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“Don’t even ask, darling. Here…” He fishes into his wallet, pulling out the black card. “Take this and see if you can hit the spending limit.”
I take the card from his hand, surprised at the weight of it. “Does it even have a limit?”
“Not sure. Maybe you can help me find it,” he says with a grin.
“And you’re not mad that I’m spending your money?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
I’m not scared of Pasha like I was in the beginning.
I’m curious.
“It’s quite the opposite,” he says, his eyes meeting mine like he’s about to swallow me whole. “It turns me on to see you spending my money. I can’t get enough of it.”
There go those butterflies in my stomach again, fluttering around like they’re trying to start a hurricane inside of me. My legs are almost too weak to keep walking to the purses. Pasha is just so unusual, so captivating that I’m having trouble wrapping my head around him.
I can’t forget that he’s a dangerous criminal, but he goes through life with such grace that it almost feels like he’s allowed to do such horrible things. It’s as though the entire world has given him a pardon due to his looks, his charm, his wealth, or something else I haven’t figured out yet.
It strikes me quite suddenly that I witnessed a murder – multiple murders, in fact – and I said nothing about them. I didn’t call the police or tell anyone about them. Surely, that’s also a crime.
And here I am now, going shopping with the murderer himself.
I’m sure shame is what I should be feeling right now. It’s what most people would feel, but I’ve been through hell and lived to talk about it, so shame isn’t a word in my vocabulary.
The closest thing I feel to shame is when Pasha’ bright green eyes are wandering over my body, visually making love to me without even touching me. I feel vulnerable with him, delicate and raw, but it’s a feeling that’s mixed with such aching arousal that I’m willing to fall for him despite the obvious danger involved.
He might be a monster, but he’s onmyleash. I can take solace in that fact and move forward with caution.
But caution is precisely what I throw to the wind as I move through the luxury boutique with Pasha’s credit card, buying a few different colors of anything and everything that catches myeye. By the end of it, I’ve spent at least a million dollars, and Pasha has yet to even flinch at a card swipe.
But there’s one more test, one last thing I can do to push the limits of his generosity. Pasha claims to be turned on when I spend his money, but is he going to be able to handle what I want next?
13
Valerie
I’ve always liked what I drive. It’s a cream-colored sports car that goes as fast as I need it to, but there’s always something better, like what Pasha’s been driving me around in. It’s a jet-black Bugatti with a red leather interior. It feels like we’re in a spaceship, and every time Pasha presses his foot down on the acceleration, it speeds forward so fast I have to hold onto the sides of my seat.
The simple task of driving to the store or to work becomes a thrilling ride. I wouldn’t mind having one of those for myself.
So, as Pasha opens the door for me and I climb inside with all my bags, I pop the question to him, intending to test his tolerance for my limitless spending.
“A Bugatti?” he asks with a chuckle. “Can you even drive manual?”
Is this the first sign of resistance from him? I may have found a limit, so I press harder, seeing how much it hurts him to take meto a dealership. “You can teach me to drive one,” I say, pouting my lips. “Or is that too much to ask?”
“Nothing is too much for you, darling,” he replies as we pull out of the parking lot. “Whatever you want is yours. If you want a Bugatti, you’ll have one in every color.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You’ll find that I rarely make jokes.”
“You’ll buy me one in every color? What about the ones they don’t make?”
He snaps his fingers. “I’ll have it done custom for you. Do you want to go to the dealership now, or do you prefer to shop online?”
My gut instinct is to jump at the opportunity to walk around a whole lot full of exotic cars, but the addict in me needs a boost if I’m going to be spending that much time on my feet. I’m craving cocaine so much that even the idea of Pasha buying me millions of dollars’ worth of sports cars doesn’t sound as appealing as line.
“Mm, we can do it online. I’m kind of tired, actually,” I say, twiddling my thumbs in my lap.
