Page 60 of The Don's Soulmate

“One where a man claimed me,” she admits, looking away. "I... I never knew why I... I dreamt of you like that," she goes on, her eyes shining with emotion.

“So, you admit it was me, the man from your dreams?” I ask desperately, clutching at her waist, my finger lingering on her breast.

“I… I don’t know,” she says, her voice thick.

“Or you don’t want to know?” I ask, angry that she’s still trying to deny our connection. We share the same mark. Despite the enemies we were born to be, we seek each other out over and over again. “This has to mean something, damn it. Tell me more about your dreams. How did he claim you.”

“It wasn’t just a dream,” she whispers, looking fearful. "It's more... it's something primal... something... soulful. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Then make me feel it,” I moan, turning her around again with such force that her face rests against the wall as I put her back in place, open for me.

“Was it like this?” I ask, slamming my cock into her. I rotate my hips, my cock circling her as she cries out with pleasure and pain, having me deeper than ever before.

“Yes,” she moans, her eyes closing.

My movements become rougher, more intense, as the embers of my undoing begin to form at the base of my cock. Everything I’ve felt, discovered, encompasses my rationale.

I groan into her neck, “Carlotta,” and lurch my cock up, hitting against the walls behind her clit.

“Oh my god,” she moans, her entire body shaking as I pound her relentlessly, my cock growing larger in her tight pussy.

I feel her pussy clamp down, an intense pleasure that courses through me, and I know I'm close.

"I'm gonna cum," I growl, my voice shaking. "I'm gonna cum in your pussy, Carlotta."

She moans, her body trembling, as I thrust harder and faster, my cock slamming into her. She whimpers, her hips bucking up to meet me, the sound driving me further into madness. I let go of her breast, letting them free, my hands now clutching her hips for balance.

The fire is now burning through me, and I close my eyes just as I feel her pussy convulse around me. “Fuuuuck,” she mewls again, a little sex kitten if I ever heard one, and I feel her juices drip down my thigh as she trembles from the force of her orgasm.

The sensation of her cumming around me pushes me over the edge. With a final, spine-shattering thrust, I empty myself inside her, my cock pulsing as I unleash my stream into her.

For a moment, we both pant, our bodies still joined, panting and trembling. I withdraw slowly, and my cum drips out of her, a white, sticky river running down the inside of her leg.

As we slowly separate and she stands and turns to face me, my hands linger on her waist, reluctant to let go. We stand there, breathless, staring into each other’s eyes. I feel her soft skin under my hands, and with one sweeping look, take a last moment to admire the disheveled state of her clothing, her dress pulled down to expose her lush breasts, the fabric bunched around her waist. My shirt hangs open, the buttons now baring threads from our little escapade and she once again, reaches out behind my back, feeling the mark she shares with me. She pulls her finger back on touch, staring at it, likely feeling the same current that just passed through me.

She licks her lips, and then looks away, confused. “We should… we should clean up,” she clears her throat.

I let go immediately, reality rushing back to us as she pulls up her bra and dress. I bend down to pull up my trousers, picking up her panties. They slink on my finger, and she grabs them, mortified and blushing a deep pink.

I smile at her demureness. Carlotta. Taught to be good, yet here she is, confused from what fate has made her.

Once dressed, she reaches past me, unlocking the stall, trying to get away from me. She walks out and I button up, following her. We’re not done just yet.

She washes her hands and I linger at the counter, trying to find the words to ask what I so desperately want to know.

"Here," I say, buying time as I hand her a towel from the counter. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

"Thank you," Carlotta whispers, her cheeks flushed as she accepts the towel. She begins to clean herself up between her legs, her movements slow and deliberate under my watchful gaze. Every swipe of the towel across her skin sends a possessive growl building in my chest, the primal urge to keep her close nearly unbearable.

"Carlotta," I murmur, my voice low and commanding. "You know you can't just walk away from this without giving me answers. What could it mean, this mark we share?”

She hesitates, glancing up at me before focusing back on her task. "I don’t know," she admits, voice shaky. "It's hard for me to talk about since I have no answers."

"Make it clear," I insist, stepping closer, my patience thinning. "I want to understand, but you need to help me."

Our eyes meet again, revealing her inner conflict – fear of exposing too much versus a desperate need to share. As I wait, I realize this is no longer about control. It’s a deeper connection I hadn't anticipated.

I’m done watching her walk away. This has to mean something. My heart’s roar for her has to mean something.

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