Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 44

“Seriously?” I snap, shooting him a glare over my shoulder. “Ever heard of privacy?”

He doesn’t even blink. Just saunters in like this is his stage and I’m the entertainment, that slow, loose-limbed confidence that makes you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. He leans against the wall, folds his arms, and watches me.

“Just making sure you don't trip and fall. With how much you drunk, it must still be in your system. Can't have you ruining that pretty face now, can we?” he says, like he’s doing me a favor by being here.

My skin crawls and heats at the same time. I flush, tuck my dick away and stride to the sink without another word. Hand wash, water. Focus on the mundane, because if I focus on him, I’ll lose my mind.

I wash my face next, the cold water a small mercy. It still tastes like alcohol in my mouth, sour and stale. I gurgle some water and spit into the sink.

“Do you—” My voice comes out rough, so I clear it. “You wouldn't happen to have a spare toothbrush, would you?”

There’s only one toothbrush on the counter, black and white... definitely his.

Jax picks it up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, uncaps the toothpaste, and squeezes a slow stripe along the bristles. Then he turns to me.

“Here.”

I frown and shake my head. “No thanks.”

He just stares at me for a beat, lips twitching like I’ve said exactly what he wanted to hear. Then he closes the distance in two easy steps.

“It's almost as if you know exactly how much I enjoy making you do things, ”he muses.

Before I can move, his hand slides to my jaw, warm, steady, and impossible to shake off. He tilts my head just enough that I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“Open up, Xander,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with something that makes my stomach flip. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly got a problem with putting something of mine in your mouth. Not after what's already been in there.”

My pulse jumps, and that hesitation is all he needs, he slips the toothbrush past my lips, bristles scraping my teeth.

“That’s it,” he says softly, like he’s coaxing me through something else entirely. “Take it. You always do in the end.”

I glare at him, but his thumb is now rubbing lazy circles into the side of my neck, holding me there like he’s testing how much of this I’ll let him get away with.

He leans in close enough that his breath brushes my ear.

“You have any idea what you put me through last night?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Lying next to you...warm, half-naked, clinging to me like you wanted it, and I had to keep my hands to myself. You think that was easy for me?” he asks, voice dipping to a growl.

When he finally steps back, he doesn’t go far, just leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with a look that says he’s already won.

I start brushing my teeth, forcing my brain to focus on literally anything that isn’t him. Which is impossible, because Jax is standing there...mostly naked, and somehow looking better than anyone has a right to. How the hell does he look that good? It’s infuriating. Somewhere along the way, he’s completely rewritten what I thought my “type” was.

Now my ideal type isn’t blue eyes, brown hair, tall, freaking dark eyes, or whatever crap I used to say...it’s just… Jax. Not someone who looks like him. Not someone who acts like him. Just him. The real thing. And that thought is dangerous.

We slept in the same bed. That’s a fact I can’t shake. And the fact I can’t remember it pisses me off more than it should. Which is stupid. I tell myself it’s stupid. I scold myself for even thinking it.

I rinse off and set the toothbrush back in the holder, but Jax’s hand shoots out, snatching it before it lands.

He squeezes more toothpaste on it and, without hesitation, shoves it into his own mouth. I can’t explain why it makes my chest tighten, why there’s something raw and almost wrong about watching him do it. We’ve already done too many things we shouldn’t, crossed lines we had no business crossing, but this feels different. Personal. Almost domestic, like we’ve been doing this for years.

And that’s definitely not us.

I try to focus on the mirror, on anywhere else, but it’s useless...because unlike me, Jax isn’t even pretending to look away. He’s watching me the whole time he brushes, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my skin feel hot and tight. The only time he breaks the stare is to spit and rinse, and then it’s right back to that infuriating, unashamed checking-me-out thing he does.

“What?” I snap finally, because my pulse won’t settle unless I say something. “If there’s something you wanna say, say it.”

He smirks around the glass he’s just swigged from. “Just enjoying the view.” His eyes dip, slow and deliberate. “Praying I get to experience it in a lot more ways than just watching you.”

My face heats instantly. “Keep dreaming.”

“We’ll see.” He shrugs like it’s inevitable.

"I'm going home," I announce.

He tilts his head. “You’re not going anywhere until you eat something.”

I narrow my eyes, looking and sounding pissed. “Don't pretend. Since when do you care about me?”

The smirk fades. He steps forward, the air in the room changing, thickening.

“Since always,” he says, voice low and rough. “I didn’t let you walk away because I don’t care. Get that?”

It’s maddening, cryptic enough to keep me thinking about it hours from now. My chest tightens against my will.

His gaze drops to my mouth, slow and hungry. “Xander…”

The way he says my name...quiet, almost pleading, kills me. I shake my head, muttering, “Don’t. We can’t—”

“If you tell me no, I won’t,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, except his hands are already sliding to my waist, wrapping around me in that possessive, 'you’re not going anywhere' way.

My heart’s hammering, my whole body betraying me, leaning in even though I’m telling myself not to.

“Can I?” His voice is tighter now, almost needy, and his eyes flick from my lips back to mine, like he’s waiting for me to break.

And because it’s him, and because I’m weak and already halfway gone...I nod.

His mouth is on mine before I’ve even processed the nod I gave him...hot, hungry, like he’s been holding himself back for hours and just decided fuck it. He teases until I open for him.

The first press of his lips is deep enough to steal my breath, but he doesn’t stop there. He tilts his head, slotting his mouth over mine again and again, every kiss harder, wetter, rougher. His hands grip my waist like I belong there, like there’s no universe where he’d let me go.