Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 28: Getting Real

June's POV:

I was thoroughly fucked—every inch of me claimed and consumed by Justin. My body writhed in the aftershock of pleasure, limbs trembling, heart pounding, the world reduced to a blissful blur. My mind was blank, the relentless voices finally silenced at last.

In that moment, I realized I didn't need the club. I didn't need some masked stranger to chase away my demons. I'd found my own Bad Wolf right here.

I didn't need to call anyone else. All I needed was Justin.

We didn't talk about it.

Not a single word passed between us after we came down from whatever storm we'd stirred up together. No whispered regrets, no awkward laughs. Just this strange, raw silence that somehow felt... full.

I lay there, still catching my breath, his arms draped around me like they belonged there—like I belonged there. My head pressed against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under my ear. It was warm, grounding, dangerous. I should've pulled away. I should've said something. But instead, I stayed.

We acted like nothing happened.

Not because it didn't mean something—but maybe because it meant too much.

And before I knew it, I'd fallen asleep tangled in his arms, like we were lovers. Like we hadn't just crossed some invisible line. Like I hadn't just let the one person I promised I'd never need... in.

Maybe tomorrow would come with questions.

But for tonight, I just let myself hold him back.

I woke up feeling like I'd had the best sleep of my life. No nightmares. No traumatic memories. Just... peace.

I opened my eyes and realized I was still naked, tangled with a very naked Justin. I could feel the hard press of him against me, his body warm and solid beneath mine. My cheeks flamed red as I tried to wiggle free of his hold, but he only wrapped his arms tighter around me, pressing me closer.

"Stop moving about," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and sex—good lord, that voice could make any girl wet on the spot.

I froze, heart pounding, and took the chance to really look at him. Up close, the rumors hadn't done him justice. He was insanely handsome—sharp jawline, dark hair tousled just enough, and eyes that were both fierce and something else I couldn't name.

He shifted, a lazy grin curling his lips as he felt me staring. "Morning," he whispered, voice low and gravelly.

I swallowed, heat pooling between my legs. "Morning," I managed, my voice small.

He tightened his arms around me again, nuzzling into my hair. "Sleep well?"

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. "The best."

And in his arms, with the world still outside, I believed it.

"Care for a morning exercise?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

"What... morning exercise?" I murmured, still lost in the hazy warmth of his arms.

He smirked, leaning down to capture my lips in a lazy kiss. His hand slid between us, guiding the length of him as it slowly hardened against my crotch.

"This."

Who could say no to that?

Fuck—he knew exactly how to push every button. His hands were everywhere, caressing, fondling, squeezing with a possessive urgency that had me a trembling mess. I couldn't help the desperate moan that tore from my throat. "Justin..." I gasped, my voice raw.

He didn't make me beg. Didn't give me time to form words. Instead, he whispered filthy promises in my ear, his voice a growl that sent heat coiling through me.

With a swift movement, he flipped me onto my side, my back arched and exposed. His hand gripped my hip, anchoring me in place. Then, without hesitation, he lifted my leg and—fuck—he rammed into me in one brutal thrust.

I was a goner.

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My body shook, every nerve alight as he claimed me again and again. He was dominant. He was sexy. He was everything I needed—and he was relentless.

He didn't slow down. Not for a second.

His thrusts were hard and unrelenting, each one driving deeper than the last. I felt the slick burn of pleasure with every collision of our bodies. His hand tightened on my hip, fingers digging in as he set a savage rhythm—one that left me breathless and begging.

"Justin... harder," I gasped, my voice shaking.

He responded with a low chuckle, pressing a rough kiss to the back of my neck. "You asked for it, baby."

Then, with a quick, practiced movement, he spanked me—smack!—his palm landing squarely on my ass. The sting flared hot and sharp, mixing with the fire of his thrusts to send me over the edge.

I cried out, my body trembling, my back arching as he drove into me with renewed force. Every sense was on fire: the cool air against my heated skin, the throb of his cock buried inside me, the sound of my own ragged breaths and his guttural grunts.

His other hand slid up to cup my breast, squeezing and kneading with a possessive urgency that made my head spin. I could taste my own desperation on my lips, feel it pooling between my thighs.

"Look at you," he growled, voice thick with lust. "So wet for me."

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken moan.

He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine. "You're mine," he whispered, and then he slammed into me again, harder, deeper—claiming me in the most brutal, beautiful way.

I was lost in the intensity, in the fierce, unending need that bound us together. And as he continued, every forceful thrust, every rough caress, every heated word, I knew I'd never be the same.

His breath came ragged against the shell of my ear, each exhale branding me, marking me as his. I felt him pulse inside me, the final thrust sending us both shuddering over the edge. His grip on my body didn't loosen — if anything, it tightened, like he was afraid I might slip away now that the storm had passed.

We stayed like that, tangled and sweat-slick, for what felt like forever. My heartbeat gradually slowed, syncing with his. The silence between us this time was different — not the weighted kind from the night before. This one was... soft. Fragile.

I didn't dare speak. I didn't want to break the spell.

But eventually, he moved. Gently this time. His lips brushed my shoulder in something that felt too much like affection, and not enough like the casual, meaningless thing I was supposed to want this to be.

He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him until I rested on his chest again. Like before. Like always.

"I'm not sorry," he said quietly.

The words hit me harder than they should've.

I swallowed. "I'm not either."

And that was terrifying.

Because this — whatever this was — wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to need him. I wasn't supposed to feel safe in the arms of a man who once made it his mission to unravel me.

But there I was. Wrapped in Justin's sheets. Wrapped in Justin.

"You thinking too loud," he murmured, his fingers trailing along my spine in lazy, slow circles. "Don't do that."

"I can't help it." I pressed my face into his chest, hiding. "This changes everything."

"No, it doesn't," he said, way too quickly. "It only changes it if you want it to."

His voice was even. But his hand had stilled.

"Do you?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Want it to change?"

He didn't answer right away. I felt the rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his body. Then he spoke.

"I want you."

Three words. No hesitation.

No promises, either.

I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But I'd learned the hard way that wanting wasn't enough to build a future on. Not when ghosts still lived in my closet and fear still curled beneath my skin like smoke.

"I don't know what I want," I whispered.

He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. "Then don't decide now."

Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't awkward — it was full of everything we weren't saying.

Finally, I sat up, the sheets clinging to my skin. The room was still dim, morning light seeping in through the slats of his blinds, painting soft golden lines across the bed.

Justin watched me, eyes unreadable. "You going?"

"No," I said honestly. "But I might need a minute."

He reached out, brushing hair from my face. "Take all the minutes you need."

Goddamn him. Why did he have to be good to me?

I slipped out of bed, feeling the stretch and ache of what we'd done. The mirror on his wall caught my reflection — wild hair, flushed skin, bruises blooming along my hips like love notes written in his hands.

This wasn't just sex.

It hadn't been for a long time.

And now that I'd let the door open even a crack, I wasn't sure I could shut it again.

I gathered my clothes slowly, trying not to overthink. But of course, I did. Every movement, every breath, felt like a decision I wasn't ready to make.