Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 115: Taken (iii)

June pov:

Panic twisted in my gut, sharp and cold, cutting through the haze for one terrifying second of clarity.

Dumb. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

The first rule—the rule—when you’re in a club: Don’t drink anything you didn’t order yourself. Especially when it’s handed to you by someone who’s not your man.

I cursed under my breath, trying to rise, trying to look around. But my legs wouldn’t listen. My vision swam. Faces blurred. The club lights smeared into meaningless neon. I could barely hold my head up.

Where the hell was Justin?

My fingers reached for my phone—pocket, bag, anything. But I couldn’t find it. Couldn’t focus. My limbs felt like concrete.

Shit. Shit.

That waiter... he’d said "the gentleman you were with." But did I ever actually hear Justin say he was sending a drink?

No.

No, I didn’t.

Someone was watching.

Someone saw me—half-naked, riding him like a damn stripper—and waited until he left.

The perfect moment.

The perfect trap.

My body slumped back against the couch, the noise of the club now distant and warped, like it was being sucked into a tunnel. My heart thudded dully in my chest.

My last coherent thought before the blackness swallowed me:

It wasn’t Justin.

Justin – POV

The second we stepped outside, the cool night air hit me like a slap. It should’ve sobered me.

It didn’t.

Because the moment that door shut behind us, I had her. Back against the wood, my mouth crashing into hers like I hadn’t already had my hands down her skirt minutes ago. Like I wasn’t still hard and aching for more.

She melted for me. Always did. Her mouth opened, her body softening into mine, like she was begging for what we both knew was coming.

My cock ground into her belly, heavy and desperate. She didn’t even have to stand on tiptoe—the heels helped—but I still leaned in, needing her closer. All of her. My hand slid down her thigh, fingers curling under the soft skin.

I lifted her leg, hooked it around my waist. Her center—bare, wet, mine—rubbed right against the front of my jeans. I hissed at the contact.

God, I could feel how soaked she was through the damn denim.

"You’re killing me," I muttered into her mouth. And I meant it. My control was hanging by a thread.

Her nails sank into my shoulders, clutching like I was the only thing keeping her upright.

Good.

I turned her around, chest against her back, my body crowding hers until she was pressed flush against the club door. I wasn’t giving her a second to recover. I never did. Especially not when that look was in her eyes—half fucked-out, half defiant. When her legs still trembled from the orgasm I’d pulled out of her earlier.

"You’re not going back in there like this," I growled. "Not before I ravish you"

She shook her head, cheek against the door, breathless.

Damn right.

I shoved her skirt up, exposing that perfect ass to the cool night air. No panties. Good. I felt her shiver under my touch as I gripped her hips, steadying myself.

"Hands on the door."

She obeyed instantly, palms splaying against the surface like I had her under arrest. God, the image alone made my cock throb.

I unbuckled my belt, one-handed and fast, unzipped and freed myself with a sharp inhale. Then I slid the thick head of my cock through her soaked folds. Teasing. Testing.

She whimpered, hips pushing back. Desperate.

I smacked her ass, hard. "Patience."

I was lying. I had none left.

With one thrust, I buried myself inside her. Balls-deep. All at once.

She gasped—loud, wrecked—and her knees nearly gave out. Her body clenched around me like she was trying to keep me there.

"Fuck," I groaned, anchoring my hands to her hips and dragging her back onto me as I pulled out and slammed back in. "You feel like a fucking dream."

She was so tight. So wet. My brain nearly shut down with the heat of her wrapped around me.

"Missed this, didn’t you?" I growled.

"Y-yes—Justin—don’t stop."

I didn’t plan to.

I drove into her, every thrust harder, deeper, my hips slapping against her ass. The door rattled with every movement, her soft cries muffled by the club bass pounding on the other side. The risk of someone opening that door and catching us made me feral.

I had her. Bent over. Marked. Mine.

But it still wasn’t enough.

"Turn around."

She staggered when I pulled out, barely able to stand. Her eyes were glazed, lips parted, blouse still half-open. My cock twitched at the sight.

I didn’t waste a second.

I lifted her again, one arm under her thighs, the other braced against the door. Her back hit the wood and I plunged back into her in one deep, brutal stroke.

Her head flew back. She cried out, fingers tangling in my hair, heels locking behind my back.

"Wrap your legs."

She obeyed.

"Good girl."

Her lips met mine again—hungry, sloppy, mine—as I slammed into her, the slick sounds of our bodies colliding barely masked by the music. I could feel every muscle in her tightening, her walls fluttering around me.

"You think I didn’t notice?" I breathed against her mouth. "Every time you danced without a bra. Every time your skirt rode up when you sat. You did it on purpose."

She tried to deny it. I bit her lip.

"Don’t lie to me."

I shoved my hand between us, found her clit, and rubbed tight, merciless circles. Her body jolted. She was already close. So close.

"You’re gonna come again," I growled. "Right here. While I’m inside you. While you’re pinned to this door like my personal fucktoy."

Her eyes rolled back. She whimpered something close to my name.

"You gonna scream for me, baby?" I taunted, rubbing faster. "Let everyone know who’s fucking you?"

"Justin—fuck—"

And then she shattered.

Hard.

Her scream died in my mouth as I kissed her, felt her break all over me—tightening, pulsing, digging her nails into my back. Her whole body locked up around my cock, pulling me deeper.

"Fuck—June—fuck—"

I thrust once. Twice.

And then I came.

I groaned into her neck, hips jerking as I filled her, her walls still fluttering around me. The heat of it. The mess of it. My whole body spasmed with the force of it.

I held her there, panting, dizzy.

She was limp in my arms, clinging to me like she never wanted to let go. And maybe I didn’t either.

Finally, I eased out of her, breath ragged, tucking myself back in with shaking hands. Her skirt was ruined. Her blouse barely closed. Her lips were swollen and red, her thighs trembling.

Perfect.

"You okay?" I asked, brushing a damp curl from her cheek.

She nodded. Couldn’t speak. Just nodded like I’d wrecked every thought out of her head.

"You need help walking?"

"Maybe," she muttered with a weak laugh.

I chuckled, kneeling to adjust her skirt, brushing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "I’m keeping your panties," I added casually, slipping them back into my pocket.

"Justin—"

I tilted her chin up. "So you remember next time you tease me."

"You’re insane."

"And you love it."

She didn’t deny it.

I helped her fix her blouse, kissed her forehead, and opened the door—guiding her back inside, satisfied, wrecked, and exactly where I wanted her.

We slipped back inside like nothing had happened.

Well—I did.

June? She was wobbling, every step of hers a reminder of what I just did to her against that back door. Her thighs still slick, her blouse still slightly open, her skirt wrinkled around her hips like it’d lost a fight—and honestly, it had.

I’d won. Twice. ƒreewebɳovel.com

The bass swallowed us again. Smoke, sweat, neon haze, bodies moving like one pulsing organism. No one noticed us. Or maybe they just didn’t care. This club had no rules, no boundaries. It was perfect.

I guided her to the upper lounge—half a floor above the dancers, tucked in red light, a little shadowed, a little private.

I dropped onto the leather couch, legs spread wide. She knew where she belonged.

And she climbed right into my lap like she was returning to her throne.

Her ass landed just above my zipper. Her hips shifted. Her hands braced on my chest. And I knew right then—I wasn’t getting a break tonight.

"Comfortable?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

She arched one brow, shifted until she straddled me completely. Then her hips rolled down—slow. A sensual drag of her heat against my cock, still aching beneath my jeans.

"Oh," she whispered, voice laced with fake innocence. "You mean me, or you?"

My hands locked onto her hips.

"Don’t start something you can’t finish."

Her smile was the kind that made men kneel. "I don’t plan on finishing anything. Just... making you sweat."

And that’s when I knew I was fucked.

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