Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 26

“You’re blushing,” he murmurs like the realization fascinates him.

“No, I’m not,” I lie, face on fire.

“You are.”

“ I liked you better asleep with your mouth shut. ”

“ You hard for me, Xander? Want me to fix that? I'm in a giving mood suddenly. ”

“Jax...”

He doesn’t stop. Of course not. He reaches out, stroking me through the thin cotton of my pajama pants. I make a sound, something between a gasp and a groan...and grab his wrist.

“No underwear, ” he says, clearly amused. “ Did you know I was coming or...?”

I scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t have to. Your dick’s doing it for me.”

He strokes again and I hiss, catching his hand tighter. He gives me a look.

“ But I'm injured,” he argues, making his best attempt at sounding pained and innocent.

“ And my dick will help with that...how exactly? " I regret asking immediately I catch the dark gleam in his eyes.

" Could be my emotional support animal,” he offers, way too casual for the absurdity the remark is. “Therapeutic, temporarily numbing....permanently addictive. "

My cock twitches. He feels it.

“Oh, look…” he murmurs, eyes almost twinkling. “I think it likes me.”

He goes to touch me again, but this time I’m faster. I grab his hand and stop him, serious now.

“Hands off, Jax. Christ! You've got the emotional maturity and impulse control of a fucking fifteen year old. ”

He looks up at me and chuckles just a little but doesn't say anything. I don’t know what to do now, so I sit there, blood buzzing through my veins, fingers curled tight cause it's either that or comb them through his hair again.

Finally, he reaches into his jacket like he’s about to pull out a cigarette again and I’m already halfway to swatting it away when I realize it’s just his phone. He checks the time and mutters something under his breath, and out of reflex, I check too.

Shit. It's already been an hour.

I blink, trying to figure out how that happened. I swear it was just ten minutes ago I let him in like a fucking idiot with no self-preservation skills. But then again, time moves weird around Jax. Loud, fast, reckless… then suddenly still.

As he’s putting his phone back, something silver catches my eye in the inner pocket of his jacket. Without thinking, I reach out and pluck it from him.

A damn alcohol flask. Of course.

It’s light, empty. I uncap it, sniff. Whiskey, sharp and familiar.

I hand it back. “That’s another bad habit.”

He takes it without a word, just watching me. “You keep pointing out my flaws like you're some kind of saint.”

I shrug. “ At least I contain my vices to the weekends. Mostly.”

He sits up, and I'm suddenly overcome with this sense of loss. So strong I almost pull him back down and wish for time to stop. It pisses me off.

Then he leans forward and looks at me dead-on. Eyes dark, unreadable..... fucking alive.

“What can I say,” he states, voice low and smooth, “I always crave what’s bad for me.”

My stomach knots, and my chest does that thing again, that annoying thing where it feels like there’s too much air and not enough space. I'm not sure if it’s the words or the way he says them, but I feel them hit.

I want to tell him he can crash on the couch. I don’t even know why, I don’t ever do this. Not even with guys I've just fucked. Letting him stay is a terrible idea. But part of me’s already picturing it, waking up tomorrow to him in my space. Breathing the same morning air as him.

I almost say it. But before the words come out, he stands.

He slips the flask and his phone back into his jacket and pulls it closed with one hand. That crooked grin makes an appearance...faint, cocky, and impossible not to feel in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll see you around, Xander.”

Then he turns and walks out. Just like that. The door swings shut behind him, soft but final.

And the second he’s gone, the silence is deafening. No scent of smoke, no low rasp of his voice, no weight on the couch like he’d carved out a space just by existing.

But I can still feel him like heat clinging to skin after fire.

I eventually drag myself back to bed where I toss and turn for what feels ages, staring at the wall like it's got answers. The sheets are twisted, the air's too warm, and my brain is still buzzing like Jax left some kind of static behind just by being here. My chest feels tight. Irritated and restless. Like I’m missing something....or like something's missing from me.

My phone lights up on the nightstand. The shrill ringtone slices through the quiet like a knife and I jolt upright, heart climbing up my throat.

Jax.

I stare at his name for a second too long, my thumb hovering over the answer button like it might bite me. Then I exhale, swipe, and press the phone to my ear.

“What do you want now?” I rasp, voice low and dry.

“I just realized I never thanked you.” His voice is smoother than it has any right to be at this hour. Especially not when he should probably be lying down groaning in pain.

I blink at the ceiling. “Something tells me you lack the human capacity to do that.”

“ How lowly you think of me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. “But my inbuilt sense of morality demands I show gratitude. I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.”

“Right. Your sense of morality.” I drag the words out slow and sarcastic. “ Cause that’s what’s driving you. Not the God complex or pathological need to be unpredictable.”

He chuckles, dark and low. “You can go back to fantasizing about me now.”

He hangs up, I pull the phone away and stare at the now-dark screen, jaw tight. No chance to argue. Just that smug exit and the ghost of his voice still echoing in my ear.

I drop back onto the mattress with a groan, burying my face in the pillow like it might smother the heat crawling up my neck.