Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 139

The dishes are still on the table, faint reminders of the quiet breakfast we shared not so long ago. We showered together, changed, and now the world has narrowed down to just us and the sound of the TV. I’d pulled the back cushions off the couch to make more space, stretched out first so I could gather him into me the way I needed to....selfishly.

Two episodes into MasterChef and my attention isn’t on the food or the judges. It’s on him. My arm is wrapped firmly around his chest, holding him flush against me, our fingers laced together. His head rests heavy on my other arm, the kind of weight that leaves it tingling and half-asleep, but there’s no chance I’ll move it. Losing the feeling is worth it if it means I get to keep him right here. His legs are tangled with mine beneath the blanket, his warmth seeping into me until I don’t know where I end and he begins.

I press another kiss into his hair without even thinking, not sure how many it’s been. Ten? ...Twenty? I’ve lost count. My mouth just keeps finding him, like it has a mind of its own.

The episode wraps up in a mess of drama and forced suspense, and I finally let out, “That elimination was unfair, don’t you think?” My voice sounds too loud in the quiet.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts, turning to face me. There’s something calmer about him now, though the tiredness is still etched in his eyes. His gaze moves over my features like he’s searching for something, maybe memorizing me just in case. Then his hand comes up, thumb brushing over my bottom lip before he cups my chin and kisses me.

It’s gentle at first. His lips slide against mine like he’s testing, before the kiss grows and heat unfurls between us. His mouth coaxes, then claims, and I let myself drown in it. Slow but carnal, unhurried but all-consuming. It builds like a flame until I’m clutching him closer, until the kiss is less about mouths meeting and more about every single unsaid thing spilling out between us.

When we part, breath catching, my eyes lock on his, and something sharp stirs in my chest. A truth that’s been clawing its way closer, a feeling I can’t outrun forever. It sits there in the back of my throat, heavy and undeniable.

“I’m dozing off,” he murmurs, voice low like the sound is meant only for me.“Didn't get much sleep last night.” His arm curls tighter around me, hand slipping under my shirt until his palm rests against my skin.

“Why not?” I ask softly, brushing my nose along his temple. “Was the pain too bad?”

He gives me a faint smile, so small it almost slips by....but it doesn’t. I catch it, hold it, let it wash through me like sunlight. I need more of those, brighter and bolder.

“You were pissed at me.”

My brows draw together, and I shake my head, thumb tracing his cheek. “I wasn’t pissed. I was just overwhelmingly concerned about my boyfriend.”

“You didn’t hold me back,” he counters, barely above a whisper. “Not like you usually do.”

A quiet laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, soft but aching. “That’s why you couldn’t sleep?”

He gives a tiny nod and I swear something inside me caves. It’s ridiculous and it’s endearing as hell, the kind of confession that leaves me wanting to wrap him up tighter just so he never doubts me again.

“I want a redo,” he murmurs.

We lean into each other, the space between us collapsing until we’re nothing but limbs and warmth and the steady comfort of skin. My hand finds the back of his neck, and it feels less like holding and more like weaving ourselves together.

“Want to move to the bed?”

“Here’s fine,” he answers, eyes already closing.

I nod, reaching for the remote to shut off the TV. He drifts, lashes brushing his cheeks, and I steal another kiss from his lips. My fingers comb through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in the way I know soothes him.

His breathing evens out slowly, each exhale warmer, heavier, until he’s fully surrendered.

Somewhere in the middle of watching him sleep, I must’ve gone under too. I only realize when I feel light, lazy touches skating over my stomach. My eyes crack open to find Jax propped up on one elbow, studying me like I'm fragile and infinite all at once.

I stretch, my back arching, and then—because I can’t help myself—I grab his face and push at him playfully, trying to shove him away. He doesn’t even flinch, just bites my palm.

I laugh, startled, snatching my hand back. “You savage.”

That smirk of his is quick and wicked, but there’s something softer under it. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost two.”

He swings his legs over the edge and sits there, grounded, then glances back at me.

“You hungry?” he asks.

I huff a laugh. “How the hell did I know you were gonna ask me that? You trying to fatten me up?”

“Shit,” He drags a hand over his face. “You’ve caught on.”

I shift behind him, sliding my arm around his shoulders, pulling him back into me. The craving for him is constant now, gnawing, and I don’t even try to disguise it. “You good?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

He nods, hums low, his hand finding mine. Then his eyes start searching until they lock with mine. And what I see catches me off guard...he seems unguarded and almost open, like he’s let a little of the weight slip so I can glimpse what’s beneath.

My chest aches. I don’t know if I can breathe through it.

“I’ve been doing a shitty job of making you happy,” he mutters.

I shake my head immediately. “That’s not true. It’s been rough, yeah, but that—”

He doesn’t let me finish. He keeps going, voice steady but so damn sure it almost scares me.“Listen, Xander. I’ve fucked this up. I’ve been half here.... and you deserve way better than scraps. You deserve more than the fucking wreck I’ve been.”

I feel my throat close until I can’t get a word out.

He swallows hard, his jaw working, then he pushes the words out like they’re tearing him apart. “I’m gonna do better. I’ll make damn sure I’m not just dragging you through my hell. I’ll make sure I’m worthy of your—”

He stops, the word hovering there, unsaid but loud as a scream. My chest tightens, my pulse thudding in my throat. It’s terrifying and so fucking inevitable. He swears under his breath, blinking like he can shake it off, but when his eyes find mine again, they don’t waver. And I can’t breathe for a second, because that single unspoken word feels bigger than anything either of us has dared to touch. “I’m gonna be worthy of you. Whatever it takes.”

My chest is burning, because I don’t think he even knows how much I already think he’s worth.