Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 125

XANDER'S POV

Morning creeps in and I blink awake. The first thing I see is Jax, flat on his back beside me, chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm, his lips parted slightly in sleep. My arm is already draped over him, palm resting against the slope of his chest like my body knew where it belonged before I even opened my eyes.

He looks so fucking peaceful like this, the edges of him softened. The sight makes something tight unfurl in my chest.

Eventually, I shift, reaching under my pillow for my phone. I roll onto my back, careful not to wake him, thumb brushing over the screen.

Gym’s canceled, again. All those years of brutal consistency have gone slack these past weeks. Because now I want mornings like this more. I want to stay in bed with him. Breathe him in.

I wanna find something fun we can do once we're done antiquing. Something new to fill the hours. I scroll, but most of it doesn’t sound like him. I can practically hear the flat no in his voice.

Then a clip catches my eye. A little cafe in the city. Bright walls, people sitting at tables with paintbrushes in hand. They bring you a canvas, colors, everything you need, and you just paint. With whoever you’re with. Reviews talk about the food, the atmosphere, how surprisingly good it feels to just sit down and create.

I linger on it, imagining him there. Probably pretending to hate it. And the reviews say the food's good. That's definitely a hook for him, I know that much.

I’m still reading when he stirs. The bed shifts under his weight, and I turn my head just as his eyes blink open, hazy but already locking on mine.

“Morning,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my mouth as I reach over, pluck a fallen lash from his cheekbone.

He squints at me, voice all sexy and rough. “What’re you doing?”

“Come here,” I say, hand outstretched.

He drags a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath, but he shifts closer all the same. His head finds its way onto my shoulder, heavy and warm, and I curl an arm around him, tucking him against my side.

“I was looking up something fun for us to do later, after the antique stores,” I tell him, phone still in my other hand.

He grunts a little, noncommittal, and I can feel the rumble of it against my ribs.

“Here,” I add, turning the screen so he can see the clip. A quick pan of the cafe and the paint-splattered tables. “What do you think?”

I study his face as his eyes flick over the video, waiting for that telltale look, the one that’ll tell me if I’ve picked right or if I’m about to get a sarcastic one-liner and a shake of the head.

His groggy little protest makes me grin.

“I can’t paint for shit,” he mutters, glancing up at me, palm cupping my jaw like he’s trying to soften the sting. “You just looking for an excuse to show off?”

I laugh, head tipping back on the pillow. “Of course not. I don’t even remember the last time I picked up a brush. I’m sure I’ve gone rusty.”

“Rusty, my ass,” he scoffs. “Your mum owns a damn art gallery.”

“Okay, okay, fair,” I concede, hands raised in mock surrender. Then I shift, scrolling again, thumb flicking down like a man on a mission. “Fine, I’ll find something else. I just thought it might be fun.”

Before I can get far, his voice cuts in, low but steady.

“I’ll go.”

I pause, blink and turn to him. “You sure?”

Instead of answering, he leans in, lips brushing the side of my neck before trailing slow, unhurried kisses up toward my jaw. Each one sends a ripple straight through me. “Doesn’t seem too bad,” he murmurs, heat in his tone. Then, closer, voice dropping to a whisper, “Not opposed to some convincing though.”

My breath catches when he adds, “How much do you really want me to go? Maybe you should show me.”

My composure’s shot. I lean into his mouth, shift and roll so I’m straddling him, the solid press of his cock hard through his boxers against me. I grind down once, slow and deliberate, my lips brushing his ear as I murmur, “Lucky for you, I’m feeling awfully generous this morning.”

I slide down, palms tracing over his chest, his stomach, until I hook my fingers in his waistband and tug the boxers down. His cock springs free, thick, heavy and flushed. I drag my tongue down the length of him, savoring the twitch it draws, then flatten my tongue along the underside before finally wrapping my lips around the head.

His breath hitches...loud, rough...and that’s when the shrill buzz of my phone cuts through the moment. I ignore it, sealing my lips tighter around him.

“Cut the call,” I mutter against him, voice muffled, then sink lower, greedy for the taste of him.

He reaches blindly toward my phone, chest heaving, eyes locked on mine like he can’t look anywhere else. His fingers fumble across the screen, and then—

“Xander?” My mum’s muffled voice fills the room, tiny through the speaker.

Jax freezes, mutters a sharp, “Oh, Fuck!” through his teeth.

And all I can do is stay there, lips stretched around his cock, staring up at him in utter disbelief as my mum’s voice rattles the air between us. He holds the phone like it’s a live grenade. His knuckles are tight around it, his eyes darting from the screen to me. I lean up on one elbow, then snatch it out of his hand and push myself onto my knees beside him. I shoot him a sharp look. He just shrugs like this is somehow my fault.

On the other end, my mum’s voice is already spilling through, tiny but firm... “Xander? Are you okay? Who was that?”

I press the phone to my ear, thumbing the volume down, and mumble, “Hi, Mum.” My free hand yanks the blanket over Jax’s bare cock in one swift move.

I’d texted her last night, a quick “I'm exhausted, will call you tomorrow instead” but apparently she decided to get ahead of me.

“What’s up? How are you doing?” I ask, aiming for casual.

“Don’t distract me,” she snaps, like she’s been a detective in a past life. “I heard someone.” Then her voice drops into this ridiculous conspiratorial whisper. “Is it him? Are you with him?”

My stomach flips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say too quickly, throat dry.

“Oh, don’t lie to me,” she cuts in, gleeful now. “No wonder you didn’t call last night.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, I should never have told her. Should’ve bottled up the stupid excitement instead of blurting out that Jax and I were official. Rookie mistake.

“Can I talk to him?” she asks suddenly, her tone bubbling over. “It is Jax, right?”

I wince, drag a hand down my face. “Mum—”

“Come on, give him the phone,” she presses.

“I’m not doing that.” I swing my legs off the bed and stride toward the washroom, chasing privacy.

“Why not?” she sighs, all exaggerated frustration. “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

“For some odd reason, I don’t believe that,” I mutter, pushing the door shut behind me.

She makes this little wounded noise, then rallies, her words buzzing through the speaker with unfiltered giddiness. “Xander, honestly. Don’t be cruel. Let me at least greet my future son-in-law....”

I groan out loud, leaning my head back against the cool tile wall. “And that,” I tell her, “is exactly why you’re not talking to him.”

“I can behave,” she insists brightly.

I sigh into the receiver, pinching the bridge of my nose. She’s not letting this go. My mother could out-stubborn a stone wall, and somehow I’m the idiot who’s actually considering giving in. I know Jax. He’s not going to like this. Hell, he’s probably going to look at me like I’ve just betrayed him on a cellular level.