Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 94

When we’re done, I drag myself up, groaning like my bones are made of lead. “I’m gonna shower.” My gaze drops to him, seated there, gorgeous and ruinous. “You wanna join?”

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s peeling me apart. That assessing silence cuts deeper than anything. Then, finally, he speaks. “If I do, we both know how it’ll go.” His eyes darken, voice dropping to something rough and dark. “Question is… you up for it?”

And God, I am fucking tired. My body aches, exhaustion clings heavy, but it’s a tempting offer. A dangerous one.

He watches me fight myself, then leans back, tone sharp and smooth at once. “Go shower, Xander. As much as I want to pick up where we left off.…” He pauses, lets me have the weight of his stare. “…I’d rather wait until you’ve got good use of your hands. Gonna need them on me....all over.”

The heat of it sears straight through my chest, down low where I’m already throbbing. I rake a hand through my hair, the smile that breaks out is uncontainable, subtle but undeniable. “Disappointing,” I murmur, and turn toward the washroom.

But the whole way there, I feel his eyes on me, heavy, claiming... promising.

********

Steam still clings to my skin when I step back into the bedroom, towel slung low on my hips. Jax is already in bed, looking like a painting I shouldn’t be allowed to touch...hands behind his head, gaze pinned to the ceiling as if it’s got answers he hasn’t found yet. But the second I move, the second he hears me, his head turns.

Those eyes drag over me, burning through cotton and steam and flesh. He doesn’t say a word. He never does in moments like this, and it almost undoes me more than anything filthy he could spit.

I pull a pair of boxers from the wardrobe, let the towel fall, and for a beat, I feel him watching hungrily. I slip them on, turn, and walk toward him. The exhaustion comes back hard the moment I lower myself beside him. It slams through me like a weight. I yawn, bury myself into his side, into the solid warmth of him.

“I’ll have less clients tomorrow,” I murmur, voice low and drowsy. I leave it there. He’ll know what I mean.

The click of the light switch plunges us into darkness. His arms come around me, holding me close, tight, and I can’t shake the feeling....there’s something in his eyes, even in the dark. That faraway edge I’ve caught before. Like he’s here, but somewhere else, too.

I press in closer, let my head rest against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. My hand finds his jaw, angles him toward me, and I kiss him in the dark. His mouth is warm, steady, but I feel it...the strain, the quiet war he’s fighting somewhere deep inside. He’s trying to hold onto something, to keep it from breaking through.

Neither of us speaks, the silence settles, heavy but not empty. My eyes start to close, sleep dragging me under, but the words push out anyway, raw and reckless. “I like you.”

I’ve said it before, but tonight it feels different. He half scoffs, half chuckles. “I’m aware.”

I lift my head, eyes adjusting to the dark. “No,” I whisper, serious. “I don’t think you are.”

I roll onto my stomach, propping myself up on one elbow, my other hand tracing patterns across his chest. The muscles, the heat of him. “I think about you all day. It’s starting to become a problem. I’m supposed to be working, supposed to be focused, but the only thing on my mind is when I’ll get to see you again.” My voice drops low. Turning confessional, the truth pulled out of me like a vein exposed. “I’ve really never liked anyone this much before.”

He doesn’t move or speak. Just lies there, a fortress of silence. Then finally, he pulls me back into him, holds me tighter, his chest rising slow beneath my cheek. “Go to sleep, Xander.”

It stings, sharper than I want to admit, but I force myself to let it slide. It’s not a big deal. I know he likes me. I close my eyes, try to let the dark take me.

Minutes pass. Maybe only three. And then, out of nowhere, his voice cuts through the silence.

“You religious?”

My eyes snap open. For a second, I think I dreamed it. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat it, just waits. The ceiling feels heavier now. I shift against him, confused, fighting the pull of sleep.

“My mum… she believes in kindness,” I murmur, words soft and drifting. “She used to tell us it didn’t matter what you followed, what name you gave it. At the end of the day, they all preached the same thing. Kindness.” I breathe slow, trying to keep my eyes open. “So, yeah. I guess I believe in that.” My voice is thick with drowsiness. “Why?”

He shakes his head. I can feel the movement under my palm. “It’s nothing.”

I bite back the urge to argue, to push. I hate it when he says that. It’s never nothing. But I’m too far gone, and maybe this isn’t the moment to fight him. “Goodnight, Jax,” I whisper instead.

The silence stretches again, long enough that I almost think he’s drifted off. My lids are heavy, sleep about to completely drag me under. And then...

“I was in an orphanage,” he says suddenly, voice cutting through the dark. “Till I was eight. It was run by a church. There was this priest.....”

My throat tightens. My body stills.

Something in me knows, this is one of those important and fragile moments. A piece of him he doesn’t hand out. My instincts scream to stay quiet, to hold the space and not break whatever it is he’s about to give me.

So I do. I stay still, my head on his chest, my hand spread across his heart, and I wait.