Ella could not recall how she had left the club after that.
Her memory was a blur of flashing lights, pounding music, and the intoxicating heat of Ross's body pressed against hers.
Perhaps she had passed out from the sheer, overwhelming force of her orgasm, or maybe it was the way dozens of strangers had stared—some in awe, others in burning jealousy—as she was taken so openly and so thoroughly.
Perhaps it was both. All she knew for certain was that now, the world felt quieter.
The music was gone, the air cooler, and the chaos replaced by the steady, confident footsteps of the man beside her.
Her head rested on Ross's broad shoulder, his warmth seeping into her skin.
She clung to his muscular arm as if afraid that letting go would wake her from a dream.
The faint scent of him—clean, masculine, with that subtle undertone of dominance—filled her senses and made her heart pound all over again.
It was a scene that could ignite envy in the hearts of any man who saw it.
