From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 48

**Chapter 32: Sleep Turns You On**

As dawn broke, I lay in bed, feigning slumber, though the truth was far more complicated. The reason for my charade? A massive, plush teddy bear nestled against my back, holding me close as if he had no intention of ever letting go. Roman was wide awake, I could sense it in the rhythm of his breath—slow, steady, and deliberate.

How was I supposed to face him after the audacious question I had posed the night before? The weight of that moment hung heavily in the air, and I felt an inexplicable mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmured, his warm breath grazing my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

I fought the instinct to flinch at his closeness. Instead, I kept my body perfectly still, my breathing soft and measured, as if I were still lost in a dream.

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating against my back and igniting a thousand tiny sparks across my skin.

“So that’s how you want to play it?” His voice dripped with playful heat. “Then let the game begin, love.”

My heart raced, and I instinctively gripped the mattress, bracing myself for whatever was to come. But to my surprise, he remained motionless, just holding me—close, warm, and intoxicatingly safe.

Time stretched out in those moments. A few seconds turned into a full minute, and still, he simply cradled me, his presence a comforting weight against my back. Just as I began to relax, his hand glided over my chest, settling gently on one breast, a touch both tender and possessive.

His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, as if he were savoring every moment, gauging my reaction, waiting for me to flinch or gasp. But I held my ground.

Yet, when his thumb brushed over my nipple with a lazy caress, I felt my body betray me, a wave of heat pooling at my core, my toes curling instinctively into the sheets.

Still, I fought to maintain my facade, my breath shaky yet controlled, as if I were still lost in the depths of sleep.

“Still asleep, love?” he teased, his laughter low and dark, filled with amusement. He was fully aware of the effect he had on me.

He kneaded me gently, his large palm enveloping my breast with a slow, deliberate pressure. There was no rush, no frantic urgency—just a possessive claiming, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize the way I felt beneath his touch.

I remained frozen, unable to move, caught in the web of his seduction.

Roman chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

My breath hitched involuntarily, and I cursed myself for the way my body was responding, still pretending to be asleep, barely managing to keep up the act.

Then, oh God, his hand slipped lower, past my stomach, beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts, and below my lace panties.

His fingers found the heat—wet heat.

For a moment, he froze, and then a sound escaped him, smug and wickedly male, that nearly shattered my resolve.

“Well, well,” he whispered, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Someone’s drenched. Guess sleep turns you on, hm?”

His other hand tightened around my breast, squeezing with an intensity that made me bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle the whimper threatening to escape. Every nerve ending in my body ignited with awareness, breathless and alive, as his fingers began a slow, maddening exploration.

One finger first—a tease, a tantalizing brush against the sensitive skin. I wanted to strangle him, kiss him, or perhaps both. But I couldn’t give in just yet.

I gripped the sheets tighter, squeezing my thighs together, but it was a futile effort. My body was already surrendering to him.

Then, he added a second finger, thick and deliberate.

My hips bucked, just once, a silent admission that he had me—helpless and dripping on his hand. I mentally cursed myself for pretending to be asleep while my body was practically weeping for him. My nipple tightened beneath his palm, a clear betrayal, and he let out a low, knowing hum.

“Such a bad liar,” he murmured against my neck, his lips barely grazing my skin.

Still asleep, Savannah. Just keep pretending. Still asleep.

He moved his fingers inside me with a languid, deliberate curl, hitting that exact spot that sent jolts of electricity coursing through my spine.

He wasn’t fast; Roman wasn’t cruel. He was methodical, wicked in a way that left me begging without shame. He unraveled me with the patience of a master.

His fingers worked their magic—slow curls that found a spot so deep and sharp I thought I might burst into flame. My breath faltered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

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