Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 167

It’s Friday morning......the kind that feels light in my chest, like the world’s finally breathing easy again and I get to breathe with it. We just pulled up outside Zig’s. Xander hops off first, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to make me bite back a groan. He slings his helmet onto the seat. I follow suit, setting mine on the handlebar before I glance up at him.

He’s smiling. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So, we agreed you'll delete it?” I ask, raising a brow. He posted some mirror selfie again, way more provocative this time. The kind that’s less *‘look at my progress’....* and more...‘*imagine what I'd do if you were here’*. His expression alone was enough to start trouble...lazy smirk, head tilted, gaze half-lidded like he’s thinking about someone pressed up against him, fingers digging into skin, his breath caught somewhere between a moan and a dare. The kind of look that makes it impossible not to imagine exactly what those eyes would look like up close....dark, heavy and tempting.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He laughs, soft but infuriatingly charming, that glint in his eyes like he’s enjoying this too much. “I just don’t see what the big deal is, Jax. They’re just posts.”

“Mm,” I hum, sitting down on the edge of my bike, legs spread, watching him. “Just posts.”

He stops in front of me, still smiling. It’s the kind of smile that’s half halo, half fire. The kind that could talk its way out of anything.

I reach out, curling my fingers loosely around the back of his neck, and tug him a little closer until he’s standing between my knees. The move wipes a bit of that smugness off his face and replaces it with something slower and quieter, something that hums under his skin.

“Maybe,” I murmur, my thumb brushing the pulse under his jaw, “....you could try having a shirt on in the next one. Your little horny fans probably think you don’t own any.”

He exhales a small laugh, eyes locked on mine. “What’s the point of hitting the gym every morning if I don’t get to show it off?”

“Show it off,” I say, letting my hand trail down his throat, the pads of my fingers grazing over the smooth lines of his chest. I dip my hand under his shirt and flatten my palm over his abs, it's warm under my touch. I push just enough to feel him flex, then glance up, my voice low. “You can show it off.... but only to me.”

That earns me his amused grin, the one that breaks slowly, like he’s savoring it.

He steps back, but I catch him by the waist and pull him right back in, his hips pressing to my knees. His breath hitches, but he plays it off, leaning down until his forehead rests against mine.

“You feeling a little....” he starts, his voice low and teasing, “possessive this morning?”

“Call me crazy,” I mutter, brushing my nose against his, “...but I don’t exactly enjoy scrolling through assholes saying they’d let you fuck them into the floor if you so much as looked their way. Or some prick saying he’d crawl to you just to feel your hand in his stupid hair.”

He laughs and it sends a ripple through my chest. “Wow,” he says softly, “...someone's been scrolling a little too deep in the comments.”

My fingers tighten slightly on his hips. “Just an observation.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, amusement heavy in his tone. “So.... if I posted one with a shirt next time, would that make you feel better?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” I murmur, my voice almost brushing his lips. He leans in, his breath warm, eyes half lidded with laughter. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think faster,” I whisper back, and he smiles again before he presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth and straightens up.

A car pulls up across the street, engine humming low before cutting off. I glance over and spot Adam dropping Layla off. He spots me and lifts a hand in greeting. I give a lazy wave back, nothing more than a flick of my wrist, then turn to find Xander watching me with that small, knowing smile.

“Gonna hang out with him today too?” he asks.

I scoff under my breath. Adam and I already had lunch yesterday. It was fine, I guess. But there’s only so much unsolicited life advice I can take. And I’d rather get it from Xander. At least he doesn't make it sound like a TED Talk.

“I’ll probably just head home,” I say. “Change the sheets, ”

I pause there, letting the implication linger. My gaze drags down his form before meeting his eyes again, a deliberate tease that earns me the faintest flush and a shake of his head.

He leans in, kisses me once, slow and unhurried, then murmurs against my lips, “Have a nice day cleaning.”

He straightens, starts to step back, but I catch his hands before he can get too far. My grip is gentle but firm, a silent *not yet.*

“We still on for lunch?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah. We are.”

He squeezes my hands once before saying, “You could always come in and—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

Layla walks past, sunglasses perched high, grin smug as hell. “You two wanna clear the damn sidewalk before people start thinking Netflix is filming a romcom here?”

Xander chuckles and I turn my head toward him. “What were you about to suggest I subject myself to again?”

He shrugs and steps back, but instead of letting go, he links our fingers again, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin. “I’ve gotta head in,” he says, a little softer now. “We’ve got a meeting in five.”

I nod, even though I don’t loosen my hold right away. I'm obsessed with how the morning light pools around his hair, his pulse beating steady under my thumb. And then, in that voice of his, like he’s speaking straight into my pulse....he says, “I love you.”

It’s not casual, never is. He says it like he’s handing me a piece of himself each time and trusting I won’t break it. His tone always hits with a mix of warmth and gravity, like a promise he doesn’t need to make twice.

I let the words sink in. I don’t rush to answer because I want to feel them, let them burn through the noise in my head until they’re the only thing left.

“I love you too,” I tell him quietly.

It comes out too full, too honest. I finally let go of his hands, fingers slipping free with a kind of reluctant surrender.

He ducks out of reach when I half-step forward again, laughing under his breath as I make a lazy grab for him. “Go home before you start marking your territory like a jealous cat,” he teases.

“Too late,” I mutter, but he’s already backing away, still smiling.

Each step he takes feels like something’s dimming....the air, the morning, maybe just me. By the time he turns around and disappears into the shop, the world’s gone quieter, smaller. Like everything that matters just walked inside with him.