Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 116: Men In White

Justin pov:

She started to move—slowly, cruelly. Not humping. Grinding. Smooth, measured torture. I could feel everything through the denim—her bare core dragging over my cock like she was trying to kill me with pleasure.

"June," I warned.

She leaned in, her voice brushing my ear. "Shh. We’re just watching the dance floor, remember?"

I gritted my teeth. My fingers twitched, digging into her skin. "You’re not watching anything."

She smirked. And kept moving.

It wasn’t even about teasing anymore. It was about control. And the little witch on my lap knew exactly how to steal it from me. She was rolling her hips in slow eights now, chest brushing mine, her breath catching every few seconds like this wasn’t hurting her just as much.

And maybe it was. But she was enjoying every second of watching me try to stay still.

My hands slid down to her ass, just holding—feeling. She was warm, soft, soaked. I could smell her arousal on my fingers from earlier, and it made me twitch beneath her, already straining.

"You’re gonna pay for this," I muttered.

She grinned. "Promise?"

God, yes.

The music shifted—slower, thicker. She matched it. Of course she did.

Then she leaned back, showing me the curve of her breasts through that half-buttoned blouse, and my last thread of patience frayed. I could see her nipples—tight, sensitive, flushed. I wanted my mouth on them. My teeth.

She rocked forward again. My jaw clenched. My cock jerked.

"June—fuck—stop."

She didn’t.

She leaned in instead. Close. Close enough that our foreheads touched, her lips a breath away.

"What’s wrong?" she whispered. "Can’t take it?"

I closed my eyes, just for a second. "You’re evil."

Her kiss landed at the corner of my mouth. "No. I’m vengeful."

She ground down again, slower. Deeper. My control? Slipping like water through my fingers.

"Next time you steal my panties and fuck me against a door," she breathed, "maybe you’ll remember I bite back."

I growled. Low and deep.

She bit her lip. God, I was going to ruin her.

"You like it when I take control," I said.

"I like a lot of things."

She rolled again. My body jolted.

My hands slid under her blouse, fingers teasing her waist, dragging upward. She arched into it. Her blouse parted more. My mouth watered.

"You keep this up," I warned, "I’m going to flip you over this fucking table and take you in front of everyone."

She trembled on top of me. I felt it.

"And you’ll moan for me," I added, voice low, "like the shameless little mess you are."

I felt her clench. Her lips parted. And she didn’t even try to deny it.

That was it.

I wrapped a hand around her throat. Gentle. Firm. Perfect.

"Get off my lap," I growled, "or I will make good on that threat."

She blinked slowly, her hips still pressing into me like she hadn’t heard a word. "I thought you liked me here."

"I do. Too much. And you’re five seconds from getting fucked on this couch."

She trembled.

"Then maybe," she whispered, lips brushing my ear, "you should do it."

My grip tightened slightly. Fuck.

"June—"

She kissed me.

Slow. Deep. Possessive.

And I kissed her back, like I was trying to crawl into her skin.

Then she whispered:

"Game on."

And I nearly lost it.

I kissed her like I was fucking her mouth. No patience. Just need. My hand still on her throat, thumb stroking her jaw. I bit her bottom lip, sucked it into my mouth, devoured her. And she moaned for it, grinding into me like we weren’t one second away from setting the whole lounge on fire.

"You’re lucky I don’t want anyone else seeing you when I fuck you," I growled against her lips. "Or I’d take you. Right here."

She whimpered, chest heaving.

I slid my hand up, curling around her breast. She gasped. I pinched the nipple hard enough to make her jolt.

"And when we get home..." I dragged my teeth over her ear, "...I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk for days."

She shook against me. I could feel how soaked she was through my jeans. Still grinding. Still torturing us both.

"Keep going," I rasped, "and I swear—"

Buzz.

The vibration hit me low. Right beneath her. In my pocket.

We both froze.

Her eyes met mine.

No.

I didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not fucking now.

But I had to.

I growled, reaching for the phone like it had personally insulted me. One look at the name made it worse.

I cursed under my breath.

Again.

And I lifted her—easily, like she weighed nothing—and placed her beside me on the couch. Her eyes were wide, stunned, lips kiss-bruised and red.

"Sorry, love," I muttered, kissing her temple. "I have to take this."

Her brows furrowed, her hips still twitching like she hadn’t come down yet.

"Be good," I said. "Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back real quick."

I didn’t wait for a reply.

I turned and walked away, shoving through the lounge, jaw tight, blood still raging between my legs.

I needed to take this call.

But all I could think about was her.

Her moans.

Her grind.

And how I was going to destroy her the second I came back.

*********

"Yeah, Rico," I grumbled, stepping into a dark, quiet corner outside the club. My mood was already shot. Blood still pumping from June grinding on my lap, from the way she moaned in my mouth like she belonged to me—and now I was answering a damn call mid-hard-on like I wasn’t two seconds from bending her over that couch.

Rico’s voice came in low and tense. "The men in white are in the area. I think they’re poaching again."

My entire body went still.

Fuck.

Those bastards didn’t know when to quit.

Even after the facilities were shut down—after the government paraded their so-called "rescue mission" all over the goddamn news—those freaks in lab coats were still out here. Still looking to take back what they called property.

Us. Their failed experiments. Their twisted fucking science projects.

They just went underground. Obsessed with getting their "lab rats" back.

That’s what they called us.

Kids they breed. Broke. Tested. Rebuilt. Ruined.

My jaw clenched hard. I’d been so consumed with June lately—so wrapped up in her heat, her scent, her fucking everything—that I let myself forget. Forgot I was supposed to be tracking the three remaining heads of this goddamn operation. The ones who went off-grid after the final shutdown.

If I could just get to their sponsors, cut the money off at the root, this whole thing would fall apart. For good.

"Goddamn it," I hissed, dragging a hand through my hair. "I need their faces sent to everyone on the team. And I want to know where they were last spotted."

"Copy that. But—" Rico hesitated. "Boss... Meg’s missing."

The words slammed into me like a truck.

"What?"

"Gone. Just got word from her foster mom. She stepped out to meet a friend after class and never came home."

Silence.

No.

No, no, no.

"Fuck," I hissed, slamming my fist into the wall. "Not Meg. Not her."

"Her foster mom said she went out to meet a friend after school. Never came back."

"Fuck. Fuck!" My voice echoed off the alley wall. I nearly put a dent in it with my fist.

Not Meg. Sweet little Meg.

My stomach churned.

Meg was the youngest of us.

She was only six when we were rescued. Barely old enough to read. She was their latest experiment at the time—freshly brought in, untouched by most of the horrors the rest of us endured. She didn’t go through half the testing Rico and I did.

She was... still innocent.

Still sweet.

No demons in her eyes. Just softness. Curiosity. Light.

Still tiny. Still soft. Still whole in ways the rest of us hadn’t been in years. She hadn’t endured as much—hadn’t been poked and prodded, broken and rebuilt, until she lost pieces of herself like the rest of us had.

She didn’t have demons yet. She still smiled.

"Track her phone and send me the coordinates. Now," I snapped. "Send two others. I’ll meet up with them soon."

"On it."

Meg had been adopted by one of her teachers. A sweet woman who didn’t ask too many questions. Who let us check in on her. Who let her call us "brother." Rico and I were always the closest to her—maybe because we remembered what it was like to be kids inside those concrete cages. Her foster mom understood what she meant to us. She let us stay close.

I’d been sixteen when I got out—after helping June escape and I got caught. Stayed behind tortured for helping her got out I was twelve then. Endured four more years inside that nightmare before someone found me. Rico had gotten out a little earlier, fifteen.

But Meg? She still had a chance at a normal life.

And now those monsters had her again.

Why not come after me? Why not fucking try me instead? Why not take the one who ripped holes in their precious system? Why go after her?

I stormed back into the club, rage boiling in my chest. My whole mood shot to hell. I needed to get June, take her home, and then go find Meg. Fast.