Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 93

“You did good,” Jax rumbles above me, low and certain. “That piece came out great.”

“You think so?” I tip my head back, finally meeting his eyes. He’s already watching me, gaze steady, like he’d been waiting for me to look up.

He hums instead of answering, the vibration deep in his chest. His fingers slide up into my hair, combing through like it’s second nature, like I’m his to soothe. He studies me in that way he does, like he’s trying to solve a riddle he has no intention of ever sharing the answer to.

“I told Layla and Addy,” I say suddenly, because apparently my brain likes blurting things at tense times. “That we’re dating.”

His response isn’t words. It’s him leaning down, pressing his lips to my forehead. It’s only the second time he’s done it, but it hits like a blade all the same...sharp, deep, soft in a way that undoes me.

“How’d they take it?” he asks against my skin.

I chuckle, shrugging into his chest. “Exactly how I expected. They made fun of me, grilled me, acted like middle schoolers about it. Then they said they're happy for us.”

Us....the word tastes strange and sweet on my tongue.

I drop my head back against him, let my eyes fall shut again. It would be so easy to fall asleep right here, with his heat seeping into me, with that dark, spicy scent of his coiling through my chest like smoke. It thrills me, buzzes under my skin. But then my mind snags on earlier, the look on his face when his phone went off. That sharp edge he tried to mask, it's the same one from the call last night. I can’t help myself.

“Who was that?” I ask quietly, not lifting my head. “On the phone. You looked pissed.”

His hand stills in my hair for a beat, just a beat, before moving again, like nothing happened. “Nothing important.”

I want to push, but I don’t. The words catch in my throat. So I just breathe him in, my doubt hanging between us like ink suspended in water.

He tugs me then, firm but not rough. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

And I go, even though every nerve in me is screaming with questions I’m too afraid to ask.

********

The night air clings to me even when we’re inside, like I carried some of that ride back in with me. My skin still hums from the press of Jax’s body against mine on the bike. I flop on the couch the second we step into my apartment, groaning like I’ve been dropped from a great height. My limbs feel like lead, my mind like static...but under all of that is this restless fire, this edge that hasn’t let me go since last night.

“Don’t pass out on me,” Jax says, tapping my thigh, ans when I don't shift, he tugs my hair hard enough to get my attention.

I force one eye open to find him unpacking the takeout we made a stop for. Then because I'm hogging up most of the couch space, he drops to the floor, back against the couch like he belongs here. Like he belongs everywhere I look.

I drag myself upright and shift until I’m sitting next to him. My body leans toward him without asking my permission.

Jax glances at me, that smirk tugging at his mouth. “You can’t stay away from me, can you?”

I huff a laugh, drag my hand down my face like I’m exhausted by him when the truth is the opposite. “Yeah, you caught me. Real tragedy. I can’t function without you.” My tone is sarcastic enough to pass for banter, but under it, I know I’m not completely lying, which is fucking crazy. I decide not to dwell on it.

I lean back against the couch, head turned just enough to watch him. Jax is eating like he hasn’t noticed I’ve been staring this whole time, but he feels it...he always does. His eyes flick toward me, that sharp cut of steel softened just a fraction.

“What?” he asks, fork paused halfway. “You’re not hungry?”

I tilt my head, lazy and deliberate. “Feed me.”

His brow arches like he’s trying to decide if I’m fucking with him or something. “Feed you?”

“Mhm.” I hum the word, blinking lazily at him. I expect the taunt, the dirty twist he always pulls, some wicked comment about my mouth being better used for other things. Or him asking what exactly it is I wanna be fed. But he doesn’t go there. Instead, he shifts, body turning toward me, and holds the spoon out.

I part my lips, let him slide the bite in. It tastes like salt and spice, but it’s the care that floods through me. I smile as I chew, a satisfied curl that feels too raw and telling.

He catches it, of course. Scoffs, shakes his head, eyes cutting away like he’s not soft about it. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“So lucky,” I repeat, the word thick in my mouth.“I was thinking of going antiquing this weekend,” I add before I forget, my eyes catch his. “You’ll come with me?”

“Sure,” he answers without hesitation. No thought, even. Just...sure. Then his hand lifts, a finger tracing along my brow with a care that leaves me stripped bare, before pulling back to feed me again.

I don’t even register the food this time, I taste only him, the unguarded way he gives himself in these quiet, wordless acts. It hits me how much they’d never see this side of him, how Layla called him cold earlier, and how wrong she’d be if she saw him like this. But I don’t want her to. I don’t want anyone to. This is the part of him that belongs only here, only to me, and it feels too rare, too fragile to share with the world. And it’s enough to undo me, to strip me bare in ways I never thought possible.