Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 144

JAX'S POV

He’s standing at his closet, half-dressed, casual as ever, and I’m on his bed like some useless spectator, elbows braced behind me, watching him. Watching the way his jeans hug his hips as he tugs them up, the low flex of muscle when he drags a hand through his hair, his bare chest catching the soft apartment light. It’s stupid how something that simple can tie me in knots. Heat climbs my neck, and yeah...I’m hard, and he hasn’t even looked at me yet.

Then it hits me where we’re supposed to be going, and the arousal sours into irritation. I curse under my breath. The last place I want to spend my Saturday night is surrounded by people.

“Let's cancel,” I mutter, not for the first time. “Stay in instead.”

He turns then, finally looking at me, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Dark jeans, no shirt. Eyes sweeping me in one long, unhurried stroke that makes my pulse stutter. Then his voice...low, stern and threaded with something that makes my stomach clench.

“You’re going.”

My throat works around the weight of it. I force a smirk instead. “I don’t want to.”

“You promised.”

I push up a little, scoffing. “Yeah, but you asked me while I was fucking you. Hardly fair. My brain wasn’t even functioning right. ”

His mouth curves. No shame, no apology. “Doesn’t matter. You still said yes.”

I shake my head, drop back on my elbows. The last way I want to spend my night is in some living room pretending to be sociable around Xander’s friends. Not my scene, I’m not built for it.

He’s flipping through shirts like it’s no big deal. “Cheer up. You might actually end up having fun.”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “I’d really rather stay in. With you. Like usual.”

That stops him. His hand stills on the hanger, and when he turns around again, it’s slower. Eyes searching, pinning me in place, like he’s peeling back something I didn’t mean to show. He steps toward me, each one careful, and I sit up straighter without meaning to.

“How are you supposed to handle Paris,” he asks, voice quieter now, cutting sharper, “...trapped with them for days, if you can’t stomach a few hours here? With alcohol involved, no less.”

The air goes tight. He’s too close now, and I can smell the clean bite of his cologne, see the faint sheen of his skin. My hand lifts almost on its own, pressing against the hard plane of his stomach. He's so warm and firm. Alive under my palm, muscle twitching when my fingers flex just slightly. I drag in a breath, feel it shake out of me.

“Starting to reconsider that too,” I admit.

“Why?” His brow cocks, but his tone is steady. Demanding.

I shrug, eyes on where my hand is against him. “Just am.”

“That’s not an answer.” He dips his head, dark hair falling across his forehead as he whispers, “Jax.” His voice makes my chest ache. “Talk to me.”

And it hits me like it always does, that vow I made him.These past days have been easy. He hasn’t pushed, not really. He’s given me room. But the thing about Xander is he doesn’t need to shove. He has this way of pulling things out of me without force, stripping me down with nothing but patience and those goddamn eyes.

I haven’t gone into the deep shit yet. The rot. The part of me I don’t know how to hand over without it poisoning him. But with every day that passes, every moment like this, I know we’re moving closer. And it terrifies me as much as it makes me want him.

I reach for him as I sink back onto the mattress, tugging until he follows, until his knees bracket my hips and I’ve got him straddling me. The weight of him pressing down is everything I didn’t know I needed. I grind up slow, a deliberate roll of my hips, and his breath catches just enough to push me further. My hand drags over his chest, tracing the cut lines of muscle. I take my time, until I reach his nipple, and I flick it with my thumb once, twice, lazy and teasing. His body reacts before he does, a soft sound slipping past his throat.

But then his hand snaps over mine, grip firm, dragging both my wrists above my head and pinning them to the sheets. He leans down until his breath grazes my mouth. “Nice try,” he murmurs, stern but amused. “But distracting me won’t work.”

I huff, turning my face away because I hate the feel of being caught out.

He doesn’t move, just waits, and when I finally meet his eyes again, it slips out before I can stop it. “I don’t need anyone else, Xander. I get that you need your friends and all, but I don’t. I’d rather just keep things the way they are. All I need is you.”

And that’s the truth, he’s the only one who’s managed to carve a space in me, and I don’t want to share it.

He frowns, not harsh....more like he’s trying to measure what I mean. “It’s just a hangout. Even Adam’s gonna be there. I’m not forcing you to be friends with Addy or Layla, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

I scoff. “I'm not scared, just uninterested. I don't wanna feel obligated to make conversation or be friendly or whatever.”

His eyes sharpen a fraction. “That’s what you’re feeling now? Obligated?”

This is what I mean, the way he chooses his words...the way he says them. His grip hasn’t eased, my wrists still pinned, his body leaning close enough I can feel the heat coming off him. Every flicker of thought must be written plain across my face because he studies me like he can read each one.

I exhale, jaw tight. “You’re enough for me. And I like having you to myself. You already spend your weekdays with them. I only get you at night and on the fucking weekends. Doesn’t exactly feel fair. It’s the weekend, shouldn’t that mean you’re mine?”

That stills him. Silence stretches, and it almost feels like victory, until I catch it. The corner of his mouth tugging upward.

I groan, shaking my head. “Don’t you dare. There’s nothing amusing about this. Your friends are being selfish, trying to hog you.”

That earns a chuckle, low and rich, vibrating in his chest against mine. “They’re not stealing me away.” He dips closer, lips brushing mine with the words. He finally lets go of my wrists, shifting upright so he’s sitting on me instead, straddling my hips. Bad fucking move. Because now all I can think about is how good he’d look riding me...naked, sweat-slick, head thrown back. I can see it so clear it’s almost cruel.

“Focus,” he says, firm, like he knows exactly where my head went. His hands brace on my chest, steady and grounding. “I get how you feel—”

“Doubt it,” I cut him off, voice rough. “If you did, we’d be staying in.”

His eyes narrow just slightly, but his voice doesn’t waver. “I get it. If you don’t wanna go, fine. But I promised. And for the record, I also love staying in. I already told you as much. I’m neurotically obsessed with spending time with you, Jax. But I've gotta go, and I'd really like it if you went with me.”