Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 26: Messing Around

Justin's POV:

The kettle beeped, snapping the tension in the air—barely.

I turned back to the counter, forcing myself to focus as I poured two cups of coffee. Something to do with my hands. Something to keep me from looking at her.

But I could still feel her eyes on me.

She took the cup when I handed it to her, fingers grazing mine. A quick touch—nothing intentional. But I felt it everywhere.

"Thanks," she murmured, bringing the cup to her lips.

I forced myself to do the same, taking a sip, letting the heat burn my tongue—a welcome distraction.

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I could hear the quiet hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock on the wall. But mostly, I was aware of her.

Standing there in my shirt, drinking coffee like she hadn't just turned my entire world upside down. Like she hadn't just spent the night in my bed—like I hadn't spent the last few minutes fighting every urge to drag her back to it.

"You're not going back to sleep, are you?" I finally asked, watching her over the rim of my cup.

She shook her head, taking another sip. "I don't like sleeping. It gives me too much time to think."

I understood that more than she knew.

"Then what do you wanna do?"

She looked up at me, something unreadable flickering in her gaze. She placed her cup down on the counter, then leaned against it, fingers lazily tracing the rim.

"I don't know," she said, voice softer now. "What do you want to do, Justin?"

That was a loaded question.

And she damn well knew it.

"Are you baiting me?" I asked, my voice lower than I intended.

June's lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk, but something close. She tilted her head, watching me over the rim of her coffee cup, those sharp eyes catching every flicker of tension in my body.

"Would it work if I was?" she asked, voice smooth, teasing—dangerous.

I let out a slow breath, setting my cup down before I did something reckless—again.

"You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart," I warned, stepping closer, just enough to invade her space. She didn't back away. Didn't even flinch.

Instead, she met my gaze head-on, challenging.

"Maybe I like dangerous games," she murmured, placing her cup down next to mine.

My jaw clenched.

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She was testing me. Pushing.

And fuck, I wanted to push back.

I could see it in her eyes—the challenge, the unspoken dare. And who the hell was I to deny it?

I leaned down, closing the space between us, brushing my lips against hers. It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't soft. It was claiming—a slow burn that sparked into something hotter the second she kissed me back.

June's fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me closer, as if she needed this just as much as I did. My hands found her waist, sliding down over the oversized fabric she was wearing—my shirt. The realization sent a dark thrill through me. She was standing in my kitchen, in my damn clothes, kissing me like she wanted to devour me.

I backed her against the counter, deepening the kiss, my grip tightening around her hips. She let out the softest sound against my mouth, and fuck, that was it. That was all it took to snap what little restraint I had left.

"You really don't want to sleep, huh?" I murmured against her lips, my breath hot against her skin.

Her eyes were hooded, dark with something I recognized—need.

"Not if you're offering a better distraction," she whispered.

June's POV:

I knew I was using him.

Using him to chase away my demons, to drown out the voices in my head. To escape.

But he was here. And he wasn't stopping me. He wasn't pulling away, wasn't telling me no.

So yeah... I kissed him back.

I kissed him like I could erase the nightmare, like I could replace the awful memories with the way his hands gripped my waist, the way his body pressed against mine, solid and warm and real. I wasn't in the past anymore. I wasn't trapped in my own head. I was here, with him.

My fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth moved against mine, deep and consuming. His hands skimmed beneath the hem of the shirt I was wearing—his shirt—his touch leaving a burning trail over my skin.

I shivered, not from cold, but from anticipation.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my lips, his breath warm, his voice tight with restraint.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing.

"I don't want you to."

With that, he lifted me onto the counter, his hands firm on my waist as he settled me down without breaking the kiss. My legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body press into mine.

His fingers found the buttons of the shirt I was wearing—his shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began undoing them, one by one, his knuckles grazing my skin with every movement. The anticipation sent a shiver down my spine, my breath hitching as I clung to him, lost in the way his lips moved against mine, how his touch burned away every lingering shadow of my nightmare.

The shirt hung loose around me now, barely clinging to my shoulders, teasing the promise of more. His hands slid up my thighs, gripping them as his lips moved down to my jaw, my neck—each kiss a distraction, a fire, an escape.

And right now, I needed that more than anything.

I wasn't wearing a bra, and he quickly realized it. His lips trailed down, leaving a path of heat against my skin until he reached my chest. A sharp gasp escaped me as his mouth found its target, his tongue flicking over my sensitive skin, making me arch against him.

Fuck. Justin knew exactly what he was doing—how to make a woman forget, how to make me forget.

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me even closer as he lavished attention on me, his touch rough yet precise, like he knew exactly what I needed. My fingers tangled into his hair, holding him there, silently begging him not to stop.

And for once, I didn't care about anything else. The nightmares. The past. The consequences.

Right now, it was just this. Just him.

His tongue flicked over my nipple, teasing, tasting—torturing. At the same time, his hand found my neglected breast, his fingers kneading, rolling, squeezing until a helpless moan slipped from my lips.

Fuck.

I was done for. Completely at his mercy.

His mouth was relentless, tongue swirling, lips latching, sucking—claiming. Heat coiled low in my stomach, spreading like wildfire through my veins, making me arch into his touch.

His other hand slid lower, fingertips ghosting down my ribs, my waist, before gripping my thigh—hard. Possessive. Unyielding. He pulled me forward, forcing me flush against him, and I felt just how much he wanted this.

Wanted me.

A sharp gasp tore from my throat as his teeth grazed my sensitive skin before he soothed the sting with his tongue. My hands fisted into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, pulling him closer—needing him closer.

I wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't running.

I was falling.

And there was no stopping it.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of my panties, and I felt a surge of heat ripple through me, hotter than before. Every touch seemed calculated to stoke my desire further, transforming our intense make-out into something even more consuming. I moaned softly as his fingers traced deliberate paths along my skin, each caress sending shivers of longing through me.

Our kiss deepened, raw and unyielding, as if every stolen breath carried away a part of the coldness I'd been holding inside. In that moment, it wasn't just a kiss—it was an unspoken promise of indulgence, a magnetic pull that left me trembling and wanting more. The world around us faded, replaced by the undeniable, electrifying connection that left me breathless and entirely at his mercy.

His finger slid in slowly, a deliberate invasion that left me breathless. I couldn't help but open my legs wider, silently inviting him closer. The sensation was overwhelming—each subtle movement sending waves of heat deep into me, erasing, if only for a moment, the shadows of my past. I surrendered to the rush, every nerve alight with longing and desperate need, as his touch claimed me completely.

Justin's POV:

In the harsh glare of the kitchen's fluorescent lights, I pulled her further onto the cold, unforgiving counter. Her legs, already spread wide, trembled as if beckoning me to claim every inch of her. I moved my hand along her inner thigh with a rough insistence that left no room for hesitation. Every touch was calculated—intense, raw, a desperate attempt to drown out every memory of the past.

Her skin, soft and yielding beneath my grip, shivered as I slid my fingers under the fabric of her panties. The cool air of the kitchen clashed with the heat of our desire, amplifying every sensation. I could feel her body responding, opening up to me, as if she wanted to erase the horrors that haunted her sleep. I drove forward with unrelenting force, my need and fury intertwining, a storm that had no pause.

Her eyes, dark with longing and defiance, met mine as I claimed her with a series of rough, demanding movements. Every thrust, every squeeze was a declaration—an attempt to imprint this moment into her very being. The kitchen faded away into nothing but the sound of our ragged breaths and the pulse of our hearts, beating in time with the raw rhythm of our bodies.

In that cramped, dim space, I was determined to make her forget everything else. With every rough, unyielding movement, I sought to erase the pain, to drown out the echoes of past nightmares with a brutal, consuming passion. I wanted her to feel so deeply, so viscerally, that nothing else could exist—no ghosts of the lab, no whispers of betrayal—only us, tangled in a wild, desperate haze of need.

And as I pressed into her, hard and unrelenting, I knew that in that very moment, nothing else mattered but the intensity of our raw desire.

I sensed her on the edge, about to come, so I stopped. I pulled away just enough to peel off my shirt, then slid her panties aside with deliberate care. I knelt down, the cool floor beneath me a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her body, as I prepared to claim her warm, juicy center with my mouth.

My hands trembled slightly—not from hesitation, but from the raw, pulsing intensity of the moment. I could see the mix of frustration and desperate need in her eyes, and it drove me further. Every second stretched out, heavy with the promise of release, until I leaned in, determined to erase every lingering thought except for the sensation of her.

In that charged silence, I let my touch become everything—each movement, each caress designed to pull her back from the brink and into our wild, consuming passion.

She screamed my name out loud the moment my tongue found its mark—her reaction was raw, unfiltered, and electric. Every nerve in her body seemed to ignite with that singular cry, and I could taste the delicious mix of her desire and vulnerability. It was as if all the hurt, the nightmares, the whispered memories of a past she'd tried so hard to forget, were being washed away in the heat of our connection.

I pressed on, my tongue moving with a deliberate hunger, savoring every subtle shift in her taste, every gasp, every moan. She was delicious—so utterly intoxicating that I could easily lose myself in her, devouring her with an intensity that promised oblivion. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the fierce, consuming pleasure we shared. I could almost believe that by surrendering to this, by eating her out with a relentless passion, I could erase the pain of the world outside, if only for a while.

Her body writhed beneath me, each shudder a testament to the depth of our union—a union that, for a few precious minutes, made all the demons vanish. And as I continued, driven by a force I couldn't quite control, I realized that I was completely lost in her. In that intense, overpowering moment, I wanted to make her forget everything else—every nightmare, every horror—so that she would remember only this.

In a surge of raw, animalistic need, I couldn't hold back any longer. I quickly stood up, and before she could even react, I thrust into her—my cock entering her all at once. Her scream cut through the air, louder than before, a desperate, ragged cry that fueled my intensity.

I didn't pause. I began moving with a relentless, pounding rhythm, each thrust driving deeper, drawing out even louder moans from her. Every movement was rough, raw, and overpowering—an unyielding assertion of claim and desire.

Her body responded instantly, arching into me as if to capture every ounce of the burning need we shared. The heat between us was overwhelming, and the sound of her gasps and moans filled the cramped space with a wild, unrestrained energy.

In that moment, nothing else existed—only the brutal, consuming intensity of our passion, the echo of her scream, and the undeniable force that connected us as I drove into her with everything I had.