Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 114

“Christ, Jax,” I groan, curling my finger deeper, “you should see how tight you’re holding me. Imagine if it was my cock stretching you open.”

I sink in further, waiting as he adjusts, watching every twitch in his face. When I’m buried, I pull back slow, then push in again, this time angling until I hit it....that perfect spot inside him.

The sound that rips from his throat is guttural, wild. He curses, eyes flying open as his back arches. “Fuck—oh, fuck, Xander...do that again. Shit, I...” His words tangle into broken mumbling, “—gonna make me lose it. Right there. God, you’re gonna ruin me.”

Every time I curl my finger just right, he shatters a little more. His hips jerk, his lips part, his head tips back against the pillow like he can’t take the weight of it. And watching him come undone like this, because of me, might just kill me.

Then I hear it, low and broken through his teeth. “Not enough…”

My cock throbs hard at the words. He’s blind with lust, hazy, not thinking straight. I can tell.

“I fucking love you like this,” I say, voice thick with smug grit. “Wrecked and needy. So fucking desperate for me.”

“Shut the fuck up and—” he snaps, but he doesn’t finish.

I chuckle darkly, leaning close. “And fuck you? That what you’re trying to say, Jax? You want me to turn you over and fuck this tight little hole until all you remember is my name?” My tone is taunting, daring him.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t waste the breath. He just grabs my hair, hard enough to sting, yanking me up until I’m right in his face. His eyes are blown wide, his mouth trembling with want.

“I don’t have a problem asking for what I want,” he rasps, and then his hand slides down, grabs my cock in a rough, claiming grip. My entire body jerks. His thumb swipes over the head, and I just whimper like a slut for him. “This.” His voice is gravel, raw and hungry. “Your cock inside me, Xander. Filling me up. That’s what I fucking want.”

Christ, he kills me. The way he says it....rough, shameless, like he’s tearing himself open just to show me what he wants. No hesitation. No games. Just raw, filthy honesty. I’ve fucked a lot of guys before. Plenty of them were vocal...loud, demanding, moaning like the whole world needed to know what I was doing to them. But Jax.... he’s different. It’s not just the way he says what he wants, it’s the weight behind it, like every word costs him something, like letting me see this side of him is dangerous. And somehow, he still gives it to me. It doesn’t just turn me on, it fucking guts me. Makes me feel things I can't even begin to explain. It drags me under, pulls things out of me I don’t want to name. My cock’s throbbing, yeah, but my chest is too....tight and aching, like he’s carving himself into me with every rough, honest word.

My chest caves with need. God, there’s nothing I want more. But I’m not giving in that easy. Not right now, not until he begs like only he can for me.

I grin, low and cruel, grinding into his fist. “Good. I just wanted to make sure you were into it.” I pull his hand off me, my control hanging by a thread, and smirk down at him. “And now I know. As to the question of when I fuck you…” I lean in, mouth brushing his ear. “...That’ll be entirely up to me. Not you.”

“You motherfucking tease,” he spits, cursing, eyes flashing like he could kill me and kiss me in the same breath.

I laugh, dragging my tongue across his jaw, savoring his fury. Suddenly I’m strung tight, like every nerve in me is on fire, and I can’t fucking hold back. I swing a leg over, straddle him, grind down against his cock until it drags a ragged sound out of both of us. My mouth finds his ear, my breath hot, desperate.

“Fuck, Jax,” I rasp, rolling my hips harder, shameless. “I want you inside me.”

His grip on my waist tightens, brutal, like he’s two seconds from snapping. And I want that. I want all of it. He doesn’t even hesitate, just reaches for the lube on the bedside table, slick efficiency in every movement. The next second, I’m on my back, the air punched out of me as he rolls us and pins me down, his weight solid and unyielding.

It’s not gentle, not measured....it’s a storm, wild and consuming, and I can feel it in every rough drag of his hands, every desperate grind of his body against mine. It’s so fucking intense it steals the breath right out of me, leaves me clawing at him like he’s the only thing keeping me alive.

********

Jax somehow managed to convince me to call in late for work. I had to lie about a headache...lame excuse, but when he was buried in me, I wasn’t about to come up with anything better. Ziggler even told me to take the whole day if I wasn’t feeling well, but I said I’d be in later. I have some pretty dedicated clients, can’t let them down. Truth is, I just couldn’t turn down more time here. With him....With this.

Now we’re in the kitchen, freshly showered, me wearing a pair of his sweats, him in nothing but boxers, barefoot, hair still damp. He’s making me burgers from scratch, and it shouldn’t feel like such a big deal, but it does. He moves with this focus that gets under my skin, hands shaping the patties, brows drawn like it’s serious business.

Every few seconds his eyes flick to mine, catching me staring, and each glance drags me deeper. It feels different this morning....like something shifted between us when I wasn’t paying attention, some cosmic click I don’t have words for. And I don’t want words. I don’t want to question it. I just want to keep soaking it in.

I get up from my seat and move to his side, leaning against the counter, arms folded. “You sure you don’t want help?” I ask, even though we both know I can’t cook for shit. “I can chop a tomato or something.”

He actually pauses, like he’s weighing the risk, then sighs. “Fine. But if you butcher it, it’s going on your burger.”

I grin as he hands me a knife, a cutting board, a tomato. I glance toward the hallway. “ Is Nate still around?”

Jax shrugs, sprinkling seasoning into the bowl. “Probably dead asleep. He doesn’t wake up till noon.”