From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 167

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 103: We Can’t Keep Doing This**

The stillness that followed our explosive confrontation was fleeting, a mere illusion. It was impossible for such tension to linger without igniting. The atmosphere between us crackled with unspoken words, every inhalation a potential spark ready to set off a flame.

I could still feel the tremors coursing through my body, the haunting sound of my own palm connecting with his cheek echoing in my mind. The venomous tone of his voice replayed endlessly, a reminder of the moment everything inside me unraveled. It wasn’t fear that drove me; it was a primal hunger, an insatiable need that clawed at my insides.

I loathed him, yet I craved him with an intensity that felt almost suffocating. I needed him the way one needs air to breathe, the only thing that could prevent me from sinking into an abyss of despair or igniting in flames of fury. Or perhaps losing my grip on sanity altogether.

Roman must have recognized the storm brewing in my eyes, for the instant I dared to take a step toward him, he was upon me.

Quite literally.

His mouth crashed against mine, fierce and unyielding, a wild blend of passion and heat that left no room for gentleness. There was nothing soft or sweet about it—only raw possession, a fierce anger twisted into a desperate lust. My body reacted instinctively, arching into him as if drawn by an invisible force, my fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt, tearing at the buttons as if they were the chains binding me.

“Damn,” I gasped against his lips, the word barely escaping my throat before he spun me around, pinning me against the expansive glass wall that overlooked the city below.

The metropolis sprawled beneath us, a sea of lights twinkling in the night, utterly unaware of the chaos unfolding just above. My palms pressed against the cool glass as he hiked my skirt up, exposing me to both the city and to him, a vulnerability that sent shivers down my spine.

“Say it,” he growled, his breath a heated whisper against my ear, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

“Yes.” The word erupted from my lips, raw and unfiltered, filled with a desperate urgency. “Yes, Roman. Do it. Hard.”

And he obliged.

The initial thrust tore a cry from my throat, my breath fogging the glass as I felt him grip my hips with a possessiveness that hinted he might shatter them if I dared to resist. The chill of the glass contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from our bodies, the city lights outside blurring into streaks of color as each brutal push sent me reeling forward.

“Roman—”

But my plea morphed into a moan as he thrust into me again, harder this time, his rhythm punishing and unyielding. My nails scraped against the desk’s surface, leaving crescent marks in the glossy finish, my body bending with every sharp collision of his hips against mine.

The desk creaked ominously beneath us, ice cream dripping to the floor in sticky trails, but all I could focus on was the sound of his ragged breath and my own strangled cries echoing in the confined space.

He made love to me as if our lives depended on it, as if stopping would mean our demise. And perhaps it would have.

The pleasure surged through me, vicious and jagged, blinding in its intensity. When release crashed over me, it splintered my very being in two. A sob tore from my throat as my body convulsed, thighs trembling, chest pressed against the cool wood as he drove me through the waves of ecstasy, refusing to let me slip away.

Roman followed suit with a guttural groan, his body stiffening above mine, his grip so fierce that I knew I would carry the imprint of his touch for days to come. He collapsed against my back, both of us gasping for air, drowning in the aftermath of our chaotic union.