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We reach the Hunt property—or Hunt-Greene-Voss, but they’re all more or less Hunts anyway—and before shutting off the engine, I decide not to give into her stubbornness.
“If you leave this cash here, I’ll transfer ten times that to you.” This exchange made it clear she’s deeply uncomfortable with me spending money on her, so I know that’ll be worth a reaction.
I am stunned by my own vehemence; I shouldn’t give a shit if she wants to accept my presents or not. But I do. I have the right to spoil her. The end.
“Marius!” she shouts, affronted.
“I like when you say my name.” I’d like her to scream it.
Sarah literally growls in frustration. I only laugh. "Take it back.”
She stares at the cash like it’s likely to bite her hand if she touches it.
“I’m not for sale,” she grumbles.
Ah, herein lies the crux of the matter. She feels the chemistry between us—she must. How could she not? Chemistry is always two ways. She knows we’re on a one-way track that ends with my cock deep inside her drenched cunt, and she doesn’t want to feel like a hooker, bought and paid for. I can understand that. I even respect her for it.
Here’s the issue: I have tons of cash, and she doesn’t. She needs to get over the fact that I’m going to spend money on her because I can.
I know she’d be appalled if she realized I hired full-time security to trail her; that’s a high five figures a month on her simple, money-conscious self. If she hears about it, I’ll tell her it’s surveillance, just to make her feel better. But in truth, when I set them up yesterday, I didn’t care if she’s the villain of the story. I didn’t ask them to report her movement to me. Their only job is to keep her safe. Because she’s mine, and no one gets to hurt her.
Except me. I get to hurt her.
Only because she craves it.
“I know,” I tell her, suddenly delighted as an idea comes to mind. "And you don’t have to repay mygiftsto you. Ever.” I smirk. “But if you wanted to even the scales, there’s only one thing I’d accept from you.”
I see her cheeks flush bright as she imagines exactly what I have in mind.
“You can thank me with your mouth, your highness. Or you can get your tight little ass out of the car. What will it be?”
31
SARAH
Istare at the depraved jerk behind the wheel, speechless, half expecting him to say it’s a joke, he doesn’t mean it.
But of course he does. This is Marius Goltz, spoiled, deviant son of Midas. He doesn’t follow standard rules set by society; none of them do, not even my friends—Violet, Rhys, Riley...
He’s either going to make me play the part of the ungrateful bitch for not thanking him for his effort, or the greedy ass for taking his money.
I ignore the awareness tingling between my legs, the sick, insane part of me who likes the thought of touching him. My body is my enemy.
“If you send me money, I’d donate it,” I argue out loud.
“You could.” He nods. “It’s your prerogative what you do withyourcash, your highness.”
In other words, it’d still be mine. I’d end up with thirteen new dresses and a lump of cash.
I could just accept the present without giving anything in return, too. He made it clear I could.You don’t have to repay my gifts to you.
But that’s not me. I’m not a person who takes without giving back.
I accepted the flat Dorothy let me use, but I volunteered at her shelter every spare minute I had, working around the clock. I accepted the merit scholarship the Raventhorn Society granted me, but I’m working my ass off to deserve it. And while safety concerns convinced me to move in when Vi offered, I’ve been doing my best to give back, cooking, cleaning—though they always tell me they have someone taking care of the house daily.
Rhys and Roman both like to cook occasionally, but I’ve taken over the breakfast and dinner three times a week at a minimum. I believe in fair exchanges.
The fair exchange here would be returning what he spent on me.
