From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 31

**Chapter 22: A Gentleman’s Club**

**Later That Day**

**Roman**

Time stretched like taffy, and Savannah was taking her sweet time.

I was already dressed, the ensemble simple yet striking—a black shirt that clung just right, crisp white slacks, and polished black shoes. Nothing too flashy, but undeniably clean. It was classic, a look that never went out of style. Sitting at the edge of the bed, my legs crossed, I scrolled through my phone, though the words blurred together, my mind elsewhere. I was trying to push away thoughts of Savannah’s dress.

That dress. The way she described it—”a little red,” “a little provocative”—each word teased me, igniting my imagination. It was as if she relished the effect it had on me, especially when she knew I was about to see her.

And I let her tease me. Maybe there was a masochistic streak in me, a strange enjoyment in the anticipation of her destruction.

The bathroom door creaked open, and I instinctively looked up.

Suddenly, the air in the room felt heavy, almost electric, as if the world had paused.

She stepped into view, and it was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted. She was not merely a vision; she was a force of nature. The red latex clung to her body as though it had been meticulously painted on by the devil himself. Her legs—long, bare, and undeniably dangerous—seemed to stretch on forever. Her bob cut framed her face in a way that was sharp, almost lethal. And that neckline? It was daring enough to make even the most devout question their faith.

My phone slipped from my fingers, falling onto the carpet with a soft thud. It bounced once before coming to rest at my feet, but I couldn’t even glance down. I was utterly transfixed, frozen in place.

She stood there in the doorway, blissfully unaware that she was committing acts of war against my senses. The dress hugged every curve, accentuating every dip—every place I had imagined memorizing with my hands and lips. Her legs were a masterpiece, and the bob cut only intensified her allure.

She embodied every sin I had ever tried to suppress. My throat tightened, the fabric of my shirt suddenly feeling constrictive across my chest. A pulse throbbed behind my eyes, and it wasn’t just the overhead light.

“Well?” she asked, her voice teasing yet challenging.

I fought against the torrent of thoughts rushing through my mind. I didn’t voice the first twenty things that came to me. I didn’t tell her how desperately I wanted to push her against the wall, to claim her right then and there. I didn’t mention how that dress felt like it should come with a warning—not because it was too much, but because I was dangerously close to forgetting we had a date to attend.

My throat felt like it was on fire.

Slowly, I stood, my eyes never leaving her. “Jesus Christ, Savannah.”

“Too much?” she asked, her tone playful, yet there was an edge to it.

“Not even close,” I replied, striding toward her, my fingers grazing the latex strap on her shoulder. The light snap against her skin sent a shiver down my spine, and I swallowed the groan that threatened to escape my lips.

“You look like you’re out to kill,” I murmured, my voice low and filled with awe.

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