From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 87

**Chapter 57: Close Your Eyes**

“Are you really sure this is going to work?” I asked Roman, my voice coming out softer than I’d intended, almost a whisper.

“Absolutely,” he replied without a hint of doubt, his confidence unwavering.

“Get in,” he commanded, the tone of his voice both firm and resolute, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I complied, sliding into the passenger seat, feeling the cool leather wrap around me like an embrace. He shut the door with a solid thud that echoed in the stillness of the night before walking around to his side.

As I settled in, heat surged to my cheeks, and my gaze inadvertently wandered to the backseat. The rich, supple leather seemed to beckon me, pulling my mind back to that unforgettable night. I could almost feel the ghost of his hands gripping my hips, his breath hot against my skin as I pressed against the glass, fogging it with my heated breaths while I cried out his name. My thighs instinctively clenched together, my body recalling each thrust, every sinful sound that had reverberated in this very car.

I knew I shouldn’t have looked at him in that moment, but I couldn’t help myself. Roman sat there with such casual ease, one hand confidently gripping the steering wheel while the other rested lazily against his thigh. Damn him. The memory of me straddling that same thigh, grinding down against him as his smug grin watched me unravel, nearly made me squirm in my seat. My body betrayed me, my nipples hardening at the thought of how his mouth had claimed them over and over again that night.

My fingers twitched restlessly at my side, aching with the memory of pressing against the glass as he took me from behind. Oh dear God, the recollection sent a thrill through me.

And Roman? That little smirk tugging at his lips told me everything I needed to know—he remembered it all too well.

“You are one naughty girl, Savannah,” he murmured, his chuckle low and deep, sending a rush of heat down my spine.

I caught my breath, heat pooling in my stomach. Turning sharply toward the window, I pretended to study my reflection, but all I could see was the imprint of my own hand from that night—a mark of our reckless abandon. “Shut up,” I muttered, though my body was already betraying me, thrumming with desire.

Desperate to steer the conversation away from our shared memories, I forced myself to change the subject. “Are you really sure it’s going to be completely destroyed and irretrievable?”

Just thinking about that awful video made my stomach twist in knots. After we had deleted it, I had insisted on obliteration—no chance of it ever resurfacing. And so here we were, sitting in his car, the phone lying there like a lifeless thing on the driveway, Roman promising to finish the job.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, his voice steady as he started the car. “Just watch this.”

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