine, and suddenly he’s on top, his thighs bracketing me, the full weight of him pinning me down. Then he grinds into me. Naked, the heat of him a brand against me. Our cocks slide and press together, hard and straining, and the sound that rips out of me is half-growl, half-beg. His groan answers mine, deep and filthy, vibrating straight through me.

When he finally tears his mouth from mine, his eyes gleam dark, wicked, almost sparkling. And I know that look. Christ, do I know it.

Two years of watching him from shadows, following him when he didn’t have a clue....those nights when he slipped into his little clubs, prowling. I’d seen that look then, the way his eyes sharpened with intent when he spotted some stranger across the room, some poor bastard he wanted to drag back home and fuck. That look had gutted me every time, left me red, burning with the kind of murderous rage I barely kept chained.

But now? Now that same gleam is aimed at me. And it’s dialed up, sharpened to something lethal.

I try to move, to roll us so I’m on top, but he doesn’t budge. He's stronger than he lets on, and lately he’s been leaning into it. He grips my wrists, pressing them into the mattress above my head, his body rolling against mine in these torturous, slow drags that make my spine arch and my blood roar.

“Xander,” I grit out, voice breaking on his name, my body thrumming between desperation and fury.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give me the chance to breathe. His eyes lock with mine, lethal sex wrapped in molten heat. Every line of his body is deliberate, every grind designed to wreck me.

And fuck, it’s working.

His voice is low and dangerous when he asks, “You know what I’m thinking, Jax?”

My gut tightens because yeah...I’ve got a damn good idea. Same thing he hinted at last night when we walked into this room. But I don’t give him the satisfaction. My answer comes out clipped, almost sharp. “Not a clue.”

He chuckles, because of course he can tell I’m lying. His smirk is lazy, taunting, like a cat who’s already got the mouse pinned. “And do you wanna know... what it is I’m thinking?” he asks, voice dripping with mock innocence.