Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 63: A Good Morning

Justin – POV

I don’t know what it is about her.

Maybe it’s the way she clings to me in her sleep like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. Or maybe it’s the way her breath slows when our skin touches, like she finally feels safe—even if just for a night. Whatever the hell it is, every time I sleep with June, sleep comes.

Real sleep. Deep. Undisturbed. Almost... peaceful.

That shouldn’t be possible. Not with the things I’ve done. Not with the voices in my head—the ones that whisper violence and venom when I close my eyes. The ones that claw at my sanity and never stop talking.

But last night?

They were quiet.

The constant hum of rage and chaos dulled to a murmur, tucked somewhere in the background, like they too were resting.

I guess even the monsters in me needed something broken to feel whole.

I had planned on not sleeping. The moment June drifted off, I told myself I’d get up. Pay a little visit to the foolish wife—Mrs. Mark. The woman who let it happen. Who helped cover his filth with perfume and headlines. Who called herself a protector of young girls while handing them over to a devil in a tie.

I was going to make her scream. That was the plan.

But it never happened.

Because the nightmares didn’t come.

Not hers. Not mine. Not the blood-drenched visions or the phantom hands clawing up from memories I keep buried in cement. No dream-horrors dragging me back to that place I swore I’d never return to.

Instead... I slept.

Till the goddamn sun was peeking through the window, golden and soft like some lazy cliché from a world that doesn’t belong to us.

And when I opened my eyes—she was still there. Tucked into me like she was carved to fit in my arms, her cheek resting on my chest, her fingers curled against my skin. Warm. Alive. Mine.

There’s always a light, they say. A little flicker in the dark that keeps you from drowning. I never believed in that shit.

Until her.

June is that light.

My little ray of sunshine in the middle of this never-ending hellstorm. The kind that doesn’t blind or burn, but keeps you warm when everything else goes cold.

And fuck me, I think I want to be her light too.

Not a savior. I’m not naïve enough to think I can wash away what she’s been through or fix what’s broken in her. Hell, I’m broken too. Maybe even worse.

But I want to be something good for her.

Even if all I know how to do is destroy.

Because good Lord... I do love her.

And not the easy kind of love. Not the pretty kind.

I love her like a curse. Like a fire set to gasoline. Like something wild and sick and beautiful. I love her like a sinner on his knees, begging the only god that ever mattered to forgive what he’s done just to have one more hour with her.

I watch her now—still sleeping, still safe.

And for a moment, there’s no war in my chest.

No screaming. No blood.

Just the thud of my heart beating in time with hers.

Maybe that’s what love is for people like us.

Not a fairy tale. Not redemption.

Just one broken soul keeping the other one from falling apart.

And if that’s all we’ll ever be?

It’s enough.

It’s everything.

*******

She was warm against me. Too warm.

Not in the uncomfortable way. In the way that made a man lose his damn mind.

June’s bare thigh was slung across my waist, her body pressed so close that every soft inch of her was molded into me. The blanket had slipped down sometime in the night, exposing her shoulder, the curve of her hip, and more than enough skin to get my pulse thundering.

And she was still asleep. Peaceful. Vulnerable.

Beautiful.

My fingers ghosted down her spine, barely brushing her skin. I didn’t want to wake her—not yet. But the ache inside me didn’t care. It coiled low and hot, the hunger only made worse by the way her breath hitched when I shifted just slightly.

She murmured something in her sleep, face nuzzling into my chest. My arm tightened around her.

God, how the hell did she do this to me?

Everything in me—the violence, the fire, the cold, cruel instincts that had kept me alive in the lab—went quiet when she touched me. When she looked at me like I wasn’t a monster. When she let me touch her like she belonged to me, even for a moment.

And now, with her here... tangled in the sheets, skin to skin, warm and real and mine—

I couldn’t stop the slow grin pulling at my lips.

I brushed her hair back, leaned in, and kissed the top of her shoulder. Just a taste. Then again, lower, trailing my lips down to the edge of her spine. Her skin rose with goosebumps beneath my mouth. She stirred, a soft, sleepy sound leaving her lips.

Still not awake.

Good.

My hand slipped beneath the sheet, trailing the curve of her back, resting just above the dip of her waist. I wasn’t rushing. No, this wasn’t about heat or desperation—not like last night. This was slow. Worshipful. A prayer to the only person who ever made the voices hush.

I whispered her name against her skin.

"June..."

She hummed, half-asleep, shifting closer. Her leg slid higher over my hip, brushing against where I was already getting hard from the mere weight of her.

Yeah. That did it.

I kissed her again, lower this time, and her breath caught. Her eyes fluttered open just slightly—still heavy with sleep.

"Mmm... Justin?"

I didn’t answer with words.

Instead, I pressed my lips to hers—slow and deep, letting her wake up to the taste of me. She sighed into my mouth, her hands moving up to curl behind my neck.

"You’re trouble," she whispered, voice still raspy with sleep.

"And you’re naked," I said, smirking into the kiss. "Not fair."

She laughed softly, still half-dreaming. "Then do something about it."

I shift above her, the sheets whispering against our skin as I lower myself, every inch of my body drawn to hers like gravity. She’s already warm and soft beneath me, her breathing slow, but I can feel the stir in her—how her body recognizes mine before her eyes even open fully.

I start with her lips. God, I could live in the way she kisses. Slow, drowsy, and needy. I press my mouth to hers, tasting the sleep on her breath, the quiet moan that spills from her throat as she wakes fully under me. I kiss her like it’s the only thing keeping me alive—slow at first, then deeper, more demanding, my tongue sliding against hers until she’s gasping into my mouth.

My lips leave hers, and I trail down her jaw, then her neck, licking and sucking with slow, sinful intent. Her skin’s warm and lightly damp, and I take my time, feeling her start to squirm beneath me. Every little movement is a yes.

Her breasts rise with each breath, flushed and perfect in the soft morning light. I cover one with my hand, the other with my mouth, kissing her slowly before dragging my tongue over the tight bud. She arches, a soft cry escaping her lips as I suck harder, my tongue flicking and circling until her nipple is stiff and begging. I switch to the other, letting my teeth graze it—light enough to tease, hard enough to make her hips roll up toward me.

I groan into her chest. "You’re already shaking."

Her hands find my hair, gripping tight, wordless and needy. I move lower, kissing down the center of her body, feeling her muscles tighten under my tongue. I worship her belly with slow, open-mouthed kisses, letting her feel the weight of my hunger, the way I’m holding myself back... just barely.

And then I reach the soft little trail of hair that leads to heaven.

I pause. Breathe her in.

She spreads her legs for me without a word. That trust, that surrender—it undoes me. I kiss just above her mound, then lower, my lips parting her folds with reverence and hunger all at once. She’s wet. So fucking wet. I groan, because the taste of her is something I crave even in my sleep.

I flatten my tongue and drag it through her slowly, deeply, from the bottom all the way up until I’m circling her clit with slow, tight strokes that make her tremble.

"Justin—" Her voice is already breaking. Good.

I lock my arms around her thighs and go harder, faster, devouring her like she’s the only thing I’ve ever needed. Her hips buck, her moans turn desperate, her fingers tug at my hair like she’s trying to survive it. I suck her clit into my mouth and roll my tongue over it in quick, rhythmic pulses, feeling her legs begin to shake around my shoulders.

"Don’t stop—please don’t stop—" she gasps.

I growl into her, lips slick, tongue relentless. I give her everything—licking, sucking, tasting her like I’m possessed. Her back arches, her cries sharper now, until her whole body locks up beneath me.

She bucks against me, her hips rising to meet my every movement, her body urging me to move faster, to push her farther. I can feel her tightening, the heat in her body intensifying as she approaches the edge, and I can’t hold back anymore.

With one final, greedy sweep of my tongue, she shatters beneath me, her body convulsing with pleasure as she cries out, her fingers gripping my hair so tightly, she pulls me deeper into her.

And then she falls apart—loud, raw, beautiful. Her thighs tremble, her hands clutch at me like I’m the only real thing in the world.

I stay there, mouth softening but not stopping, licking her through it, gentle now, until she’s gasping, twitching, whispering my name like a prayer she can’t stop repeating.

When I finally pull away, I press a slow, reverent kiss to her thigh, then crawl back up her body and kiss her lips—letting her taste herself, letting her feel how hard I still am for her.