Page 40 of Bid For Me

“Turn around,” I command, my tone leaving no room for argument. Her eyes open, a flash of hesitation there, but she obeys, slowly turning to face away from me. I step forward, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that every nerve in her body is undoubtedly aware of my presence behind her. I place my hands on her shoulders, guiding her to brace herself against the wall, my hands trailing down to rest on her hips, grounding her, holding her steady.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I murmur in her ear, my breath warm against her skin. She doesn’t answer, but her entire body betrays her – her breathing quickens, her fingerscurl against the wall, and I can feel the way her back arches ever so slightly, pressing into me, inviting more.

I don’t give her the satisfaction just yet. Instead, I keep my hands on her hips, holding her firmly in place, letting her feel the control I have, the way I could take her here and now if I chose to. I let my fingers trace slow, teasing circles over her lower back, close enough to make her body burn, but not giving her what she craves. I want her to feel the consequences of her choices with every fibre of her being.

“You’re mine,” I say softly, my voice a promise and a warning. “I won’t tolerate another stunt like that again, Elle. If you want to push my limits, then you’ll face the consequences.” My hands grip her waist a little tighter, and she gasps, her head tilting back slightly as I lean in, pressing my lips to the curve of her neck, letting her feel the heat of my breath, the way my control is hanging by a thread.

She trembles, the need in her almost palpable now, her body yielding to me even as her pride battles to keep up. But I can see it slipping, her resolve fading with every second, with every touch, with every dark word murmured against her skin.

“Tell me you understand,” I whisper against her ear, letting my hand slide lower, skimming over her thigh, reminding her of the tension I can build, the torment I can inflict without lifting a finger. She lets out a shuddering breath, her fingers clenching into fists as she fights to keep her composure.

“Yes, Sir. I understand,” she finally whispers, her voice barely above a breath, but it’s enough. I can hear the need, the desperation in her tone, and it sends a rush of satisfaction through me.

“Good girl,” I murmur, a dark satisfaction curling in my chest. But she’s not done yet. No, I want her to remember this, to feel it long after we’re done here.

With that, I release her, taking a step back, watching the way she sags slightly against the wall, her breath shaky, her body flushed. “You’re not going anywhere, Elle,” I tell her, my voice dark with promise. “This is only the beginning.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Elle

I’m standing still,my breath shallow as Seb’s presence surrounds me, all-consuming. His body now presses against mine from behind, his chest warm against my back, his hands resting lightly on my hips. There’s a possessiveness in his touch that makes my skin flush, a kind of quiet power that sends a shiver through me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

I can feel the heat of him – too close, too much – and yet I can’t pull away. I don’t want to. Not really.

His fingers move slowly, deliberately, tracing the curve of my waist, then higher, his touch skimming the underside of my ribs. I catch my breath, biting my lip, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, but it’s slipping away, thread by thread.

“You’re trembling,” Seb’s voice is a dark murmur against my ear, and I feel his breath there, warm and heavy. “Do you like this? Do you like the way I touch you?”

I don’t answer, but I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for some sign, some crack in my armour.

His fingers trace a path down my side, and I bite back a soft gasp as his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin of my stomach, sending a wave of heat coursing through me. My pulse quickens, and I can feel it, the electric charge between us, the raw need building with every second he stays so close.

And then he’s closer still, his lips grazing the back of my neck, his teeth nipping at the tender skin there, and it’s all I can do to stay standing. Goosebumps break out across my arms, my legs, everywhere. My body betrays me, demanding and craving more despite my resolve to stay strong and resist him.

His touch is everything. Reverent. Commanding. Worshipful.

I could fall from a single caress.

He’s relentless, his lips trailing up to my ear, biting the lobe gently, his teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp. I shudder again, my fingers gripping the palm of my hands as if that will somehow save me because the need to hold onto something is so overwhelming. Everything is clenched tight, coiled and primed.

“You’re so responsive,” Seb murmurs, his voice low and laden with something dark. “Every inch of you trembles at my touch. Why is that, Elle?”

I swallow, trying to push back the heat building in my chest, the way my body reacts to him in spite of my better judgement. But the truth is, I can’t fight this – can’t fight him. Not when he’s like this, not when he’s so close, so quietly controlled and dominant.

Everything I’ve ever wanted.

His hands move again, tracing the curve of my spine, the tips of his fingers ghosting over my tender skin, the sensation almost unbearable. His touch is gentle, but it’s enough to make my body ache with anticipation. I want to move, to press back againsthim, but I stay still, as if frozen in place, eagerly anticipating whatever comes next.

“You belong to me,” he says softly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Remember that.”

The words send a thrill through me, a knot of tension coiling tighter in my stomach. I feel it in the way he touches me, the possessiveness, the claim he’s making. And I know – deep down – that I can’t deny it, no matter how much I try to resist.

I just wish he meant I was his outside of the damn contract.

Seb’s hands trail lower, his thumbs brush just under the curve of my breasts, and I swear I stop breathing. He pauses, holding me there, as though daring me to react. His control is maddening, his movements calculated, each touch lighting me up like a live wire – almost to the point of pain. But that’s okay. I love pain. Crave it, in fact.

My fingers tighten, my knuckles whitening as I fight not to give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice. But he knows he has me.

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