Page 51 of The Don's Soulmate

I can't help but beg for more. “Take me harder, faster.”

This time he complies. My body shakes, my breath coming in ragged gasps as he pumps into me, his arms tightening around me. The rope around my wrists dig into my skin with every movement, reminding me of my powerlessness. Despite that, I can't help but feel alive in his hands.

“I’m going to cum,” I scream when I feel like a dam, about to break. A slow tingle forms in my pussy, at the spot his head hits me over and over again.

“No,” he shouts. “Not yet,” he continues thrusting into me.

"I'm cumming," he grunts, his hips falter, his cock throbs within me. "Carlotta, cum now,” he puts a finger to my clit, rubbing it in quick, rapid motions.

I scream at the top of my lungs, from the force of my climax. My pussy grips his cock, and I feel him spasm, releasing his load into me. His cock swells inside me, filling me completely, and I feel his hot flow pulse inside me as he comes.

He pulls out of me, collapsing on top of my shaking body, both of us panting heavily. I can't help but wonder who this man is and why he seems to know me so intimately. How can someone who exists only in my imagination make me feel more alive than I've ever felt before?

He touches me gently, almost reverently as he moves around the bed, removing the ropes. Then he comes to kneel in front of me. I clearly see his face.

Suddenly, I'm jolted awake, gasping for air as if I've just emerged from the depths of the ocean. My heart pounds in my chest, my skin slick with sweat. For a moment, I struggle to make sense of my surroundings, disoriented by the lingering haze of the dream.

"Get a grip, Carlotta," I chide myself, my voice shaky. "It was just another dream." But even as I say the words, I can't deny the lingering sadness that encompasses me.

Ugo Caputo is very much alive in the real world, and to dream of a man like Ettore Mancini will only ever be wishful thinking.

Chapter 22

Ettore

For the first few nights after I left her by the side of the road, I licked my wounds in the privacy of my bedroom. I never thought she’d choose that option, especially considering the risk of being abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

Yet, she did.

I don’t know which hurt more: knowing I fought to save her from a man she keeps returning to, or that she chose him over me.

As nights turned into weeks, I stopped seeing her around town. Unable to confess what happened, I had no way to know if she was safe. Did she get home alright? If she did, was she safe?

There was only one way to know. I had to send someone who could make discreet inquiries to find the answers we so needed.

My men have been watching the house for days, reporting her brother and father coming and going with their guards. But not her. Never her. As if they've locked her away and thrown out the key.

The last time I saw Carlotta, desire burned in those emerald eyes. Her lips parted with a soft gasp, begging me to claim them. I gave her everything she wanted and more, worshiping her body unlike any man ever has or could.

I can't tear my eyes away from the screen, my frustration mounting as I obsessively check the surveillance footage from the cameras outside Carlotta's mansion. My heart aches to catch even a glimpse of her, but there's no sign of her. It feels like a cruel joke – she's so close, yet completely out of reach.

She has to be in there. From the intel I’ve received, her car and security detail always remain in the D’Amici compound.

Restless heat builds in my veins, fueled by thoughts of Carlotta and our last encounter. The memory of her soft cries and trembling limbs under me haunts my waking hours, tormenting me with what can never be.

I pound a fist into the wall, cracking plaster and skin. Blood drips onto the floor, droplets of crimson joining the stain I've already left.

Rage blazes through me. How dare they keep her locked up, isolating her like some helpless lamb for the slaughter. She’s a goddamn adult woman and is being treated like nothing but a possession.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, clenching my bleeding fists in anger. The tension knots in my stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing day.

My attention shifts to Angelo and Salvatore as they exit the mansion, flanked by their security guards. They're leaving again, just like clockwork. It's infuriating to see them walk free while Carlotta remains captive inside that wretched place.

"Those bastards," I hiss through gritted teeth. "I'll make them pay for what they've done."

The next morning, footage flickers on the screen, and my heart thunders like a thousand horses on the way to battle as I catch sight of Ugo Caputo strolling into the D’Amici mansion like he owns the place. His arrogant swagger sets my teeth on edge. How dare her brother and father allow him in there?

Suddenly, it becomes clear. They’re holding her prisoner, to ensure that this marriage goes through. The bastard has no right to put his filthy hands on her, not after how I’ve seen him do it before.

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