Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 67

I grab the waistband, give a sharp tug, and the denim slides lower. My knuckles graze more heat than I’m prepared for, and I curse under my breath. I force myself to focus...jeans, nothing else. Get them off, walk away, breathe.

Only I'm now kneeling in front of him like some twisted offering.

The fabric finally drops to the floor. He steps out of them lazily.

I straighten too fast, clearing my throat. “There. Happy?”

He tilts his head, gaze cutting down and then back up, slow as hell. Then he gestures downward, one brow lifted.

My eyes land on the only remaining piece of clothing that I'm determined not to go anywhere near.

That smirk blooms again, wolfish. He doesn’t push, as if he knows he doesn’t need to. And my hummering pulse says he might be right.

I cross my arms, level him with a look. “Here are your options. Either I take those off and you sleep on the couch for the night… or I don’t, and you get to sleep here. In the bed, with me. Key word being sleep.”

For a second, he just stares at me, like he’s recalibrating. Then his mouth quirks, lazy and sharp all at once.

“Funny thing,” he says, “my hands suddenly seem to be working just fine.”

And before I can lob something back, he disappears into the washroom, door clicking shut behind him.

I’m left staring at my bed. Guys usually don’t linger....we fuck, they leave, sometimes not even a full name exchanged.

But he’s about to wreck that streak. And I’m standing here, full of damn nerves, but already determined to let him.

********

After showering, he's sitting on the edge of my bed like he belongs there, wearing my sweatpants. The fucking expensive ones I splurged on at the mall. And now he smells like me, which is… dangerous. I try not to let that crawl under my skin, but it’s already there, digging deep.

He doesn’t look half as haunted as when he walked through my door. Bruised, yeah, but calmer. Softer, in that way that makes me want to lean in instead of push him away.

I drag the chair from my desk over, sit in front of him, and start dabbing at the split on his brow. “So what happened this time?” I ask, voice sharper than I intend. “You got a hobby of pissing people off, or is it just a special skill set?”

His mouth twitches, but not quite a smile. “Was feeling extra energetic. Needed to burn off some steam.”

I scoff, unscrewing the cap of the ointment. “Ever considered meditation? I heard it works wonders. Less bleeding too.”

He huffs, low, like I’ve told the worst joke in the world. Silence settles thick after that, only broken by the faint sound of my breath as I smooth ointment carefully across the bruise blooming over his ribs. My fingers ghost over him, light as possible, but I still see the way his chest shifts, muscles twitching beneath my touch.

There’s something eating at me, and if I don’t get it out, it’ll rot me from the inside. So I grab the little jar my mum shoved into my moving box, because of course she’d think I needed a lifetime supply of pain relief ointment, and keep working it across his chest. I glance up once, find him watching me, eyes heavy and unreadable, and look away fast.

I swallow, words scraping their way out. “Promise me something?” My voice isn’t steady, but I keep my hand moving so I don’t lose my nerve. “Don’t ignore me again. If you can’t or don't wanna talk, fine...just say that. Don’t ghost me. I really didn’t like it.”

My throat’s tight. I push through anyway. “I’m already way outside my comfort zone here, and I’m trying. So if you don’t want me to give up and walk away, meet me halfway. Work with me, Jax. Just a little.”

Nothing. Not a sound. Just me, focusing too hard on smearing ointment onto bruised skin while my mind threatens to jump into absurd conclusions on how those words could play out. How he'd react. And then....movement.

His hand, rough and bruised, catches my jaw. Thumb and forefinger gentle but firm, he tilts my face up until I have no choice but to meet those storm-dark eyes. Then he shifts, cupping my cheek, his palm warm and steady, grounding me in a way I don’t expect.

His thumb drags lightly across my skin, a touch too careful for someone who usually burns through everything he touches.

He studies me, gaze locked, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words....like if he lets them out, they’ll ruin whatever fragile thing this is between us. The silence stretches, my pulse tripping over itself, the weight of him pinning me more than his hand ever could.

“Okay,” he finally says, quiet. Solid. The word sinks into me, heavier than it should. “I promise.”

It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. But it does. My chest unclenches. My lips twitch before I can stop them, the tiniest smile breaking through, and I cover it with a quick nod, tearing my gaze away like I’m allergic to eye contact.

“Good,” I mutter, screwing the lid back on the ointment. “And while we’re at it, maybe stop picking fights like you’re hell-bent on proving you’re the toughest guy in the room. Seeing you like this winds me up, and not in a good way.”

His mouth curves again, like he’s amused. And God help me, even bruised and battered, he’s still the hottest damn thing I've ever laid my eyes on. Especially with him sitting on my bed smelling like me.

Once I'm done, I tuck the chair away and shove the kit back where it belongs. When I come back in, Jax is still sitting there on the edge of my bed.

I walk to my side, tug back the covers, and glance at him. “You waiting for me to roll out a red carpet?”

That finally gets him moving. He stands slow like he knows I’m watching. Then he circles around and climbs in on the other side. It’s a big bed....king-sized, enough space to pretend this is casual. But of course, Jax doesn’t do space. Within seconds, he’s shifted closer, close enough that I can feel his body heat sliding up my back.

I flick off the lights, exhale, and force myself down onto the mattress. This doesn’t have to be awkward.

I’m not going to make it awkward.

But then there’s Jax. Always Jax.

As if on cue, his body presses in flush behind mine, no air left between us. And not long after, I can feel his hard cock pressed against me, like it’s daring me to move. I bite back a groan.

“Behave,” I mutter into the dark. My voice comes out rougher than I’d like. “Nothing’s happening.”

A beat. Then his fingers ghost over my waistband, slow and teasing.

I scoff, swatting at his hand. “For fuck's sake, it hasn’t even been five minutes. You could at least pretend to ease into it.”

“Not my style,” he murmurs, low against the back of my neck. “And the fact that I'm not balls-deep in you, fucking you raw right now, shows how much restraint I've got.”

Heat rockets through me, and I hate how much I like it. “I'm intrigued by how you manage to be horny all the damn time.”

He chuckles, dark and satisfied. “You ever looked in a mirror? You’d understand.”