Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 43

XANDER'S POV

My head feels like someone took a bat to it. Throat’s dry, joints aching, even my damn skin feels sore. I groan and mutter a curse before I even open my eyes.

When I do… yeah, mistake. The light knifes through my skull. I blink, slow, trying to make the blur sharpen.

This....this isn’t my room.

The sheets are different. The air smells like dark spicy cologne and leather, not my detergent.

Something shifts behind me, the warmth at my back making my spine go rigid. My heart rate spikes instantly, fight or flight kicking in, because I know that feeling. I don’t have to turn around. But I do... slightly at first.

And there it is, hanging on the wardrobe door like a damn warning sign, black leather jacket, scuffed and unmistakable.

I turn my head the rest of the way, slow, and my stomach twists.

Dark eyes watching me. Smirking like the devil just caught me trespassing in his bed.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Jax drawls, voice rough, lazy, but every word dipped in something dangerous.

I’m awake now. Too awake.

“What the—” I shoot upright, but the second I move, he moves faster. One shift and he’s on me, pressing me into the mattress like I weigh nothing.

I push against him, useless. “Get the hell off me!”

His grin curves sharper. “Guess you ended up in my bed after all.”

I freeze, heat climbing my neck. “What the hell am I doing here? How did....”

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” he says, all mock hurt. “Last night you called me...desperate, said you needed me. Practically begged me to come find you.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Nice try.” My hands shove at his chest again. It’s like trying to move a wall.

He tilts his head, feigning disappointment. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten…”

I glare. “Forgotten what?”

His smile turns wicked. “You called me all drunk. Told me exactly where you were. Said if I didn’t get there fast, you’d find someone else to… scratch that itch.” His voice dips, every word deliberate. “Found you in that club all flushed... legs spread like you were waiting for me. Said you couldn’t wait till we got here. Dragged me into the back of the cab and climbed in my lap before the door even closed.”

His gaze is all heat and mockery. “Hands all over me, moaning in my ear, begging me to...” he leans in, lips slightly brushing mine, “—fuck you right there.”

I swallow hard, hating that he can see it. “You’re full of shit.”

“Check your phone. See if you called me or not.” His breath ghosts my jaw before his teeth nip it, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath.

A hand wraps around my neck, warm, firm. My body goes still, treacherous. My brain is screaming at me, but it’s drowned out by the fact that I’m in Jax’s apartment, in his bed, and every nerve ending I’ve got is tuned to him.

We lock eyes, and he must see it...the way my body betrays me, because he smirks. Shifts his hips just enough and, fuck, he’s hard. Pressed against me.

And just like that, I’m hard too.

His gaze flicks down, then back up to my face, slow and satisfied. His hand slides down between us, cupping my cock through my boxers. “Well, hello there,” he murmurs, thumb brushing in a way that makes my breath stutter. “I missed you.”

The sound that leaves my throat isn’t human...it’s needy, desperate, and I want to kick myself for it.

He glances up, amused. “Oh. You too, Xander,” he adds with a look so hungry it should be illegal.

“Very funny,” I bite out, shoving at him harder this time until he lets me go. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. My eyes scan the room, clothes in a heap by the wall. Last night hits me in fragments...club lights, Addy’s laugh, the burn of shots, music pounding in my chest. And then nothing.

“Where the hell’s Addy?” I demand, stalking over to grab my jeans.

Before I can pull them on, Jax’s hand is there, snatching them from me like I’m a kid he’s confiscating candy from.

“Hand them over.”

I keep my tone flat, warning, like he should already know I’m not in the mood for games.

Jax just shakes his head, all lazy defiance. “Nah.”

I glare at him. “I don’t believe a word out of your mouth. You probably stalked me again, found me, dragged me here like the psycho you are.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Addy’s at home. We dropped her off. I made sure she was okay.”

Something tight in my chest loosens. Against all reason, I believe him. I don’t know why. Probably because I know deep down he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“Jeans,” I say again, stepping forward.

He steps back, still holding them, that smug wall of muscle and trouble blocking me. My patience frays. My head’s pounding, my mouth tastes like regret, and I’m still half naked in his room while he’s looking at me like he knows exactly where my mind is going.

I glance around again....big, dark, too clean for a guy like him, then back at him. “Did anything really happen?”

He opens his mouth, but I cut in, voice sharper. “Don’t lie to me Jax. I’m serious.”

For a second, his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but I catch it, like I hit something under the armor. He sighs, slow, and shakes his head. “If something had happened, I guarantee you’d still be feeling it.”

The way he says it makes my stomach flip and my skin prickle, and I hate that it does.

“But I wasn’t lying about the drunk call,” he adds, tone turning deliberate. “There’s clearly a lot you wanna get off your chest. You can do it after you eat something.”

We just stand there, staring each other down. The air’s thick enough to choke on. He’s so sure of himself, and I’m… tired. So damn tired. My body aches, my head’s a mess.

I sigh, drag a hand through my hair. “Can I use your washroom?”

He jerks his chin toward a door on the left. “Knock yourself out."

The bathroom’s huge, I'd often found myself wondering insignificant things like what his place looked like. The space in here is big enough to have its own damn echo. Black marble counters, chrome fixtures. His mysterious job must really pay well. Then again, he does also work for Adam, who's as rich as they come.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and flinch. Christ. I look like I got hit by a truck, then dragged through a bottle of whiskey for good measure. Eyes bloodshot, hair a wreck, skin pale except for the faint flush along my cheekbones. I look… vulnerable. I hate it.

I drag my gaze away, head straight for the toilet to pee. The relief is instant, but I still feel like a zombie, like my bones are moving on their own.

The door opens without warning. No knock. No pause. Just Jax.