Enchanted (Billionaire Boys Club #2) | ongoing

Chapter 71

Donatella:

I try and regain my laboured breaths, heart pounding and hearing Darius' do the same as my ear presses against his chest.

"Fuck." He breathes.

"That's it." I manage. To which he replies with a laugh and pulls me further into him as we lay beneath the silken covers of the bed in our room at the villa. It's currently five in the morning and neither of us have gotten any sleep. Well, we had some short naps in between... it, but not nearly enough. Although, I can't complain.

"What? No more?"

"I can't... Five hours... Too much." I bury my face so that he can't see it. Or rather, the blush that covers it. But to be fair, the lights are out and the only illumination that we have is from the slither between the curtains where they haven't been fully drawn.

All of us kind of did our own thing this evening, some of us went out while others, like me and Dare, stayed in. And I can't speak for anyone else but we've been very busy.

According to Darius, it's all my fault. For being, and I quote, "too fucking beautiful" and "unable to resist".

"Tire you out, did I?" He teases against my head.

"Mhm."

"Alright. Get some sleep, darling." He kisses it.

I move my head to a normal position and go to close my eyes when they catch on something I've been curious about for a while.

Reaching over, I touch my fingers to his forearm, moving them around, tracing the patterns there.

"Darius?"

"Yes, malyshka?" He murmurs back, his voice slightly deeper and lazier than a second before.

"When did you get this?"

"About a year ago." He scoffs out a laugh. "Mom nearly had a heart attack."

"You didn't tell her you were getting one?"

"She would've locked me up."

"She doesn't like tattoos?"

"Not really. But I think it was more about me doing things that she can't control. Losing her precious baby boy, apparently. Growing up too fast."

"She loves you."

"Yeah, she does." I hear the smile in his words.

I continue to follow the lines of what make up an intertwining of chains. They start on the edge of his hand and coil around his wrist. From there, they continue to spiral individually upwards his inner arm. They meet in an image with half of them discarded in a pile while the other half snake themselves around what I'm assuming is the design of the mask that I saw him wear that day. "Does it mean anything?"

"Sort of. It's more of a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"To keep myself anchored, I guess. To make sure I never transgress. In the eyes of my own morals, that is. I won't lie about how doing the things that I do make me feel. I enjoy it. The thrill. But I never want to get caught up in it. I don't want it to ever take over me."

Of course. Because while he condones brutality and torture, there are still some lines he won't cross. I can't imagine what they are, but at least he has some boundaries.

"But..." I return to the beginning of the tattoo. "These chains aren't connected to anything here. What's the anchor?"

"I didn't have one. Self restraint and my own conscience were what kept me steady before. That's why there's no physical anchor."

"Didn't?" I catch onto the past tense of the word.

"Didn't." He confirms.

"And now?"

"And now..." He smooths his thumb over my cheek while I lift my head to look up at him. Our eyes meeting and unblinking. "I think the artist who put this on me will be receiving a call very soon."

"Yeah?" I find my voice breathless.

"Yeah."

"To draw what?"

"I don't know." The corners of his lips lift. "Maybe you can pick something for me."

"Why should I pick?" I think I know why. But on the rare occasion that the tables are turned, I kind of like to tease him a little.

"You don't have to." He goes on. "Just a suggestion."

"So you wouldn't mind if I didn't?"

He sighs, rolling those beautiful, black eyes to the ceiling. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"Make you say what? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're tricky." He remarks, even when affection is all that seeps through. "You look and sound so innocent but then you get like this. You like to see me unshielded."

"Is that such a bad thing?" I brush the hair from his forehead.

A moment passes and then his gaze is back to mine. "ты мой якорь, маленькая балерина." (You are my anchor, little ballerina)

I smile, feeling my heart warm at the words. "Thank you."

"For?"

"For letting me be."

He leans down and presses his lips to mine.

"You know, one of these days, I might just have to punish you for overusing your manners on me. I don't think my words are getting through."

Dammit, he said that on purpose. Getting me back for it in a way that he knows I both can't help and can't take.

And he calls me tricky.

My pulse skips a beat. "Will I like it?"

He grins. "I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"