Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 62: Escape From Reality

Justin’s POV:

My pulse thundered in my ears as I released my grip on her throat, letting her slide down until she knelt above me once more. The tension between us crackled like live wires—her eyes dark with want, mine alight with the promise of pain and pleasure entwined.

She paused only long enough to arch her back, pressing her wet heat against my cock, and then she sank down on me, slow and deliberate. Every inch of her felt impossibly tight, impossibly perfect. Christ, she knew exactly how to use me.

I trembled—both with need and with the knowing that once we started this round, there would be no turning back. Her hands dug into my chest, nails raking my skin, and she whimpered as she slid lower, pulling me deep into her slick depths. The pleasure was blinding; I saw stars.

She rose again, hips rolling, eyes fluttering closed as she tasted that delicious friction. I brought my hands to her hips, guiding her, forcing the pace. The hard slabs of muscle beneath her skin clenched around me, pulling me deeper until I thought I’d shatter. Each thrust was a stake driven into my heart—pain, yes, but the sweetest kind.

"You like that, don’t you?" she panted, voice ragged. "You like losing control."

"Fuck," I groaned, "you’re killing me."

She laughed—low and throaty, a sound that sent a chill straight to my core. Then she leaned forward, pressing her breasts into my chest, trapping me, pinning me under her heat. The weight of her was intoxicating. She moved faster, harder, riding me as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment her entire life.

My hands wandered up her back, feeling the slick slide of our combined sweat. I dug my fingers into her flesh, marking her as she was marking me, our bodies becoming one savage, hungry beast. I could feel her nails break my skin; a drop of hot blood trickled down my ribs. She moaned, and the sound was pure ecstasy.

She slowed only long enough to roll her hips in tight, delicious circles, grinding me so deep it took my breath away. My vision blurred. The world narrowed to the connection of our bodies—her moans, my grunts, bones and flesh colliding in perfect, brutal harmony.

"Justin," she whispered in my ear, voice thick. "Make me yours."

The words were a command, a plea, a promise. I seized her hair, pulling her mouth back to mine. Our lips met in a bruising kiss, tongues dueling, breaths mingling. I could taste the salt of her blood, the sweetness of her arousal. It made me ravenous.

With a guttural growl, I flipped us over. Now she was beneath me, her back arching against the mattress. I hovered, just kissing the swell of her breasts before capturing a nipple between my teeth. She cried out, hips rising to meet me. I plunged in, faster, harder, chasing that perfect fracture point.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Just stared at me like I was the only god she’d ever worship, and she was starving for salvation.

Fuck, I loved her like this—wild, undone, begging for the kind of ruin only I could deliver.

I grabbed her wrists and slammed her down onto the bed beneath me, pinning them above her head. She gasped, a sharp little sound that shot straight through me, igniting every brutal instinct I’d tried to suppress.

I kissed her like a punishment—rough, claiming, deep enough to bruise. My free hand gripped her thigh, dragging it up around my waist, spreading her open. Her skin was so soft, so hot, and when I slid into her again, we both cried out—two animals finding each other in the dark.

She was so goddamn tight, so wet, every inch of her begging for more.

I didn’t hold back. Not this time.

I fucked her hard—relentless, punishing thrusts that rocked the bed against the wall. Her cries echoed in the room, raw and shameless. Her nails clawed at the sheets, her back arched, mouth wide in silent screams. She came fast, her body spasming around me, but I didn’t stop. I wanted more. Needed more. I wanted her too spent to speak, too wrecked to remember anything but my name.

Sweat dripped from my forehead onto her chest as I leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

"I’m not done," I growled. "You said you wanted to black out? Then take it."

I flipped her over, forcing her to her knees, dragging her back onto my cock with a vicious snap of my hips. She screamed into the mattress, fingers fisting the sheets. I gripped her hips, pulling her against me with every savage thrust.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, filthy and perfect. Her body shook under me, and I could feel it—she was right on the edge again, breath coming in broken sobs.

"Touch yourself," I ordered.

She obeyed without hesitation, hand diving between her legs. The sight of her pleasuring herself while I drove into her nearly shattered my control. She was moaning, shaking, tears slipping down her cheeks from the sheer intensity.

Her second orgasm tore through her like lightning, her legs collapsing beneath her, but I caught her, held her up, kept going. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"I’m gonna come inside you again," I said, voice shaking with restraint. "You want that?"

"Yes," she gasped, half-mad. "Please—fill me. I want all of it."

Her body tensed, every muscle quivering. She clawed at the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream. And then—like lightning—it hit her. She came apart in my arms, spine arching, limbs going limp. Her release washed over me, pulling me under its tide.

I snarled as I slammed into her one final time, burying myself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a roar. Her name ripped from my throat like a curse and a prayer.

When I finally stilled, we both collapsed into the bed, gasping, trembling, soaked in sweat.

She was barely conscious—lips parted, eyes fluttering. I brushed the damp hair from her face and kissed her temple.

******

She was finally still.

Her breath warmed my chest, soft and slow, her lashes twitching gently against her cheeks as sleep claimed her. I pulled the covers up over her bare shoulder, letting my fingertips drift down her spine once—just once—before I eased out of the bed.

My muscles ached. My mind didn’t.

Not now. Not after that.

And yet... the moment the door clicked shut behind me, I felt the switch flip again. That space inside me that never fully quieted. The one where the voices stirred. Whispered. Where memories screamed louder than reason ever could.

I walked down the dim hallway of the mansion—no, the cave. That’s what we called it. A sanctuary wrapped in blood and secrets.

Rico was waiting at the corridor’s end, arms crossed, jaw tight.

He looked at me, and even before he spoke, I knew he’d done what needed to be done.

"It’s done," he said grimly. "Mark’s wife—secured. We sedated her and locked her up in isolation."

I nodded once. "The fire?"

"Perfectly staged. Burned down the mansion to the bones. News broke about an hour ago. Media already ate it up—’Beloved philanthropists die in tragic house fire.’" He handed me a tablet with the headline plastered across the screen.

HOUSE FIRE CLAIMS LIVES OF CHILDREN’S FOUNDATION COUPLE – BODIES TOO BURNT TO IDENTIFY.

I scoffed.

"What about the bodies?" I asked, tapping the screen.

Rico grinned without humor. "Pulled two vagrants from the city morgue—no ID, no family. Burned just enough of the faces to make identification impossible. Dental records? Already altered. Even the forensics team we paid off believes it’s Mark and his wife."

"Good," I said quietly. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

This world had already mourned them.

Which meant I could take my time.

"June?" Rico asked, glancing toward the hall that led back to her room.

"She’s resting."

I didn’t elaborate. That part wasn’t his business.

He didn’t push.

But then his eyes darkened. "There’s more."

I stilled. "Go on."

Rico handed me a file. "We dug deeper. Mark and his wife weren’t just abusing June. There’s a network. Quiet. Hidden under the guise of those orphanages. Donations, adoptions, cover stories. All sick. All carefully kept out of public view."

My blood ran cold.

"The wife knew?" I asked, though I already sensed the answer.

"She encouraged it. The adoption was her idea. She suggested they adopt a girl they could control—someone with no memory, no family. June was the perfect choice."

A cold stillness settled in my chest. It wasn’t just cruelty. It was calculated. Strategic.

June had been found alone. Vulnerable. Amnesiac after escaping hell. And they had dressed it up as charity.

"She was in a coma for six months," Rico went on, quieter now. "He found her collapsed near the river. Brought her to the hospital. No ID, no history. He played the grieving good Samaritan. And the world clapped."

A long pause followed. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

"And now?"

"Now," Rico said, "they’re both ghosts. The world thinks they’re gone."

I looked down at the screen again. The article hailed Mark and his wife as tragic heroes. Martyrs. Victims.

I laughed—low, bitter, ugly.

"Let them rot in their false sainthood," I murmured. "Let the world weep for monsters."

Rico watched me, his gaze unreadable. "You want me to start tracking the rest of the network?"

"Yes," I said. "Anyone linked to them. Everyone who knew. Everyone who covered for them."

I wasn’t just going to kill them.

I was going to destroy the legacy they built.

Everything they touched would be ashes.

Rico nodded and turned to leave, but I caught his sleeve.

"One more thing."

He looked back.

"The wife. Don’t kill her yet."

Rico’s brow raised slightly. "Interrogation?"

"Eventually. But for now, let her stew. Let her think about the fire. Let her wonder if her sick little kingdom really died in the flames."

"And when you’re ready?"

"I’ll let her meet the real monsters."

I let Rico go after that, the hallway swallowing his figure.

The air in the mansion felt heavier now, like it held the screams of every child Mark had touched. June was one of many.

But she was mine.

And now that I had her back, I would burn the whole fucking world before I lost her again.

I returned to her room, my fingers on the handle for just a second before I pushed open the door.

The lights were dim. The sheets had shifted in her sleep, revealing bare skin that glowed pale in the moonlight pouring through the window. Her face was peaceful now.

But peace was an illusion.

And we were living proof of that.