From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 222

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 222**

A faint smile graced his lips as he gently brushed his thumb along my jawline. “Good.”

The silence enveloped us, stretching comfortably in the air—alive, electric. It was the kind of stillness that didn’t demand to be filled with words. Yet, there was a nagging feeling within me; I craved anything but silence tonight.

I leaned in, our noses almost brushing against each other. “Roman?”

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice low and inviting.

“Stop talking. Take me.”

A smirk danced across his face, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “How can I resist such a tempting offer from the most gorgeous woman in the world?”

Heat surged through me, pooling between my thighs, while goosebumps erupted across my skin. My mind raced, and I found myself at a loss for words. The urgency of the moment left no room for clever retorts. Before I could gather my thoughts, his lips crashed into mine—hard, possessive, and filled with an intensity that ignited a fire within me.

His mouth pressed against mine, and I didn’t hold back. I kissed him fiercely, pouring every ounce of longing and desperation into that moment. It felt like a battle, like I was starving for him, and he was the only one who could satiate my hunger. And maybe he was.

His hands roamed my body, rough and insatiable. With a swift motion, he yanked the towel from my body, flinging it aside as if it were an obstacle in his path, exposing me completely. My spine tingled as his knuckles glided down my back, sending shivers cascading through me. My nipples hardened, brushing against his chest, aching for his touch. He cupped my breasts, his mouth hot and wet as he lavished attention on one, then the other. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my nails pressing into his skin.

I began to move on his lap, slowly rocking back and forth, feeling him—thick, hard, and undeniably there beneath me. My hand slipped between us, stroking him through the fabric of his pants. He groaned, a low, broken sound that sent a thrill through me.

With urgency, I tugged at his sweater, desperation fueling my movements. “Your turn,” I urged, impatience lacing my voice. “Lose the clothes, Roman.”

In mere seconds, his sweater and pants crumpled to the floor, leaving us both bare—exposed, vulnerable, and breathless. A smile bloomed on my face as I took in the sight of his body. He was all broad shoulders and defined muscles, a canvas untouched by ink—perfect in every conceivable way.

“I want you inside me,” I whispered, the words slipping from my lips like a prayer.

“You’re in charge, my love,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

Our eyes remained locked as I grasped him, guiding him to my entrance. The moment I sank down onto him, we both let out a moan, a sound that echoed our shared pleasure.

He stretched me wide—thick, hot, and utterly perfect.

“Fuck, Savannah,” he gasped, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut as if he were trying to cling to the last threads of control.

I rode him slowly at first, teasing him, grinding my hips against him, relishing every inch of our connection. His hands gripped my hips tightly, almost bruisingly, as if he were torn between wanting to stop me or let me take the lead.

“You feel…” I whimpered, biting my lip, “so fucking good.”

His eyes flew open, dark and wild with desire. “Don’t stop. Keep going. Just like that.”

I leaned forward, bracing my hands against his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. I dragged my nails down his skin, eliciting a curse from his lips.

With renewed vigor, I began to move faster, bouncing on him, circling my hips. The wet sounds of our bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with our moans. His gaze was locked on me, watching as if I were a mirage.

He didn’t hesitate. He slammed into me against the wall, and I cried out, the sound echoing in the room. His grip on my thighs tightened, and my nails sank into his back. It was raw, filthy, and exactly what I craved. I reached for him, kissing him with fervor. It was messy, hungry, and desperate.

My head fell back as he drove into me, hard and fast, grunting with every thrust. I could swear the wall rattled, the painting above us tilting precariously.

I came with a scream, tightening around him, and he followed suit, jerking into me with a final growl.

But we weren’t done—not by a long shot.

He carried me to the bed, this time laying me down gently. He crawled over me, kissing my lips, my neck, my chest, my very soul.

Then he slid inside me again, but slowly this time. Face to face, heart to heart. His hands cradled my face as my legs wrapped around his hips. Each thrust was deliberate, purposeful.

He was watching me, eyes locked on mine. I touched his cheek, running my fingers through his hair, moaning his name as if it were a lifeline I couldn’t afford to forget.

His thrusts grew slower, more intense, and the ache transformed into something sweet. I felt everything—his heartbeat, his breath, his heat, his love.

“I love you, Sav,” he whispered in my ear, his voice filled with raw emotion.

My hands encircled his neck, holding him tightly, unwilling to respond for fear that my words might shatter the moment.

Call it superstition or madness; I didn’t care. But something in Roman’s declaration of love felt tinged with fear, as if it were born not solely from affection but from a deeper, darker place.