Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 100: Kitchen Romance (iii)

Justin POV

She chewed slowly, almost innocently, but her eyes—those damn eyes—were doing things to me. Seductive. Mischievous. Dangerous. And when she swallowed that last bite, licking her lips with deliberate ease, I knew I was done for.

"All done?" I asked.

She smirked. "Depends. Are you?"

Oh, fuck no.

I dropped the fork, grabbed her waist, and in one smooth motion pulled her to the edge of the counter. Her breath hitched as I pressed myself between her legs again, hands sliding up under her bra, fingertips grazing her ribs before I cupped her bare breasts.

"Justin—"

"Shhh. You had your dinner. Now I want mine."

I ducked my head down and kissed the curve of her neck, biting lightly just beneath her ear where I knew she was sensitive. She gasped, her legs wrapping around me instantly—sweatpants riding dangerously low on her hips. I could feel her heat through the fabric and fuck, she was already worked up again.

"You’re insatiable," she whispered, breathless.

"Have you met you?" I growled against her skin, then took her nipple into my mouth again. She moaned, fingers threading into my hair, tugging hard. I groaned and tugged her pants lower, needing to taste all of her, now, fast.

"Wait—Justin," she panted, "the food—"

"Can wait," I muttered, tossing a dish towel over the half-eaten plate as if that fixed anything. "You distracted me, remember?"

She tried to laugh, but it melted into a whimper when I slid my hand into her panties, fingers slipping easily through the heat.

"Fuck—you’re already soaked," I murmured, biting my lip as I looked up at her. "You want this?"

She nodded, eyes wild. "Yes—please."

I didn’t need more permission.

One finger in. Then two. She cried out, her hips jerking off the counter. I pumped them slowly, curling just right, watching her come undone. Her head dropped back, hair cascading over her shoulders, body arching into me as she begged through gritted teeth.

"More—Justin—fuck—"

"You drive me insane," I said, voice raw with need. "You want to know how many times I thought about this? While you were yelling that it was fake? While you ran away from me?"

She didn’t answer—couldn’t. Not with my fingers working that rhythm. Not with her orgasm building in waves.

"Come for me," I ordered, biting the underside of her breast. "Let me see what’s mine."

That did it.

She shattered around my fingers, moaning into my name, thighs trembling, breath stuttering. I watched her fall apart like it was my fucking religion.

I pulled back, breath heavy, brain fogged from want, and without wasting a damn second, I yanked off her sweatpants. They flew somewhere behind us — I didn’t care where. She gasped as the cool air kissed her bare thighs, and fuck me, the sight of her like that — flushed, needy, panting — it damn near broke me.

I lifted her up with zero finesse, dropped her ass on the kitchen counter like she belonged there. Because she did. This — us — it was fucking inevitable.

Her panties were in my way.

I didn’t slide them down. I yanked them aside like I had a goddamn grudge against the fabric. And then — then — I buried my face between her thighs like a man starved.

Fuck, she was already soaked.

My tongue dragged up her slit slow, savoring it like a fucking feast. She gasped, hips twitching, fists curling in my hair. That sound — that — was my new religion. I sucked her clit gently, then harder, lips sealing around it as I flicked and circled and nipped with just enough teeth to make her legs shake.

"Fuck!" she cried, the word shooting from her throat like it shocked her.

I grinned into her cunt and did it again — teeth grazing, tongue flattening, teasing her like she owed me something and I was here to collect. Her thighs clamped around my head, but I didn’t stop. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

She tasted like sin, and I was going to hell with a smile on my face.

My fingers joined the party, slipping between her folds, finding her entrance slick and clenching. I slid one in — slow, deep — curling it just right.

She moaned, body arching off the counter.

"Jesus, you’re tight," I groaned into her, adding another finger and watching her fall apart. "So fucking perfect, baby."

She was a mess — moaning, writhing, hands gripping the counter like she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or run away from how good it felt.

Her body was trembling, her breath hitched, her thighs shaking around my shoulders.

She was close.

And I wanted to drag it out.

She tasted like everything I didn’t know I needed.

My tongue was relentless — sliding, swirling, sucking her clit into my mouth again and again while my fingers curled inside her, stroking that sweet, swollen spot that made her legs tremble and her moans break into shattered pieces.

She was right there.

On the edge.

Her back was arched, head thrown back, hair a mess around her flushed face. Her hips were rolling, chasing every flick of my tongue like her life depended on it. I loved her like this — wrecked and panting, thighs clenching around my head, so fucking wet for me I could drown in her and die happy.

"Justin—fuck, I’m gonna—" she cried out, breath hitching, voice raw.

I pulled back right before she could fall apart. My fingers slid out, wet and glistening, and I watched her blink down at me with wide, betrayed eyes.

"Why—" she started, but I was already standing, already dragging my shirt off, already undoing my jeans with one hand while I grabbed her jaw with the other and kissed her like I wanted to devour her soul.

She kissed me back hard, tasting herself on my lips, biting me like she wanted payback. Her hands were clawing at my jeans, shoving them down as I kicked them off. I tugged my boxers down and my cock sprang free, heavy and hard and aching. The second she looked down and saw it, her mouth parted like she forgot how to breathe.

"Is that for me?" she asked, voice wrecked and breathless. freewebnσvel.cøm

"All of it," I growled.

I didn’t give her a second to think. I grabbed her thighs, yanked her to the edge of the counter. Her legs wrapped around my waist instinctively as I lined myself up against her soaked entrance.

I looked her in the eyes.

"No teasing," she begged, voice shaking. "I need it. Now."

"Yeah?" I pressed just the tip inside, just enough for her to feel how thick I was. Her breath caught. "You ready for all of me?"

She moaned and nodded, but I wanted to hear her.

"Say it," I demanded, gripping her hips.

"I want you," she gasped. "I want every inch. Fuck me, Justin."

And just like that, I snapped.

I slammed into her in one deep thrust, and we both cried out — her legs tightening around me, her nails digging into my shoulders, my cock stretching her open so tight and deep it felt like she was made just for me.

"Fuck," I groaned, forehead dropping to hers. "You feel that? You feel how perfect this is?"

She could barely speak — just whimpers and moans, her body trembling with every pulse of my cock inside her.

I pulled out slow and slammed back in, harder this time, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the kitchen like something filthy and holy. She cried out, hands flying to the edge of the counter to brace herself as I found a punishing rhythm.

Thrust after thrust, I fucked her like I was trying to ruin her for every other man — deep, rough, desperate. Her tits bounced with every snap of my hips, her mouth open in a silent scream, her thighs trembling around me.

"God, Justin—" she gasped, her voice cracked. "You’re so deep, I can’t—fuck!"

"Take it," I growled. "You’re mine. You were made to take this cock."

I slammed in harder, grinding my hips at the end of each thrust, making sure she felt all of me. My hand found her throat — not choking, just holding — and her eyes rolled back, her body clenching around me like a fucking vice.

"Shit—" I hissed. "You’re squeezing me like you want to milk every drop."

She was a mess. Wet. Loud. Unraveled. Her moans turned to cries, each one bouncing off the kitchen walls like we were filming porn in broad daylight and didn’t give a single fuck who heard.

I leaned forward, mouth on her neck, biting, licking, marking. My other hand slid between us and found her clit — swollen, slippery, begging for attention.

The second I touched her there, she screamed.

Her whole body convulsed around me, her pussy clenching tight as her orgasm hit hard — harder than I expected. Her thighs locked around my hips, nails tearing into my back as she cried out my name over and over, voice cracking from how wrecked she was.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t let her down. I kept thrusting through it, feeling her body spasm and jerk as I chased my own high.

"God, baby—fuck—gonna come—" I grunted, hips stuttering.

She pulled me close, eyes glassy but wicked. "Come inside me. Fill me up."

Fuck.

That was it.

I slammed into her one last time and let go — deep, hot, hard. I emptied myself inside her, moaning against her neck as my whole body shuddered. My hands were shaking, my mind blank, and all I could feel was her — wet, warm, pulsing around me, her body still twitching from aftershocks.

We stayed like that — tangled, panting, trembling against each other on the kitchen counter like two people who’d just been exorcised by sex.

Eventually, I lifted my head.

She was flushed, glowing, hair a mess, lips swollen — and smiling like a goddamn goddess who just won a war.

"Best kitchen experience of my life," I muttered.

She snorted. "Your turn to cook next time."

I grinned, kissed her again slow, deep. "Only if we fuck on the stove."

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