From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 40

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 28: That’s it, Savannah**

The rain had transformed into a relentless tempest, each drop crashing against the windshield with an almost vengeful intensity. It was as if the heavens were unleashing their fury upon us, and the world outside faded into a blur of gray. The car’s windows were shrouded in fog, a combination of our warm breaths and the electric tension simmering between us. Yet, none of that registered in my mind.

Not when Roman’s lips were pressed against mine, igniting a fire that surged through my veins, nor when his fingers tangled in my hair with a possessiveness that made my heart race. He reached for me with an urgency that suggested he was teetering on the brink of losing all self-control.

And then he did.

In one fluid motion, he pulled me onto his lap, and I found myself straddling him, breathless and dizzy. My dress rode up my thighs, the fabric clinging to my skin as his hands roamed over me—cupping my backside, gliding up my sides, and finally resting on my breasts, the material of my dress doing little to hide the heat of his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips as he nibbled on the curve of my neck, sending shivers cascading down my spine.

“God, Savannah,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

His mouth fit against mine as if it were crafted for this very moment. What began as a kiss morphed into something primal—an act of possession. Our lips collided, tongues dancing in a heated embrace. His hands explored my body with an ownership that made my skin tingle. One hand found its way to my chest, squeezing just enough to draw another moan from me, muffled against his mouth.

“You’re insane,” I gasped, though I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly as I instinctively ground against the bulge straining against his pants.

“And you’re wet,” he shot back, his fingers gripping the back of my thigh, lifting my dress even higher.

The rain continued its relentless assault on the roof of the car, a steady rhythm that matched the quickening beat of my heart.

“I hate seeing him look at you like that,” Roman said, his lips trailing down to the swell of my breasts, each kiss igniting a fire within me. “Like he could ever have you again.”

“He can’t,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper as he tugged down one strap of my dress with his teeth, the sensation sending a jolt of desire straight to my core.

His mouth latched onto my breast, hot and possessive, drawing a moan from deep within me. I moved against him, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against me. My hand slipped between us, trembling fingers finding the zipper of his pants and dragging it down, my breath hitching in anticipation.

He was hot and ready for me.

A part of me screamed to stop, to pull back from the edge of this overwhelming desire. I should have stopped. But every time his hands caressed my skin, the memory of being wanted—truly wanted—overpowered every rational thought.

“Fuck,” he hissed as I freed him from the confines of his boxers, my hand stroking him with a mix of urgency and curiosity, while my other hand gripped his shoulder for balance, still grinding against him, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

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