Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 118

The sun is bright when Jax pulls his bike to the curb outside Zig’s. I swing off, pull the helmet free, and step closer, picking up the burger he packed for me and setting the helmet down right between his thighs.

He doesn’t let me get far. His hand fists in my shirt...his shirt...and yanks me back in.

He reaches up with his other hand to fix my hair. “Just ask,” he says, low, like he’s tired of circling it. “Let’s get it over with.”

My pulse stutters, but my voice stays steady. “And what exactly would I be asking?” My mind flashes with every bruise I’ve seen on him, every cut I brushed off as some random fight he’d picked up in an alley. Clearly, that’s not what it was.

His gaze flicks over my face before he answers, all clipped. “It’s a job.”

It almost pulls a laugh out of me, almost. Instead, I shake my head, jaw tight. “We’ll talk about it once I’m off.”

He doesn’t like that. I can see it, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers tighten on my shirt before he forces himself to let go. I expect him to fire the engine and leave me standing here, but instead his arm snakes around my waist, anchoring me to him.

My throat works around the swallow.

“You gonna scold me later?” he taunts, though there’s an edge buried in the words. “I honestly don’t see what the hell there is to discuss.” His eyes narrow when I don’t answer right away. “You mad?”

It sounds casual, but it isn’t. He’s worried.

I draw a breath. “I don’t know enough to be mad, that’s why we’ll talk later. You'll pick me up after work?”

A flicker of something shifts in him, his lips curve “Your work or mine?”

“That’s not funny,” I mutter, but my arms still go up, loop around his neck. His hair brushes my fingers, familiar now, grounding. The tension in his shoulders eases with the gesture, his fingers slightly dipping under my shirt as he exhales.

Then his gaze slides past me, toward Zig’s window, and he huffs. “You’ve got some really nosy friends.”

I don’t have to look to know Layla and Addy are plastered to the glass like kids at a candy store. “I gotta go,” I murmur, my fingers tugging lightly in his hair. Except I don’t move and neither does he.

His hand tightens on my waist, just enough to make me feel it. “I’ll drop by Adam’s office for a bit,” he says, then his mouth curves, dangerous and tempting. “If you’re not mad, prove it.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “Keep in mind, you’ve got at least eight hours before you see me again.”

The taunt sparks low heat through me. I lean in and kiss him, soft but edged, and whisper against his lips, “Bye.”

It takes sheer force and willpower to peel myself back. He doesn’t let me go easy, either, his grip lingers, his hold on my waist burning like a brand. His eyes pin mine.

“Remember,” he says, “you said we’ll ‘talk’ later. If you’re planning on arguing…” His eyes narrow slightly. “Might be better to find a room now, get all that frustration out before it builds.”

I lift my hand, palm settling against the sharp line of his jaw. His stubble scrapes my skin, grounding me in a way that makes my chest pull tight. I hold him there, force him to see me, no looking away.

“Oh, we’ll definitely talk,” I say steadily, my voice low with promise. But this is Jax. He tilts his head just a fraction into my hand, mouth curving in that dangerous way that shouldn’t make me want him more but does. He takes the weight in my tone, the seriousness, and twists it into something else. His version of ‘talk’ is a whole different language, all hands and heat and bodies pressed too close.

I trail one last finger across the line of his brow before I finally step back. This time, he lets me. But his eyes follow me, sharp and claiming even as I walk away.

Inside, Addy and Layla don’t even bother to look innocent. Layla spins around with a grin on her face, while Addy keeps her eyes glued to the window like she’s trying to memorize the back of Jax’s bike as it pulls away.

Layla’s the first to speak, smoothing down her blonde hair. “I covered your client,” she says, dragging out the words. “So next time I get one of those headaches...” she lifts her hands to throw in air quotes around the word headache,“...you better return the favor.”

I grunt something that passes for thanks and stalk to my station. I drop the burger on the desk and lean back in my chair, trying not to look like I’m still buzzing from the kiss outside.

Addy finally tears herself away from the window, her eyes bright, her mouth already curved into the kind of smile that means she’s about to be the worst. Sure enough, she struts over, plops herself down on my desk and immediately reaches for the bag.

I block her hand before she can even brush the paper. “Don’t.”

She sighs like I’ve just crushed her soul and then fans herself dramatically, arching her back like she’s in the middle of some romance novel cover shoot. “That whole scene outside was sooo fucking hot.” She lets the words drip, and I roll my eyes as hard as I can without spraining something.

I shove at her hip, trying to knock her off the desk, but she only digs in, leaning closer until her face is inches from mine. Her fingers catch my chin, angling my head left, then right, like she’s checking for damage.

I swat at her hand. “The hell are you doing?”

“Counting,” she says matter-of-factly, squinting at my throat. “Trying to see how many hickeys you’ve racked up. It’s gotta be a new record. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

I’d seen them in the mirror earlier, quite a few blooms on my skin, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

She chuckles, “Sorry, Xan, I know we're friends and all, but I can’t help it. I’m one hundred percent picturing you two doing it, and it’s...” She fans herself again. “…yeah, it’s definitely turning me on.”

That’s it, I stand, grab her around the waist and deposit her on the floor beside me. She squeals, but I just brush my hands off like the problem’s solved.

I glance around, “Ziggler around? I should tell him I'm in.”

Both of them shake their heads. Layla tucks her hair behind her ear. “He left a little while ago. Hunter got into trouble at school.”

Addy snorts. “What kind of trouble can a seven year old possibly get into though?”

Layla just shakes her head, muttering, “That kid’s a menace.”

“Understatement,” I say dryly. “I love kids, but that one? He still slips Zig warning notes for me. Saying I owe him pizza for taking the blame for that vase I broke at their place like a year ago. Straight up threats in fucking crayon. I’m never going back there.”

That gets them both laughing, Layla almost bent over with it. She wipes at her eyes. “Just get the kid his damn pizza.”

Before I can tell her to shove it, two twins walk in, grinning. They've apparently just turned eighteen and want twin tattoos that compliment each other.

I'm grateful for the distraction. Anything to shut my brain off from Jax, from the heat of his mouth still clinging to mine.