Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 107: Spicy Classroom

JUNE POV

I slipped into the classroom before Justin, my legs still shaky from the walk over. Every step had been a silent battle, thanks to the toys he so smugly stuffed inside me. The v-balls shifted with every movement, teasing my already overstimulated body, and the plug... well, let’s just say I had a new respect for gravity.

I didn’t head to my usual seat near the front. No way. Not today. Not when I was fighting a losing war between composure and collapse. I slid into a chair at the back, tucked against the corner. Out of view. Hopefully unnoticed.

I slid my bag on the desk and took a deep breath. Maybe—just maybe—Justin was too caught up in dealing with the whole situation in his pants to actually come to class. I’d tortured him enough in the car. He’d skip.

Wrong.

The door opened with that unmistakable swagger he walked with, and I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was him. My entire body went on high alert, like it could smell him.

I peeked over my shoulder.

There he was—unbothered, smirking, freshly composed, and no longer sporting the bulge of doom. Somehow, he’d managed to stuff his problem back in his pants and button everything like a gentleman. But if you looked close—really close—you could still see it. His pants were fastened, but if you knew what to look for—if you really looked—you’d catch the faint tension below his belt. The aftershock of everything I did to him in the car still lingered in his posture.

And that smirk?

God. That smirk could ruin lives.

The slight stiffness, the taut line of tension in his body, the wild glint in his eyes that said I’m not done with you.

Our eyes met.

And he smirked wickedly.

Oh no.

His eyes swept the room and landed on me. They darkened instantly, something sharp and heated behind them. And then—just to make my already fried nerves twitch—he came and sat right beside me. Of course he did.

He walked in like he owned the building and headed straight for me. No hesitation. No shame. Just that slow, confident glide. The class fell into their usual morning chatter, a few whispers circling around him like vultures trying to get a better look. The "aww" sounds started almost immediately—gasps, stifled giggles, one girl outright sighing.

I ignored all of them.

Because right now, I had much bigger problems. Namely:

I had vibrating balls inside me that moved every time I breathed.

There was a still-inserted plug doing things it had no business doing.

And most importantly, Justin had the damn remote.

I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable—mistake. The movement sent the balls inside me sliding just enough to brush a spot I really didn’t need touched in public. My breath caught, sharp and traitorous.

Justin didn’t look at me. Not directly. But the corner of his mouth tugged upward. Just enough to tell me he knew exactly what was happening inside me. And he was enjoying it. Way too much.

"You look flushed, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and just for me.

"I’m going to murder you," I hissed back through gritted teeth.

"Mm. But you look so pretty like this," he said, finally turning his head to meet my gaze. His eyes were molten. Dangerous. "Full of secrets."

He leaned back in his seat, stretching just enough to make his hoodie ride up a bit. Show-off. Then he tilted his head to glance down at me, like he was inspecting a masterpiece he’d personally corrupted.

I wanted to smack that look off his face. I also wanted to climb into his lap and ride out the burn currently tightening between my legs. But neither of those were options right now. Not with a professor walking in and the first slide flickering to life on the board.

I inhaled deeply. Tried to focus.

"You’re evil." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

"Only to you," he whispered, lips brushing my ear like a promise.

Then he casually reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the remote.

My breath caught.

"No," I whispered.

"Oh yes," he replied, not even bothering to look guilty.

Then it happened.

A small click. Soft. Barely audible. But I felt it like a lightning strike.

The plug came to life inside me—slow, gentle pulses at first, like it was just stretching its legs.

My legs snapped together.

I turned to him slowly, my eyes wide with disbelief.

He looked at the board. Took out his notebook. Didn’t blink. "Is something wrong?" he asked innocently, pen tapping the desk like a metronome.

"Justin," I whispered, my voice strangled.

He didn’t answer. Just adjusted a dial subtly under the table.

The vibration kicked up a notch.

Heat roared up my spine, stealing my breath. I squeezed my thighs together tighter, trying to stop the trembling. My hand clutched the edge of the desk like it could anchor me through this madness.

He leaned in, mouth close to my ear, his breath a teasing ghost on my neck.

"Try not to make noise, baby," he whispered, voice velvet-wrapped cruelty. "Wouldn’t want anyone to know how desperate you really are."

******

I was going to die.

That’s it. There was no other logical outcome.

Not here. Not now. Not like this.

I sat frozen in my seat, trying to keep my expression neutral while Justin sat beside me like the devil dressed in calm, cocky skin. He stared at the board, tapping his pen idly as if he wasn’t actively destroying me from the inside out.

Literally.

The vibrator in my ass was now humming steadily, a maddening pressure I couldn’t push away, and the balls inside me kept shifting—gentle rolls and glancing pressure that made my walls clench down instinctively. Each movement inside triggered another, like a ripple. I was the lake. He was the stone. Over. And over.

I shifted in my seat—too quickly—and the movement jostled everything.

A breath tore out of me.

Loud.

I slapped a hand over my mouth.

The guy in front of me glanced back, brows raised.

I smiled. Weakly. "Allergies," I croaked. "Spring."

He turned around.

Justin chuckled under his breath.

I elbowed him hard in the side.

"Careful," he murmured without looking at me. "I still have the remote."

"I swear to God—"

"You’ll what? Moan in front of the class?" He leaned in closer, his voice hot and low. "Or crawl onto my lap and beg me to finish what I started?"

I clenched my thighs together again, trying to ignore the growing ache between them. Every second that passed only tightened the knot inside me—hot, pulsing, maddening. My body was already chasing release, but there was no friction. No reprieve. Just waves of tension climbing slowly, steadily, relentlessly.

My notebook was a blur.

The professor’s words faded to static.

All I could hear was the whisper of Justin’s breath as he tilted his head toward me and clicked the remote again.

Another pulse.

Stronger. This one hit hard.

I jerked—visibly—and gripped the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles ached. My knees bumped under the table, and Justin’s leg shifted just enough to brush mine. He was still so relaxed. Still acting like this wasn’t a damn crime.

"You’re shaking," he whispered, amused.

"I hate you."

He smirked. "You love it."

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Do not moan. Do not moan. I focused on the board. On the professor’s lecture. On anything but the pulsing inside me that was now matching the beat of my racing heart.

Every breath was work.

Every second was heat pooling harder, deeper.

I was going to come.

In class.

In a room full of people.

Because of this smug bastard.

"I can’t," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Justin finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes darkened slightly, and he dragged them slowly across my face. My flushed cheeks. My parted lips. My trembling hands.

"You can," he said softly, wickedly. "And you will."

Another click.

The vibration escalated again, and my entire body tensed. My thighs pressed together so tightly it hurt. My nails dug into the desk. A whimper nearly escaped, but I slammed my lips shut and let it bleed out as breath.

I was riding the edge. Trembling on it. The frictionless, cruel edge of an orgasm that hovered just out of reach—and Justin knew it.

I turned my head slowly, eyes glazed, voice shaking. "Please..."

He said nothing. Just reached under the desk and—casually—placed his hand over my knee.

He squeezed once.

And then?

He turned the vibrator off.

I slumped forward slightly, breath coming in fast, shallow bursts. My body was wrecked, suspended in that desperate, unfinished place. Heat coiled tight in my belly, begging to snap. My limbs ached for friction, for contact, for release.

Justin leaned toward me again. "I’d say that’s enough learning for one class," he murmured. "Don’t you think?"

I glared at him. If looks could kill, he’d be a sizzling puddle of smug.

But beneath the rage was need.

White-hot, frayed-nerve, soul-burning need.

I needed to come.

And he was going to make me earn it.

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