Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 55

“Didn’t peg you for much of a reader,” he says from behind me.

“I’m not.” I shake my head, glancing back and up at him. “But my mum is. She’s got this room out in the garden, glass walls, filled floor to ceiling with books and paintings.... she's an artist. Bit of an eccentric type though.”

He just nods. “I saw a picture of her on your page. Some exhibit or something. And before you ask, yes... I was stalking you.”

The admission sends a ripple through me....sharp, quick, unwelcome. Before I can get a word in, his voice drops lower.

“I didn’t get off earlier.”

My stomach dips. He’s still behind me, but he moves close enough that the heat of his breath grazes the back of my neck.

“You texted and I realized how pathetic it was. My hand, my imagination…” He lets out a rough exhale. “Poor substitute. You’ve got me walking around full and aching, Xander.”

The bluntness of it hits hard. I go rigid, every muscle buzzing with warning, with want. Then I feel him...hard, solid...pressing against me. My control. It slips like sand through fingers, and I know if I stay put, I’ll lose all of it.

So I move. Step aside, slipping behind the nearest shelf stacked with rows of glittering snow globes. The glass catches the light and fractures it, a thousand tiny distortions between us. My shield. My excuse to breathe.

Jax leans against the opposite edge, watching me through the glow. “You know, I miss this part,” he says, voice like a dare. “The chase. You pulling away, me closing in.”

My lips curve before I can stop it.

“You call it a chase. I call it giving you cardio.”

Before I can push the conversation further, his eyes catch on something across the room. His gaze sharpens, fixes. I follow it, and I smile when I see what he’s looking at. A rack of vintage leather jackets, the kind that scream history and rebellion.

I trail after him, watching as he skims through them with quiet focus. I should keep my mouth shut, but the silence presses in too heavy. “You got any siblings?”

He doesn’t look at me. “No.” A beat passes before he adds, flat as stone, “ Isn't this your lunch break? You eat yet?”

That pivot makes me blink. “Uh. Yeah. Earlier.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I packed some of the food you made me. Lied to Layla and Addy that I cooked it. Between that and yesterday, they’re encouraging me to start a restaurant."

He pulls out a jacket, inspects it and puts it back.

" Honestly? You should consider that....You've definitely got the talent for it. I’d invest.”

That makes him look at me. Really look. His eyes don’t just touch me....they cut. Hold. There’s something there, something unguarded that shouldn’t be mine to see. It leaves me scrambling for somewhere else to put my gaze.

So I grab a jacket, tug it from the rack, and thrust it at him. “Here. Try this one. You’d pull it off.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, but he takes it. He doesn’t break eye contact as he slips it on, leather creaking softly. Then he turns toward the tall mirror propped against the wall.

The jacket is black, worn just enough to have that lived-in weight, but still sharp. It molds to him, outlining broad shoulders, muscled arms. Zipper angled at the chest, collar slightly popped. It’s 'fuck god' energy carved into leather.

And he knows it. He’s watching me in the mirror, not the jacket. Eyes heated, unreadable, but I feel it in my bones.

“I’ll get it,” he says finally, voice low, “if you promise to take it off me later. With that same look in your eyes.”

Heat detonates under my skin. I can barely breathe past it, but I force words out, fumbling, reckless. “I don’t know about that… but you can take me out for lunch tomorrow. I’m sure you know all the good spots.”

I don’t let myself hesitate. I push through the terror in my chest, through the way my pulse is battering at my ribs. “Could be our second date.”

The word hangs there, heavy, dangerous.

Jax freezes halfway out of the jacket. Slowly, he turns from the mirror to face me, his head tilted, his expression stripped down to something sharper than a blade.

“Date?” he repeats, and the way he says it....like it’s foreign, like it doesn’t belong in his mouth, makes my stomach bottom out. He shrugs the jacket off completely and sets it on the rack.

I'm nervous now, but I hold his gaze anyway. Pretend my voice doesn’t want to crack. Pretend I’m not bracing for impact.

I square my shoulders, summoning a confidence I’ve never had to fake except with him. Always with him. I’ve always been the one who doesn’t hesitate, who takes what he wants without blinking.

But Jax? Jax makes me question everything, makes me earn every inch. And it’s infuriating. Addictive.....

He does this to me. He scrambles my brain, makes me reckless and sure in the same breath.

“That’s what people do before a relationship,” I say, voice low, steady, even though my heart’s hammering.

I step closer. Then closer. Until I’m in his space, until there’s barely inches separating us. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. His silence crackles like live wire between us, like he’s daring me to keep going.

“How they get to know each other,” I murmur, leaning in until my lips graze his. Just enough to tease, to feel the heat of his breath shudder against mine. I don’t kiss him....but God, I want to.

His gaze doesn’t waver, but his pupils blow wide, and I catch the way his chest tightens, how his breath stumbles. He’s steel wrapped in fire, and every second he doesn’t move is gasoline poured over me. His breathing falters. That’s all I need.

My hand slides over the hard plane of his chest, unhurried, until it rests right over his heart. It’s pounding like mine is. I look up, catch the storm in his eyes, and I tell him, “I’m officially pursuing you.”

He shakes his head, just barely. And when he says my name, it’s like it hurts him to let it out. “Xander…”

That sound, that broken little warning, almost undoes me.

He goes to step back, but I’m not having it. My fingers snag his belt loop, yanking him closer until his breath ghosts hot against my mouth. I’m not letting him retreat. I feel the give, the heat of his body brushing mine, and I don’t even bother to hide the hunger in my eyes.

“You said I storm off pissed when I don’t get everything I want,” I say, tone threaded with something I can't name. “But you were wrong.” My voice drops to a whisper, lips ghosting over his, teasing, taunting. “I don’t want everything,Jax. I just want you.”