From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 380

Chapter 380

Chapter 216: The World Could Wait

Savannah

I went to bed frustrated, embarrassed, and honestly a little pissed.

Frustrated and pissed because my very sensible fiancé apparently had too much on his mind to entertain my very insensible fantasies.

And embarrassed because, annoyingly, Roman had been right. Last night wasn’t the time. Too much had happened. Too much had been revealed. Anyone with half a brain could see he had a storm turning in his head.

I should’ve been mature about it. Wise. Understanding. But I wasn’t.

Last night, I couldn’t be. I’d wanted him shamelessly and desperately. I’d wanted him all day and a selfish part of me didn’t care that m father might be a murderous vigilante with a deranged sidekick.

It still stung that this was the second time Roman had turned me down. Both times for good reasons.

But both times still hurting anyway.

I drifted somewhere between awake and asleep, lying on my side of the bed and staring at the curtains swaying in the sea breeze.

Everything outside was so still, so peaceful, nothing like the chaos in our lives.

Roman wasn’t asleep either. I could tell from the way his breathing kept shifting, the way he kept turning as if he couldn’t find a place to

settle.

Or maybe he was uneasy because I’d rolled away from him and curled up on my own side like a sulking child.

I shut my eyes again, pretending I might fall asleep.

But Roman had other plans.

The mattress dipped. He turned, moving toward me. I felt the warmth of him first, then the slow drag of his body closing the space until he was pressed against my back.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered.

And suddenly my stupid heart was fully awake. Just like my body.

Even though my muscles were taut, my thighs pressed together as if trying to trap the lingering ache between them.

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Chapter 380

Then I felt warmth. The ghost of a touch, so light it might have been a dream. But no, it was real. Roman’s lips, soft and deliberate, pressed against the curve of my neck, just below my ear. His breath fanned over my skin, hot and damp, sending a shiver down my spine.

I stirred, my lashes fluttering as consciousness completely pulled me from the haze of sleep I was trying to lose myself in earlier.

His mouth didn’t stop. It trailed lower, over the slope of my shoulder, his teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch. A low, apologetic murmur vibrated against my skin.

“I’m sorry, Sav,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep and something darker–regret, maybe, or hunger. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that last night.”

I exhaled, my body already responding, my nipples tightening beneath the thin cotton of my sleep tank. I should have been annoyed, woken like this without warning, but the way his hands slid over my waist, possessive and reverent all at once, melted any resistance.

His palm cupped my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric, and I arched into the touch without thinking. A quiet sound

escaped me, half sigh, half whimper.

Roman groaned in response, his hips shifting against my ass, the hard ridge of his erection pressing into the cleft of my cheeks. He rocked once, twice, the friction sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips moving to the shell of my

ear. “Even when you’re angry with me.”

I wasn’t angry. Not anymore. Not when his fingers were already slipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts, sliding between my thighs. The first brush of his fingertips against my folds made me gasp.

I was wet–soaked, my body betraying how much I’d wanted this since last night. Roman hissed at the contact, his fingers parting me with ease, two of them slipping inside me in one smooth stroke.

“Christ, my love,” he breathed, his voice thick. “You’re practically dripping for me.”

I couldn’t answer. My back arched, my hips lifting into his touch as he curled his fingers, dragging them out slowly before pushing them

back in.

The stretch burned, delicious and deep, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan.

But Roman didn’t want silence.

His free hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back just enough to press his mouth to mine, swallowing the sounds I made. His tongue slid against mine, slow and deep, mirroring the rhythm of his fingers inside me.

Then–movement. His hand left my hair, hooking into the waistband of m