Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 47: Blast Out

June POV

"The fuck are you doing here?" he’d asked, his voice sharp, cold—like a blade pressed to my skin.

I didn’t know what was wrong with him. Maybe I’d done something. Maybe he was just tired, haunted. But right then, I didn’t care.

Because I needed him.

He was the only one who could make the filth feel like it didn’t sink into my bones. The only one who made me forget—even for a second—what I’d endured. What I kept enduring.

So when he opened the door, even as his arm blocked my path, I slipped inside. I didn’t give him a chance to reject me. Couldn’t bear it if he did.

I grabbed him, dragged him to me, and kissed him like I was starving—like I’d die if he didn’t kiss me back. Desperation bled through every motion. I was running. From the weak girl in my head. From the nights I couldn’t scream. From the scent of him—the other him—still clinging to my skin.

Justin didn’t disappoint.

He kissed me back, hard. Rough. Furious. Like I was the cause of every demon crawling inside him.

And maybe I was.

He spun me around in one breathless motion, slammed me against the door, our mouths never parting. His hand slid down my spine, gripping my thigh and lifting it around his waist like he’d done it a thousand times before. The motion pressed him against me, right where I ached, even with layers of clothes in the way.

I ground against him, shameless and wild, and for once—I didn’t care how I looked. I didn’t care if I was pathetic.

I wanted him.

I wanted to feel full. Needed to feel his touch—violent and hungry—because only that would overwrite the memory of other hands. Other nights.

He grabbed my other leg, lifting me completely off the ground like I weighed nothing. Like he needed to hold me there, keep me there, or else we’d both fall apart.

He carried me to the couch, dropped me onto it like I was something precious and poisonous at the same time, and tugged my jeans down with shaking hands.

And then he—

He made me forget.

His mouth on my skin, his grip tight like ownership, like vengeance. Every sound I made was swallowed by the shadows of the apartment, every gasp a release, every cry a little more of me coming back to life.

By the time he was inside me, all I could do was hold on.

Because he didn’t move like a man—he moved like something broken, wild, desperate. And I welcomed it. Matched it. Gave in to it.

Because I needed to be destroyed.

So I could feel clean again.

He went quiet all of a sudden.

The silence after an earth-shattering climax was louder than the gasps that came before it. He stood, pulling away from me like I’d burned him. Like I was a mistake he couldn’t believe he made.

His voice broke the stillness like a whip.

"Was this your plan?" he said, low and dangerous. "Come cry at my door, then climb on my dick?"

I blinked, stunned. The heat inside me turned cold—fast. I sat up, heart hammering.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Yes, I usually went cold after—because I knew what was waiting for me back home. But this? This venom in his voice?

"I didn’t come for pity," I snapped. "I came because you’re the only one who ever made me forget."

That made him stop. Just for a second. His jaw ticked, but his eyes stayed unreadable.

"You think I’m your goddamn cure?" he snarled. "You use me like I’m a fucking drug. Get high. Come down. Then leave."

The words hit harder than I thought they would. He didn’t know. He didn’t see it.

He didn’t know that if I had the choice, I’d stay. That if I could, I’d choose him—choose the broken, haunted man in front of me over the monster waiting for me in the shadows of my home.

Before I could open my mouth, he moved.

Fast.

I barely saw him before my back hit the wall. His hands slammed flat beside my head, caging me in. His breath ghosted over my lips, his body a furnace I could feel without even touching.

My chest rose and fell, fast. Not from fear. From want.

From need.

"Then don’t let me," I whispered.

His breath stuttered. Just a fraction.

"I don’t know how to want anything else when it’s not you," I said, voice trembling. "I try. God, I try."

I wasn’t ready to lose him. Not again. Not when this was the only place that ever felt like safety wrapped in fire.

Something shifted in him then.

I saw it—the flicker behind his eyes. The battle between pride and pain. Between pushing me away and pulling me close enough to drown in.

And then?

He chose the latter.

He kissed me. Hard.

No, devoured me.

All tongue, teeth, desperation. His body pressed me so deep into the wall I thought we’d become one with it. His hands gripped my hips like they were his anchor, his last tether to sanity. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on because I didn’t want to be anywhere else but right there.

He tore off what was left of our clothes, a frenzy of skin and breath and bitten-off curses. I didn’t even feel the cold anymore. Not when he was covering me, filling me, burning me from the inside out.

He lifted me again, this time slamming me down onto the kitchen counter.

And then?

We lost ourselves all over again.

Right there—on the floor, in the kitchen, against the fridge—like we were trying to erase everything else in the world that had ever made us feel small.

******

You’d think that after that—after giving him every piece of me, again—it’d be a happy ending.

But no.

Of course not.

Because he knows.

I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But he knows my darkest secret now. The one I’ve buried so deep I barely let myself remember it. And now, he’s looking at me like he’s the one who dug it up with his bare hands.

Like I’m dirt under his nails.

Like I’m filth.

He wouldn’t even touch me this time when I reached for him. Wouldn’t even flinch. Just looked.

And that hurt more than if he’d hit me.

He said "Army showed me."

Whatever the hell that meant? Amy—my best friend. The girl I trusted. The girl who smiled while snatching the boy I loved and then stabbed me even deeper by showing him... that.

My stomach twisted.

My legs refused to hold steady.

"You think I wanted that?" I whispered, barely audible. My throat burned like acid. My chest cracked under the weight of shame.

He didn’t answer.

Just stared at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore.

I took a shaky step toward him. "That wasn’t—" My voice splintered. "That wasn’t what it looked like."

"It never is," he snapped, his voice sharp as glass.

I flinched.

God. God, those words cut.

He looked at me like I was scum—like I was filth. Like I’d invited the bastard between my legs.

He turned away again.

Dismissive.

Detached.

Done with me.

And something inside me snapped.

"I never wanted it!" I screamed, louder than I’d ever screamed in my life. "I never asked for it!"

His head turned slightly. Just a glance. I thought—hoped—he might hear me. Really hear me.

But then his jaw tightened.

His fists clenched.

"You didn’t say no either," he said coldly.

My breath hitched.

That— that was the blow that knocked the wind out of me. That took whatever was left of my dignity and smashed it against the floor.

"I was scared," I whispered. "I was so fucking scared, Justin."

I was shaking now, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hold my skin together, like I could keep my pieces from falling apart right here in front of him.

He wouldn’t look at me.

He was still turned away. Still walking.

"I saw you," he muttered, voice bitter, broken. "Lying there. Legs wide open for that old bastard. Just waiting for him to climb on top of you like you liked it. Like you wanted it."

I choked. Actually choked on my own breath.

My knees gave out.

"I didn’t—I didn’t want him!"

He spun around, rage flaring in his eyes. "You didn’t stop him either!"

I didn’t want to sleep with him," I whispered, even though I knew it didn’t matter anymore.

"Don’t lie to me."

His voice was cold. Sharp. A blade meant to cut, and God, it did.

"I’m not!" I cried, my throat tearing open with it. He was hurting me! I was trying to survive, Justin! I didn’t—God, I didn’t want it, I didn’t want him!

But I didn’t say it.

Not out loud.

Not where he could hear it.

Not where it might save me.

Because his face was already stone. His eyes unreadable. And my mouth stayed shut like it always did when it mattered most.

So I just stood there, bones aching, skin crawling with the weight of everything I couldn’t say. Everything I couldn’t undo.

He looked at me like I was poison. Like I’d become something dirty in his eyes, and he didn’t even want to touch the pieces.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Held on tight. Tried to keep from unraveling completely right in front of him.

"I thought you hated me," I said softly, words trembling as they left me.

"I did," he replied without hesitation. "Maybe I still do."

And God, that burned. That ripped through me.

But I deserved it.

Didn’t I?

I laughed. Bitter. Hollow. A sound I didn’t recognize from my own mouth.

"I don’t blame you."

He finally looked at me again. Really looked.

And I don’t know what he saw, but whatever it was—it made him pause. Just for a second. Long enough for me to suck in a breath and pretend it didn’t feel like I was bleeding all over his floor.

He didn’t touch me.

Didn’t yell again.

Just sat back down beside me, tense and guarded, like being too close might infect him.

"I need answers," he said eventually, voice low.

My breath caught.

"Not now," he added, and I nodded quickly, too quickly, like maybe he wouldn’t notice how my hands were shaking.

"I’ll tell you everything," I said.

And it wasn’t a lie.

Just... not all of it. Not yet.

"But please—just let me stay tonight."

There was a long pause. Like he was weighing it, balancing between hatred and pity, fury and something else.

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen."

No. It wasn’t.

But it did.

He stood up. Walked to his room.

Then stopped. Looked back at me—still half-dressed, small and quiet on the floor, like a secret trying not to scream.

"You coming?"

I nodded.

My legs moved before my brain did.

I followed.

And when I climbed into his bed beside him, I didn’t reach for him. Didn’t beg for his arms. Didn’t ask for comfort.

I just laid there.

Breathing.

Alive.

Barely.

But it was something.

And for tonight...

That had to be enough.