Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 68

It’s dark, but I’m smiling. Stupid, secret smile I hope he can’t feel against the pillow. I slap his hand away again anyway, because someone’s gotta hold the line.

“I think I prefer drunk Xander,” Jax says then, casual but taunting. “He was clingy as hell. Soft, even. Seen my flask anywhere? We could fix that real quick.”

My throat goes dry. I did have those three beers earlier, but they're not even helping with my nerves. I swallow hard, try not to let my heart beat out of my chest. Because yeah, his horniness aside, this feels good. Too good.

So I do the dangerous thing. I turn. Slowly. Because I want to. I move in before I can think better of it, pressing into him, my arm hooking tight around his body, heat sparking off his skin into mine.

He goes quiet. His breathing stumbles for just a second.

“Better?” I ask, voice low, a dare hiding under the question.

He tilts his head, eyes glinting in the dark. “Take off your shirt and ask me again.”

I shake my head. “Quit it.”

“I’m not making a move on you,” he says, tone more serious now.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His voice drops further, heavy. “If I wanted sex, Xander, I wouldn’t give a damn about the shirt.”

That lands. Hard.

After a beat, I pull the damn shirt off, toss it aside. My skin prickles at the air, at the heat between us. “Happy now? Can we fucking sleep?”

“You’re up twenty percent.” His smirk is almost audible, I can almost feel it. “But a goodnight kiss would really help your hospitality score.”

I roll my eyes even though he can't see it.“Didn’t know I was being graded.”

“Now you do.”

He’s too close. Way too close. And then his hand is on my back, dragging lower, slow, deliberate, until he’s got a grip on my ass and he’s pulling me flush against him.

My breath hitches. My pulse spikes.

“Jax—”

His voice is all gravel. “You're already tasting me in your head, Xander. So just go ahead and make it real.”

The crude edge burns through me, short-circuiting every thought. My grip on him tightens, and before I can stop myself, I’m leaning in, closing the gap until his breath ghosts mine. The tension breaks, I crash into him, his taste is sharp and intoxicating, and I can’t get close enough.

It’s raw, consuming....like he’s prying me open with nothing but his mouth, his breath, the way he doesn’t just kiss me back, he claims me. Every slow drag of his tongue feels like a secret being torn out of me, every press of his lips a dare to want more, to fall further.

I finally pull back before this leads somewhere else, my breathing ragged.

Then he whispers, with a hint of feigned innocence that makes it impossible to be irritated, “ Do that again? For evaluation purposes.”

I scoff, pretending like I’m not already unraveling. “Don’t get greedy.”

But I still kiss him again. I don’t mean to. God, I swear I don’t. But the second my mouth finds his again, deeper, slower this time, my body betrays me. Heat spikes low and sharp.

He groans into me, and it’s gasoline on an already out-of-control fire. Suddenly, I’m not just kissing him back....I’m devouring him, tongue sliding against his like I’ve forgotten every rule I set for myself. My hips shift before I can stop them, pressing into him in a way that makes the air between us crackle and burn.

I don’t even think, my hand slides lower, needing to feel him, needing more contact than lips and tongues and breath. I brush down his stomach and grip him through the thin barrier of his sweats... desperate, reckless, already half-lost. He jerks against me, a low sound caught in his throat, and I swear my pulse skips.

I push harder, thumb tracing, stroking like I can’t help myself. For a second he shudders into me, a broken sound slipping out, and it ignites something feral inside me. I want to drown in this. I want him.

That’s when his hand closes hard around my wrist, stopping me cold...firm but not cruel. And his voice is rough, dipped in amusement and sin when he leans in, lips brushing my ears, and says, “Looks like you’re the one who needs to behave, not me.”

Heat floods my neck, my ears, every inch of me screaming with the humiliation of how easily he just unraveled me. And then he chuckles. Low, dark, infuriating.

Before I can gather enough willpower to shove him off, he shifts, pulling me against him with casual dominance, like I belong tucked right there in his hold. His mouth ghosts over my temple, softer than it has any right to be, undoing me all over again.

The quiet stretches, thick and charged, broken only by the sound of our breathing in the dark. My chest feels too tight, like I’ve swallowed something heavy that won’t go down. Minutes pass before I finally find my voice, soft and unsure, but certain enough to cross the silence.

“I’m glad you came,” I whisper.

The words feel bare, stripped of defense. And the second they leave me, I realize the truth pressing down on me....I mean it more than I should. This feels…big. Like something inside me just shifted, slotted into place, and no matter how much I tell myself not to, I know I like him more than I thought I did.

Maybe more than I should.

The mattress dips slightly as he shifts impossibly closer, his presence all heat and gravity in the dark. Then his fingers find their way into my hair, slow and careful, almost reverent....like he’s memorizing the texture of me. My pulse hammers, and when I edge closer, I realize I can feel his heartbeat against my own chest. Steady. Real.

“Me too,” he finally murmurs.

The sound of it threads through me, settles in my bones, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.

I swallow, the moment too big to handle, too dangerous to stay in. “Goodnight, Jax.”

There’s the faintest curve in his tone as he answers, soft but cutting right through me.

“Goodnight, Xander.”