Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 135: Running From Insane Mind

Justin — POV

My hands moved up, thumbs grazing under the edge of her thin shirt, along the soft underside of her ribs.

"Say yes," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Not to them. To me."

My mouth caught hers again, a little deeper now. Still gentle—but my lips parted this time, brushing her bottom lip, asking. Please.

Her head tilted, almost imperceptibly. Enough to press a little closer. Her breath tangled with mine, sharp and uneven.

I held her face, thumbs trembling. My heart slammed so hard it hurt.

"June," I rasped. "If you want me... if you remember wanting me... kiss me back."

Nothing.

Then—

The faintest press of her mouth to mine. Barely there, softer than breathing. But hers.

My whole chest caved in, relief and grief and want crashing through me so hard I almost sobbed.

"Yes, baby," I whispered against her lips, voice shaking. "That’s it. That’s my girl."

My hand slid to the back of her neck, thumb stroking the fine hair there. I kissed her again—slow, coaxing, letting her feel every bit of heat and ache and love I had.

She still wasn’t fully there like instinct pulling her closer.

Her breath grew ragged, shallow.

My other hand traced up, over the curve of her breast—soft, careful, asking. "Let me, angel," I breathed. "Let me make you remember."

No flinch. No recoil.

So I brushed my thumb over her nipple, barely grazing. Her breath caught, sharp.

"Please, June," I whispered, forehead pressed to hers, voice raw. "Tell me you want me. Even if it’s just one word. Even if it’s just my name."

Her lips parted, breath trembling. No words came out. But her hips shifted, a small, broken roll against me.

It wasn’t much. But it was hers.

And for me, right now, it was everything.

Gentle. Always gentle.

For the first time in my fucked up life...I wanted slow more than I wanted hard.

Because I wasn’t just trying to claim her body.I was trying to bring June—my June—back from the dark.

The way her breath caught under my mouth was different this time.

Not fear.

Something deeper, darker, rawer.

Her chest rose hard against my palm. Her thighs shifted against the sheets, the muscles twitching, tensing as if some memory buried under the terror was trying to claw its way out.

I didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

Didn’t dare.

My lips trailed down from her collarbone, barely skimming skin, every kiss a question, a prayer: Are you still there, June?

Her body arched, breath stuttering. Her hips rolled up—barely, shakily—until her thigh brushed mine.

And then again.

A slow, broken grind against my leg.

The shock of it ripped the air from my lungs.

"June..." I whispered, voice cracking so hard it hurt.

Her hand came up—jerky, trembling—but it landed on my shoulder, nails digging in.

It wasn’t a push away.

It was an anchor.

I looked up, breathless, and for the first time, her eyes locked on mine—really locked.

Still glazed, still shaking—but the emptiness wasn’t bottomless anymore.

There was fire there.

My June.

My girl.

I sucked in a shaking breath. "It’s me, baby," I murmured, my hand brushing down her side, thumb grazing the curve of her hip. "You’re safe. You’re here."

She let out a breath, ragged and hot. Her thighs tightened around me, hips pushing up again, harder.

I felt her heat through the thin fabric between us, and it nearly killed me. My pulse pounded so loud I barely heard the blood roaring in my ears.

"Tell me, angel," I breathed, lips brushing her jaw, her neck, her ear. "Tell me what you need."

She didn’t speak. Not at first. But her nails raked over my skin, a broken, desperate gesture.

Then, voice so rough and hoarse it sounded like it tore her throat to say:

"Make me forget."

My chest caved in. "June..." My voice shook. "Baby, they’re watching—"

"I don’t give a fuck who’s watching," she cut me off, louder than I’d heard her since I got here.

She shook her head, hair falling wild across her face. "I don’t want to be in my head, Justin. Make it stop. Please. Make me forget."

The words were a blade in my ribs.

She wasn’t asking for sweetness.

Not safety.

She was begging to be burned alive until nothing else existed.

"I don’t know if I can be gentle," I rasped, forehead pressed to hers, our breaths crashing between us.

"I don’t want gentle," she whispered, and her voice broke on the words. "I want you."

God, help me.

My restraint cracked, splintered, shattered.

Her hips rocked up again, this time harder, a broken grind against the ache between my legs that had been clawing at me since I first saw her.

A low, raw sound tore out of my throat, unrecognizable even to me.

My hand slipped under her shirt, dragging it up inch by inch. "Say yes," I breathed against her lips. "Just once."

Her breath came out hot and ragged. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes. Justin—please."

I swallowed the sound she made when my mouth covered hers—deep, hungry, devouring.

Her legs parted, knees falling open around me. The heat of her was a living thing, pulling me in.

One hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back so I could taste her throat, her collarbone, the soft skin that still smelled faintly of the girl she used to be.

"God, June," I breathed against her pulse. "I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you."

Her back arched off the bed when my thumb brushed her nipple, hardening under my touch.

A strangled gasp ripped out of her chest, and the sound broke me.

I wanted more.

Needed more.

My kisses turned rougher, hotter—trailing down the line of her ribs, across the bruises the cuffs had left.

She flinched once, but didn’t pull away.

Instead, her hand tangled in my hair, dragging my mouth back up to hers.

Desperate.

Starving.

She kissed me like she was dying.

Like the only air left in the world was trapped in my lungs.

And I gave it to her, every shattered piece.

Our legs tangled, the sheets twisted around us. My hand slipped between her thighs, finding the slick heat waiting for me there.

She jerked, a broken cry ripping from her lips.

"It’s okay, baby," I murmured, voice shaking. "It’s okay. You’re so fucking perfect. So alive."

Her hips rolled into my touch, the movement raw and clumsy—she was still half-lost, half-drowning.

But she was moving.

She was here.

"Don’t stop," she whispered, so quiet I almost didn’t catch it.

"Never," I rasped. "Never stopping. Not until you forget every fucking nightmare."

I pushed the fabric down her hips, baring her inch by inch to the cold air—and to me.

She shivered, but didn’t cover herself.

Didn’t look away.

I stripped off my own shirt, hands clumsy, chest heaving.

Her eyes followed the movement, wide, pupils blown dark.

And fuck, I saw it: the flicker of heat under the fear.

Desire.

My June.

I kissed her again—harder, deeper. Her breath caught on a moan, vibrating against my tongue.

My hand slid down, teasing the slick heat between her legs.

She gasped, head tipping back.

"Justin—" my name, torn from her lips, half-sob, half-plea.

"I know, baby," I breathed, kissing her throat, tasting salt and sweat. "I know."

Her hips moved again, seeking friction, and the desperation in her movements nearly undid me.

My own self-control hung by a thread, frayed and burning.

I fumbled with my pants, tearing them off, freeing the ache that had been torturing me.

Her eyes dropped, pupils blowing even wider, breath catching.

"Look at me," I rasped, hand cupping her jaw. "Stay with me. Just us. No voices. Just us."

She nodded, frantic, and pulled me closer.

Her heat seared through me as I settled between her thighs, my weight braced so I wouldn’t crush her.

"June," I whispered, forehead pressed to hers, our breaths mingling. "Tell me again."

"Please," she gasped. "Please, Justin. Make me forget."

I pushed into her—slow, so fucking slow, but deep.

Her body tensed, a sharp intake of breath, and then—

a low, broken moan that vibrated against my chest.

"God, June," I choked out, every nerve in my body burning alive. "You feel so fucking good."

Her legs wrapped around my hips, pulling me deeper, nails biting into my shoulders.

We moved together, a ragged rhythm, sweat slicking our skin, hearts pounding like war drums.

Every thrust, every kiss, every breath—burning away the terror, the memories, the voices.

Her eyes locked on mine, glassy and wet, but alive.

"I’m here," I gasped. "Right here with you, angel."

Her hips met mine, harder, faster, desperate.

And then she shattered, body tightening around me, breath ripping out in a cry that sounded like my name.

I followed her over the edge, vision whiting out, the world collapsing to nothing but heat, breath, and her.

When I came back to myself, I was still inside her, our bodies shaking, hearts racing like we’d run for miles.

I kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips—soft now, reverent.

"You’re here," I whispered, voice raw. "You’re fucking here."

She nodded, tears streaking her cheeks, breath ragged.

"I can’t hear them," she whispered, voice cracking. "The voices—they’re quiet."

Relief slammed into me so hard I nearly sobbed.

"I’ve got you," I rasped, arms wrapping tight around her. "Always."

Outside the room, I knew they were watching.

But for one stolen moment, it was just us.

Two broken souls, clinging to each other in the dark.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, June was back.

I knew they’d come right after their sick little experiment ended.

They’d want to rush in here the second the cameras caught June coming back to herself—to poke, to prod, to slice her open with their questions: Where did you go? What did you hear? Describe it in detail, Number Twelve...

Fuck that.

I’d already been two steps ahead. The second June’s breathing had evened out, when she’d fallen limp against my chest, I’d forced myself to move—still shaking, heart barely holding together.

I’d locked the door from the inside. Manual. Bolts they wouldn’t expect. So their fucking master keys wouldn’t do them any good.

They could bring tools, battering rams, hell—bring a fucking army if they wanted.

But every second they spent outside that door was another second June could breathe without a needle at her vein or a question aimed to shatter her mind.

They didn’t care she was hanging on by threads so thin I could see the fraying edges in her eyes.

They wanted to know what it felt like to be insane, to crawl around inside her head and dig out answers she shouldn’t have to give.

They’d watch her break again and scribble it down in their neat little notebooks.

Number Twelve. Still responsive. Still pliant. Still useful.

My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

They’d have to go through me first.

Even cuffed. Even half-broken myself.

I looked down at her—messy hair plastered to sweat-damp cheeks, eyes red from tears, lashes stuck together.

She looked so small.

But she was here. Her chest rose and fell steady, lips parted, her skin warm under my hand.

I ran my thumb over the bruise on her wrist from the cuffs. It burned under my touch like my own personal brand of guilt.

I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve ripped this fucking place apart brick by brick before they ever laid a hand on you.

I leaned down, kissed her forehead.

"It’s okay, angel," I murmured against her skin, though my voice felt like glass in my throat. "They’re not getting to you. Not again. I won’t fucking let them."

She stirred, half-awake, her fingers twitching like she wanted to hold on.

My chest splintered at the sight.

Outside, I could already hear the panic starting. Muffled shouting, boots stomping closer.

They’d realized the door wouldn’t open.

Good. Let them fucking panic.

I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in, letting her scent push back the bloodlust clawing up my spine.

Stay soft. Stay human. For her.

I didn’t know how long I could hold them off.

But I’d keep them as far from June as I could until Rico came.

Because even if my bones broke, even if they dragged me out in chains—

They weren’t getting near her fragile mind again.

Not while I still had breath in my lungs.