Confessions Of A Shopaholic Novels & Stories

I thought to myself. Hanna embarked on a shopping spree, buying up half the store's inventory. Anyone would think she's opening her boutique! But in reality, she's recklessly splurging Luciano's money without any restraint. 'Sophia, isn't this gorgeous?' she asked, holding up a shoe with a price tag that made my eyes widen. I played along, nodding, 'Yes, nice.' She tossed the shoe to the sales lady and continued her shopping frenzy, leaving a trail of expensive purchases in her wake.

The air already smelled of wet paper, coffee grounds, and the sharper tension of three people who had stopped pretending this was still about inventory. Tessa stood in the center of the storeroom in the same sweater she had worn the week before. Marcus closed the connecting door behind them. Helena didn’t bother with conversation. She walked straight to Tessa, spun her around, and bent her over the scarred packing table in one motion. The sweater was shoved up to her waist. She wore nothing underneath. Helena dropped to her knees behind her and licked her open with long, filthy, open-mouthed strokes—tongue flat and greedy, pushing deep, then sealing over her clit and sucking hard enough to m

“I brought you back to save you from the world’s corruption, not to watch you throw yourself into it.” We broke up with no agreement. His words hung in the air like smoke, fogging my mind as I went about my work. I heard confessions that morning, offering absolution to sins that seemed trivial compared to the ones we committed in the tunnels. A lay employee confessed to theft. A beginner confessed to unclean thoughts. I said the usual words, but my mind was elsewhere. On Caterina’s soft gasps in the dark. On the chained book that contained centuries of deception.

Her face flushes red as she quickly closes the book and clumsily tries to fit it back on the shelf. “No, no,” she says in a flustered manner. “I was just looking.” “Ah, but it’s such a wonderful book,” the shopkeeper persisted kindly. “I could sell it to you at a discount—” “I don’t have any money,” she says, her voice barely audible even to my enhanced hearing. The shame in her tone hits me like a physical blow through our connection. Fury burns through my veins. She could buy the whole fucking bookshop if she wanted to. She never has to worry about money again.

Vivienne leaned over the book, and I watched her run her finger down the columns, and I watched her face change from disappointment to confusion to a slow gathering anger. "What is this?" she said. "These clothes. These are all old stock. Last year's patterns, the dull greys, the heavy browns nobody wants. And barely a handful sold in a day, look, three bolts, two bolts, four." She jabbed at the page. "This can’t be right. I was at that shop yesterday with my own eyes. It was packed to the walls. People three deep at the counters, a line of carriages down the street, the clerks couldn't cut fast enough. And you sit here and tell me nothing is selling?" She snatched up the ledger and flung it

She burst out like a lava but continued. “At last, I called Marcus who suggested this Jewellery showroom. It was my first time at this luxurious shop and I was clueless. I called Marcus again but he didn't accept the call so I asked the salesman to suggest something. I didn't recall any other instructions that you gave me except for the gift being expensive so I bought the most expensive thing there! What did I do wrong in that?" She sniffed, tears kept rolling down her cheeks but she didn't stop speaking. Aaron sharpened his eyes and kept staring at her with anger-filled eyes. "Then you came here and started accusing me as if I had committed a horrendous crime!"

"I can't buy such an idea from you?" Emma said in a coarse voice to Mrs. Detroit. "My idea isn't that bad if you think it through." Mrs. Detroit said while standing beside the white hospital bed. "There is nothing to think about here, your idea is just as unbelievable like you're. How do you want me to marry a man I have never met in my life, don't even know how he behaves just because of money?" This time Emma spoke with a heavy voice.

Jane has a bag from nearly every store we've been in. I would say that Jessica is quite a shopaholic. She literally looked at every article of clothing in every store we've been in. I'm surprised it's only been an hour. It feels like it's been 6. My feet are killing me and I haven't even bought anything yet.

She’s probably back at the makeup section a few aisles back. He’s about ten feet away, yet his chiseled profile is enough to make me pissed, those broad shoulders enough to make my heart stutter. In his cart are packs of Big Red gum, a giant bag of Cheetos, protein drinks, and beer. I look around to reroute my shopping and avoid him. The last thing I want is a replay of our bookstore argument a few days ago. Avoidance is the best course of action. An older lady, maybe in her sixties, appears at the other end of the aisle, facing him. She seems distracted with her phone up to her ear as she talks to someone and bumps into his cart. I hear him apologizing as he moves out of the center of the a

“All the other women I’ve been with knew my last name before they slept with me. And usually, at some point, they want to go shopping. Four hours, four days… depends on the woman, but at some point, most want to go shopping. Whether I go along or not is pretty much immaterial, as long as they have my credit card.” “Well I do NOT want to go SHOPPING!” I snapped. “I can see that,” he grinned. “Which is why I’m relieved – because now I’m positive you’re not like them.” I started pacing again, but slower now. That last little bit about how I wasn’t like other women was oddly comforting. Connor gestured towards me with his glass. “As much as I’m enjoying the show, I think you should come over her