Had he hurt her? He tried to unlock his jaw to ask but if he moved a muscle he mightn’t be able to hold back from the inevitable.
Then Ella shifted, her legs lifting over his hips, locking around his waist, making him sink deeper into beckoning warmth. She clung to his shoulders and suddenly there was nothing stopping him. That was invitation in her eyes, not pain. And the feel of her moving against him...
Donato succumbed, taking her fast and hard, revelling in her beautiful body that accepted him so eagerly. Each tilt of her pelvis, each softly indrawn breath was an incitement to pleasure. He couldn’t get enough. He couldn’t manage finesse. There was nothing but the compulsion to make her his in the most primitive, satisfying way possible.
The world was already blurring when Donato felt the ripples of her arousal quicken around him. The sensation was too much and he braced one arm on the wall behind her, bucking high and hard with a desperation that was more animal than civilised man.
He needed her, and this exquisite pleasure.
‘Ella!’ Her name was a husky roar, surprising him as it emerged from his mouth.
Her body stiffened then jerked around him. Her eyes sprang wide open and he fell into pools of burnished moonlight.
There was a flash of heat, a surge of energy and he spilled himself, collapsing into her as the world exploded. Chest and shoulders heaving, head bowed against her fragrant neck, Donato experienced pure rapture as Ella clutched him close.
He’d expected passion and pleasure. But nothing like this. When had he ever called out a lover’s name like that? When had he ever forgotten protection?
Donato gathered her in, relishing her soft womanly body, so lax in his arms.
* * *
The world had contracted to the living pulse beating through her, through him, filling the air around them and the darkness behind her closed lids. Ella wasn’t sure she was still alive after that cataclysmic orgasm.
Had it ever been like that before?
Of course it hadn’t. If it had she’d never have let her love life sink without a trace.
Donato moved, pulling gently away, murmuring something she couldn’t hear over her rocketing pulse and harsh breathing. Soon she’d open her eyes but for now she slumped back against the wall that at this moment felt as comfortable as any feather bed.
Her bones had melted. She wasn’t sure she could move her legs. But it didn’t matter. She never wanted to move again. She felt blissfully, utterly wonderful.
She felt... Words faded in the afterglow of rapture.
Finally, the awkward angle of her head against the wall and the hard surface beneath her penetrated her dazed brain. She should move. She had...surely there was something she had to do?
Gingerly Ella sat up, hands braced on the seat beneath her, only to find it wasn’t a seat. It was hard and bumpy. With a huge effort she pried open heavy eyelids and looked down. She was sitting on a carving of a chariot. It was pulled by horses with wide nostrils and, as she shifted, she saw a couple of naked men, maybe gods, riding behind.
Ella blinked, her hands stroking the satiny polished wood beyond the carved plaque. Her gaze strayed to the delicate, obviously hand-carved garlands of fruit and flowers that grew fancifully out of the top of the sideboard to trail decoratively down the front.
Her throat closed. If she wasn’t mistaken she’d just had mind-blowing sex on top of a piece of furniture worth more than she earned in a year. A museum piece that some collector had no doubt lovingly restored.
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the brilliantly polished wood. Her eyes closed.
Forget the furniture, Ella. How about the fact you had wild sex with a stranger? A man you’ve known less than a day? And you barely made it past his front door?
She swallowed hard, her throat constricting as her body hummed with the resonance of the climax they’d shared.
Who was this woman and what had she done with Ella Sanderson?
A footstep sounded and her eyes popped open. Relief made her sag, her hand to her racing heart. ‘It’s you.’
‘You were expecting someone else?’ Donato looked as debonair and dangerous as ever. More so, with his thick black hair deliciously rumpled. A shiver spread out from her womb and she kept her eyes off his face, not ready to meet that intense scrutiny.
He was fully clothed. Ella tugged her long top lower. But that voice in her head drawled that it was too late for modesty. That didn’t stop the blood rushing to her face as she registered her bare legs and the fact she still wore her shoes. Her pants lay in a heap a few steps away.
She swallowed, reminding herself that embarrassment couldn’t kill her. It never had in all those years facing her father’s superior friends. Even this, the pinnacle of mortification, would pass.