Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 64: Good Morning {ii}

June’s POV :

I wasn’t awake yet, not really—but my body already knew he was near.

His heat was everywhere, seeping into my skin, curling around my bones like smoke. I was draped over him, my leg slung lazily across his waist, skin pressed to skin, and even in sleep, my body hummed like it had been waiting for this all its life.

I felt the whisper of his fingers against my back—light, reverent, almost afraid to wake me. But I was already slipping out of the dream, drawn by the delicious ache between my legs, by the slow throb of need that hadn’t really stopped since last night.

His breath touched my neck, and I shivered.

Then his lips.

Soft at first—just a press to my shoulder, like a secret. Then lower, more lingering. I sighed before I even opened my eyes. My body arched, inviting, instinctive.

He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

When he whispered my name, everything in me bloomed. My eyes fluttered open. Not fully. Just enough to see the way his gaze devoured me.

"Mmm... Justin?" I murmured, my voice thick with sleep.

He didn’t answer. He kissed me instead. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

My toes curled under the sheets.

He tasted like heat, like memory, like everything I’d been starving for long before I ever met him.

God, this man.

I let my hands rise to his neck, pulling him closer, needing more of him, all of him. He pressed me into the mattress like I was breakable—but we both knew I wasn’t. Not with him. Because being under him, wrapped around him, was the only time I ever felt whole.

"You’re trouble," I whispered into his mouth, drunk on the weight of him above me.

"And you’re naked," he growled, eyes flickering down my body. "Not fair."

I laughed, breathless. "Then do something about it."

And he did.

He shifted above me, and I felt his weight settle between my thighs, the press of his cock thick and growing against my hip. My skin flared, my heart drummed against my ribs. I kissed him again—deeper now, wetter, tongue sliding against his with sleepy desperation.

He moved down, kissing my neck, then lower, making my body hum, my nipples pebble. His mouth was fire. Worshipful. Every kiss a brand.

I was already wet, already aching.

And he hadn’t even touched me there yet.

When his mouth wrapped around my breast, I gasped—soft and broken, like he’d just cracked me open again. My hands tangled in his hair, fingers desperate, back arching into the suck of his mouth and the scrape of his teeth. He made me feel raw and divine all at once.

By the time he moved lower, I was trembling. His tongue traced a path down my stomach, slow and sure, until he paused just above where I needed him.

And God, I needed him.

I opened for him wordlessly. My legs parted like muscle memory, like instinct, like home.

And when his mouth finally touched me, I nearly sobbed.

Heat. Pressure. Tongue. Everywhere. He didn’t tease. He devoured.

"Justin—" I whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair, hips rising off the bed.

He grunted into me, his arms locking around my thighs, holding me down while his tongue licked and circled and sucked with ruthless precision. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My whole body was centered on that one place—his mouth, his tongue, the tight coil inside me that wound tighter with every second.

"Don’t stop," I gasped. "Please don’t—"

And he didn’t.

He destroyed me.

I shattered in his mouth, crying out his name, back bowing, fingers clawing at his shoulders as wave after wave of release tore through me. My body convulsed, legs trembling, voice hoarse from pleasure too big to hold.

Even as I fell apart, he kept going—gentle now, tender, licking me through the aftershocks like I was something sacred. I could feel the way his hands trembled slightly, like he was holding back something feral inside him.

When he finally rose above me, his lips were wet with me, his eyes dark with need, and I pulled him into a kiss so he could taste what he’d done to me.

He kissed me like he needed it to survive.

And I let him.

Because I was his, and he was mine.

Even if it killed us.

*******

His kiss was brutal in its tenderness.

I tasted myself on his tongue, still trembling from the high he’d pulled out of me with his mouth, and yet... I wasn’t done. Not even close. Something inside me—deep and feral—had awoken. And it was starving.

I rolled us suddenly, straddling him before he could even catch his breath. The surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly swallowed by something darker. Lust. Worship. Possession. He reached for me, but I caught his wrists and pinned them down above his head, lowering my mouth to his ear.

"You think you’ve ruined me?" I whispered, breath ghosting over his skin. "You have no idea what I’m about to do to you."

He groaned—a deep, wrecked sound—and I felt his cock twitch against my thigh.

Good.

I dragged my lips down his throat, nipping just hard enough to leave a mark. His pulse thundered against my mouth, and I sucked there, slow and firm, knowing he’d feel it every time he touched the spot later. A reminder. A brand.

My tongue traced lower, over the hard planes of his chest, the sharp curve of his ribs. I kissed every inch like it belonged to me. Because it did. He did.

And when I reached his hips, I paused. Looked up at him through my lashes.

His chest was heaving, his eyes hooded, and his wrists were still pinned in my grip. There was something in his expression—restraint, awe, maybe fear—that made the power in me unfurl like smoke.

I kissed the tip of him first—just barely—and his whole body jolted.

Then I licked, slow and cruel, circling the head before sliding my mouth over him inch by inch.

"F—uck, June," he hissed, hips twitching up. But I held him down. Controlled the rhythm. My rhythm.

I wanted him undone.

I took him deep, hollowing my cheeks, my tongue stroking along the underside as I began to move. His moans got rougher, throatier, ragged with desperation. His hands curled into fists above his head. I could feel how badly he wanted to grab me, take control.

But he didn’t.

He gave it to me.

And I rewarded him for it—working him harder, faster, deeper. I glanced up, and when our eyes met, he lost it. His jaw clenched, every muscle in his body going rigid. He groaned my name like it hurt to say it.

Just before he could come, I pulled off him with a pop.

He stared at me like I’d just set him on fire.

"You stop now," he growled, voice dangerous, "and I’ll put you on your knees until you beg to be ruined."

I smiled. "That’s the plan."

I reached between us, took him in hand, and guided him back inside me in one smooth, slick slide. We both gasped—me at the stretch, him at the heat. He filled me so completely, it made me tremble.

But I didn’t move. Not yet.

I leaned forward, forehead against his, lips brushing his. "Don’t hold back this time."

He growled again, low and raw, and then I released his wrists.

The moment I did, he snapped.

His hands flew to my hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. He thrust up into me, sharp and deep, making me cry out as he took control. I rode him with everything I had, grinding down, circling my hips, meeting every brutal thrust with my own.

The room blurred. The heat between us was volcanic.

I was moaning shamelessly now, nails dragging down his chest, lost in the thick, wet slap of skin on skin. Sweat dripped down my spine. The headboard slammed against the wall in time with our bodies. I didn’t care. Let them hear.

Let them know I was his.

He sat up suddenly, still buried inside me, and wrapped his arms around my back. Our foreheads pressed together, our breathing synced, mouths colliding in a messy, hungry kiss as he started to fuck up into me so deep I saw stars.

"I’m not stopping," he growled against my lips.

"Don’t," I begged.

He flipped me, my back hitting the sheets, and he didn’t slow down. If anything, he got more feral—driving into me like he needed to break something to be whole again. His mouth was on my neck, my shoulder, my breast—biting, licking, claiming.

And I gave him everything.

"More," I sobbed, wrapping my legs around him. "F—uck me until I can’t think. Until I forget my name."

He bit my neck, hard. "Say it again."

"I want you to ruin me," I gasped. "Use me. Break me open and keep whatever’s left."

That was it.

He pulled my legs up over his shoulders and drove into me with a force that knocked the breath out of my lungs. Each thrust hit something so deep inside me I didn’t even know it existed. My cries turned into screams, my nails into claws. I was falling, unraveling, undone.

And when I came—when that second orgasm ripped through me—it wasn’t a climax.

It was obliteration.

I shattered under him, crying out his name like a curse and a prayer. And even as I convulsed, helpless in the storm, he kept going. Chasing his own release with raw, relentless power.

He came with a roar, spilling into me as his body bowed and broke. His lips crushed to mine, his hand fisted in my hair, holding me still as he emptied every ounce of himself into me.

And then there was silence.

Heavy. Sacred.

We lay there, tangled in sweat and breath and blood and need, hearts thundering, bodies wrecked.

But I wasn’t scared of the damage.

Because I was already his ruin.

And he was mine.