Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 20

JAX'S POV

Avellino is slick. Clean lines, soft lighting, expensive without trying too hard. I tried it out the week it opened, expecting it to be all bark and no bite, another overhyped spot for rich assholes to take photos of food they won’t eat. But the place surprised me. The chef actually knows what the hell they’re doing. Rare.

It's the kind of place you take someone you want to impress, if you're into that sort of thing. I’m not. But I like the food and the view.

The whole damn restaurant is pressed against the lake like it’s clinging to the edge of something beautiful and dangerous, and tonight the water’s all shadows and silver. Still and waiting.

I’m on the upper deck, seated at a table just to the left of the entrance, prime vantage-point. One arm slung across the back of my chair, the other nursing a bottle of something cold and overpriced. Not that I care. The beer’s decent. Crisp. Just bitter enough.

I take a long pull and glance at my phone again. Glancing at Adam's reply after I'd asked him if he'd invited them.

" Yeah. They’re coming. You know, most people just ask someone out when they’re interested. You might want to try that instead of orchestrating an entire dinner party.”

Perfect.

I don’t even try to hide the grin that pulls at my mouth.

The memory slams into me hard, Xander's body all hot and tense against me, flushed and twitchy, breath catching like he was trying not to beg. The sound he made when I wrapped my hand around his cock? Fuck. I can still feel it. The weight of him. The heat. The way he bucked into my grip like he needed it more than air. I jerked him off like I owned him, like his pleasure was mine to drag out slow, and he let me.The way he fell apart? Like something wild clawed out of him and ripped free. It flipped a switch in me. Lit something up that hasn’t shut off since. He fell apart so goddamn beautifully. Like I cracked something open in him, something feral and filthy, and now it won’t go back in the cage.

Good. I don’t want it to.

I shift in my seat, adjusting slightly, because yeah...thinking about it gets me like that. Gets me hard.

Gets me fucking hungry.

Xander keeps saying it won’t happen again. That it was a one-time thing. Like he didn’t melt under my touch. Like he didn’t ask for it. Like his body didn’t scream the opposite of every word out of his mouth. I’ve seen liars before, I am one, he's not nearly that good at it.

He’ll crack. He already has.

Now I just want to see what he does when he sees me again. Want to see how long he can pretend he’s unaffected.

I drum my fingers on the edge of the table, eyes locked on the view. My heartbeat’s steady, but my blood’s buzzing like static under my skin.

I don’t mind waiting.

He’s worth it.

Adam’s car finally pulls up and he parks it under one of the trees. I sit back in my seat, nursing what’s left of my beer, eyes trained on it with practiced ease. One hand rests loose on the table, but every muscle in me winds tight the second they start getting out.

First it’s Adam. Layla follows, then Addy tumbles out after, doing this slow spin as she takes everything in, I catch her mouthing “Wow.”

Then him.

Xander.

My spine straightens. Something stirs under my ribs. He’s talking to Adam, but then his whole posture shifts. Like a current passed through him. His shoulders square, jaw ticks. I can’t hear him, but I see the words pass his lips before he pauses, brows pulling low. His head turns, scanning. Searching. My chest gets tight. I know who he’s looking for before his eyes even find me.

And then they do.

Like a fucking magnet, locked right on me.

My throat goes dry. I take him in, the angles of him sharper in all the hung fairy lights, dark hair mussed like he ran his hand through it a few times on the drive, chest rising slow beneath that snug grey shirt, sleeves rolled up. It clings in the right places and I hate how fast I notice that.

I’ve never given a shit about beauty. Never cared for softness. Pretty things don’t hold my attention....not like this. Not like him. Not when every look he gives me feels like a warning and a dare.

He doesn’t move.

The rest of them start walking toward the restaurant, but he just stands there, eyes still locked on mine, unreadable.

And then he bolts.

Actually turns and starts striding the other way, fast, like he’s trying to shake me off his skin. Like he thinks he can run from whatever this is.

A low, dry laugh slips from my mouth.

“Jesus,” I mutter, pushing back from the table. My chair scrapes loud against the polished wood. A few heads turn but I don’t care. My boots hit the deck with purpose.

He’s not getting far.

And maybe I should stop. Maybe I should let him go. There’s that damn voice in my head again, whispering this is dangerous ground. That I’m starting to want this too much. That I don’t get to have nice things.

Not like this.

Not someone like him.

But I shut it out. Because wanting him? Touching him? Feeling him come apart in my hands like last night?

That quieted everything else. All the blood and noise and fire in my skull. It was the only thing that felt good in a long damn time. And fuck it, he makes a good distraction.

So I follow.

His steps are heavy and agitated. The kind that tell me he’s trying to out-run a feeling, maybe fury, maybe shame. Probably both. His phone’s in his hand, thumb moving fast, my guess is he's ordering a ride. His jaw’s tight in that way it gets when he’s pretending he’s done with me.

Cute.

I trail behind him, silent but steady, like smoke curling through cracks. He’s pacing fast, head down, like ordering that damn Uber’s gonna save him from me.

It won’t.

He hears me too late , my hand grabs his arm and I whip him around, fast and rough, snatching the phone from him. He startles, whips around with fire in his eyes.

I lift the phone, casual. “You said I’d never get you to come to me willingly.”

His eyes narrow.

“But here you are...and nobody twisted your arm. No threats.” I step closer. He steps back. “You came.”

“You’re such a—” His voice is sharp, clipped. “You’re a fucking child!”

I suck in a slow breath, letting it drag through my lungs like I’m tasting the insult. My lips twitch. “Hmm,” I murmur, gaze dragging over his flushed face, his clenched fists, the way his chest rises and falls too fast. “That’d be real concerning, considering the kind of thoughts I’m having right now.”