Better than good.
The best he’d ever known.
That must explain why he took such inordinate care and time now. Why he concentrated as much energy and focus on pleasuring her as he did on finalising any of his multi-million-dollar deals. He wanted to fill Ella’s senses till there was only him. He wanted her screaming his name as she flew apart beneath him, around him. He wanted her abandoned and sated.
Restless fingers burrowed through his hair. ‘Kiss me, Donato. Please.’
He relinquished her breast with one final lingering lick and was rewarded with a sigh of delight. He lifted himself higher, looked down into her flushed face and stalled, his heart thumping.
Her eyes had lost that glimmer of humour. Even the desire he was accustomed to seeing had been eclipsed. Instead that diamond-bright glitter looked awash, glazed with tears, and her expression...he couldn’t name it. It was more than arousal. More than sexual excitement. It was tender and sad and hopeful and a million things he couldn’t name.
Because he’d never seen them in any woman’s eyes before.
Except there was something there that reminded him of his mother when he’d been tiny and she’d cradled his skinny frame close, telling him everything would be all right, despite her bruises and his empty belly.
Emotion scoured him. His chest heaved and tightened.
How had sex morphed into this? Donato reared back, bracing himself on his arms above Ella.
She grabbed his shoulders, her legs lifting to wrap around his waist, stopping him when he would have moved further away.
He could have broken her hold, except, he realised, part of him wanted to stay. The part that was mesmerised by the tenderness in her expression.
Donato told himself it was the unfamiliarity of it. The novelty.
‘Kiss me, Donato.’
‘You’re feeling sorry for me.’ He couldn’t believe it. Every instinct had warned against revealing so much of his past. But he hadn’t expected this.
Everything rebelled at her pity. He’d looked after himself, and his mother, since he was a kid. He’d almost killed a man with his bare hands, before he learned to curb the anger inside. He’d survived prison, not unscathed, but stronger and in some ways more dangerous than before. He had the life he wanted, the power he desired. He bought and sold enterprises with ease. He was about to enjoy the biggest, most satisfying coup of his life.
‘I don’t want your sympathy.’ The words emerged through gritted teeth. ‘I refuse to accept it.’
Ella shook her head and shut her eyes. When she opened them again her expression was guarded and there was a wry twist to her lips.
‘I’m sorry for the little boy you once were.’ She lifted one hand to his face, her palm warm against his locked jaw. ‘Sorry too for the lost teenager, trying to get back to his mother.’
‘I was never lost. I knew exactly where I was.’ Though, he admitted silently, he’d lost his way when grief and anger had erupted. When the keening sense of loss had been too much to bear.
Ella’s hand shifted to stroke his scar. It wasn’t the first time she’d touched it. But this time she did it with such deliberation his breath sucked in.
‘Don’t worry, Donato. I know you don’t need my sympathy now. You’re big and bold and formidable. You’re dangerous in ways most men wouldn’t dare to be, and most women dream of.’ Her lips tilted in a tiny secret smile that made something flip and twist in his belly.
Her hand dropped and Donato swallowed hard rather than ask her to touch him again. The sensation of her light caress on his cheek lingered, as if she’d marked him.
‘Good.’ He nodded briskly. ‘Just so you understand, I don’t need pity. My needs are far simpler.’ He lifted his hand to her breast again, his touch demanding, almost rough.
Inevitably, satisfyingly, Ella arched into his touch, her eyes alive with the same blaze of hunger consuming him.
Donato plundered her lips, taking her mouth in a kiss that held nothing tentative or gentle. It was a marauder’s kiss. The kiss of a man taking what he wanted. A kiss that was hungry and not at all tender. A kiss to banish pity.
Yet, if he’d meant to frighten her into drawing away, he couldn’t have been more mistaken. Ella matched him all the way, nipping at his bottom lip, grabbing at his hair, clinging with hands and hips and her lovely long legs wrapped tight around him.
His heart thundered as with one single thrust he entered her, anchoring her to the bed so she couldn’t move unless he permitted it.