Page 20 of Bid For Me (For Me #1)

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 against him, 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.

“You think you can resist me?” His voice dips, taunting. “You think you can pretend you don’t want this?”

His hands slide higher, cupping my breasts, and I let out a strangled sound despite myself. His thumbs sweep over my nipples, the sensation sharp and unbearably sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the curve of my shoulder. “Let me hear you, Elle.”

I bite down hard on my lip, refusing to give in entirely, but my resolve is crumbling. The friction of his thumbs grows firmer, still teasing but persistent now, and a soft whimper escapes before I can stop it.

He chuckles darkly. “So sensitive. So desperate already.”

Before I can gather a retort, he steps back, and my body jerks at the sudden loss of heat. Of him. I have to hold back a whine of protest.

Instead, I turn slightly, confused and bereft, but the look in his eyes stops me cold.

“Hands on the bed,” he orders, his voice firm but calm, leaving no room for argument.

My legs wobble, but I obey, trance-like, crossing to the edge of the bed and placing my palms flat on the sheets. He moves behind me, and the sound of his belt sliding through his jeans makes my heart pound.

Will he…?

“You need reminding who you belong to,” he says, the rasp of his voice the only giveaway that he might be as affected by me as I am by him. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

The leather strap doesn’t make contact. A shot of disappointment storms through me. But then his hand does. The first smack, sharp and stinging against the curve of my ass. A gasp bursts from my lips, and I push up slightly asking for more, only for him to press a hand between my shoulder blades, pinning me in place.

“Stay still,” he commands and I have to squeeze my tongue between my teeth to keep from whimpering and begging for more.

The next slap comes harder, and I flinch, the sting morphing into heat that spreads through my body. Exactly what I need.

He alternates between soft caresses and sharp strikes, keeping me on edge, never letting me predict his next move. My thighs squeeze together involuntarily, the friction not nearly enough to satisfy the ache building inside me.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Already dripping, showing through your panties, and I’ve barely touched you.”

Bastard.

Smug, sexy bastard.

Why does he have to be right? Why does it have to be him who makes my body light up like a Christmas parade?

He ranks my panties down my legs, leaving me bare before him, and the cool air only heightens the heat of his attention.

If he likes what he sees, I’ll never know, because he does nothing to give himself away.

Stay strong, Elle. Be brave.

“On the bed,” he orders. “On your back.”

I hesitate for a moment, pride battling desire, but his eyes meet mine, dark and unyielding, and I comply, stretching out on the mattress.

This is so much worse somehow. Because now I’m stretched out on the bed, and there’s no hiding from him. Not that I could before, but at least it was my body betraying me before, not my face.

I’m scared that like this, he’ll see everything.

He takes his time, his gaze roaming over me like a physical caress, before he climbs onto the bed, settling between my thighs.

“Lie flat,” he barks when I prop myself up on my elbows. Again, I pause a beat, silently challenging him, before submitting and staring up at the canopy above us.

Is it purely decorative? Made of decadent plush red velvet. Or does it serve a purpose, like muffling cries of pleasure?

The first swipe of his tongue is a jolt of electricity, and I arch against him, a strangled cry escaping my lips, all musings forgotten.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pulling back just enough to smirk up at me. “You don’t get to come yet.”

Internally, I groan in frustration, my hips lifting instinctively, but he presses them down, holding me in place with an infuriating grin. I bare my teeth at him, but otherwise stay silent.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands, his breath hot against my damp skin.

I wish.

I clamp my lips closed, defiant, and he retaliates by sucking my clit into his mouth, the pressure just shy of what I need to tumble over the edge. My body trembles, my nails digging into the sheets as I struggle to hold on.

“Say it,” he growls, his fingers slipping inside me, curling just right.

I cry out, my mind foggy with need, my body screaming for release, but every time I get close, he stops, leaving me teetering on the brink.

I want to kill him. And beg him never to stop.

I know I like pain. But this? This is torture . I never knew pleasure could hurt .

Tears sting my eyes, and my resolve eventually crumbles, shame burning my cheeks.

“You,” I whisper hoarsely after what feels like hours of being taken right to the brink and denied. “I belong to you.”

His smile is pure sin. “Good girl.”

But even then, he doesn’t let me fall – not yet.

He doesn’t relent. Instead, his fingers slip from me, leaving an unbearable emptiness in their wake. My body arches instinctively, seeking his touch, but he only chuckles – a low, dark sound that sends shivers skittering down my spine.

“Not yet, Elle,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

I want to scream at him, to beg, to do anything that will make him end this torment. My hips shift again, searching for relief, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me firmly in place. But that just sends me higher. Being restrained, held down, clamped in place…it’s my kryptonite.

“Patience,” he says, his voice maddeningly calm. “Or do you need another reminder of who’s in control? This is your punishment, remember?”

I whimper, tears of frustration pricking my eyes as he presses a series of open-mouthed kisses up my thighs, deliberately avoiding where I need him most. Each kiss leaves a burning trail on my skin, my nerve endings sparking as if they’ve been set alight.

Up one side, down the other, then repeating the process with his teeth until I’m writhing under his firm hands. Right at the apex of my thighs, he bites down hard, and I scream. It almost sends me ricocheting over the edge, but somehow I hold back, conscious of wanting to be a good girl for him. He sucks and sucks, until my clit is pulsing with jealousy, and tears stream down my cheeks from the effort of holding back my release.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, he moves back to my core, his breath hot against me, and I sob at the sensation of his tongue circling my clit, slow, deliberate and torturously light. It’s so far away from the love bite he just gave the inside of my thigh that I want to cry.

My hands claw at the sheets, my back arching as his tongue laps at me with agonising precision. Every flick, every swirl, every press of his mouth has me careening toward the edge – only for him to pull back again, leaving me trembling, gasping, desperate.

“Seb,” I choke out, my voice cracking. “Bas?—”

“What is it, baby?” he asks, his tone mockingly sweet. I grit my teeth.

I hate him. I hate that I want him. That I need him.

“I–I need?—”

“You need what?” He presses a single finger against my entrance, teasing, but doesn’t push inside.

“Please,” I beg, my voice trembling and raw.

“Please, what?” He pulls back, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my tender thighs. “Use your words, Elle.”

“I need to come,” I finally sob, tears streaking down my cheeks as I lift my head to glare at him, my frustration breaking through my pride.

Seb grins, slow and wicked, his eyes glittering with triumph. “You’ll come when I say you can. If I say you can. Not a moment before.”

I let my head fall back against the mattress, a broken sound escaping me as his mouth finds me again, relentless and devastating. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm with his fingers, each stroke pushing me closer and closer to oblivion. My thighs tremble, my entire body taut with need, and I’m sure this time he’ll let me fall?—

But then he stops.

A scream of pure frustration rips from my throat, my hands flying to his hair, trying to drag him back, but he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand.

“Careful, little one,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “You don’t want to make your punishment worse.”

Worse? Worse?! How could this possibly get any worse?!

I glare up at him, my chest heaving, my body trembling with need. “You’re a bastard,” I spit, the words venomous.

Seb only smirks. “And yet, you’re begging for me.”

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

He leans down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s almost tender. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding down my body, his fingers ghosting over my skin.

“Say what?” I whisper, dazed and overwhelmed. “You’re a bastard? I hate you? Because I do. I hate you Sebastian Sterling-Knight. So fucking much.”

“Say who you belong to.”

I hesitate, my pride warring with my desperation, but his fingers find my clit again, circling it just enough to make me gasp.

“You,” I cry out, the word bursting from me like a confession. “I belong to you.”

I always did.

And I fear I always will.

I just about have my wits about me enough not to say that part out loud. God, that would be a fucking disaster.

His smile is pure satisfaction, and this time, he doesn’t stop. His fingers and tongue work in perfect tandem, driving me higher and higher until the tension in my body finally snaps.

My release crashes over me in a blinding wave, my back arching off the bed as a scream tears from my throat. My vision is pure white, my body a shimmering burst of golden light. Heat licks at my skin, every nerve alight, as though I’m made of the very stars themselves. The world fades, leaving only the echo of pleasure pulsing through me, a symphony of sensation that steals my breath and leaves me trembling.

Seb doesn’t let up, drawing every ounce of pleasure from me, until I’m trembling, spent, and utterly at his mercy. Begging him to stop. Crying because I can’t take any more.

I hate that I love this.

As the aftershocks fade, he moves up the bed, gathering me in his arms. His hands are gentle now, stroking my hair, his lips brushing soft kisses along my temple. The last thing I expected from him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You did so well for me, Elle. So fucking well.”

I can’t find the strength to respond, my body boneless and utterly sated. But as I rest against him, his warmth surrounding me, one thought burns brightly in my mind: I am his, in every way that matters.

Seb shifts slightly, pulling a blanket over us as he cradles me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a soothing rhythm that contrasts with the storm he’s just unleashed inside me. My body feels heavy, languid, but my mind whirls in the quiet aftermath, raw emotions bubbling to the surface.

I swallow hard, unsure what to say, unsure what to feel. The line between anger and surrender still feels blurred, even as I lie in his arms, his warmth grounding me.

“You’re quiet,” Seb murmurs, his hand smoothing down my back in slow, reassuring strokes. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Elle?”

I hesitate, my throat tightening. The vulnerability of this moment feels sharper than the edge of his dominance. “I hate how much you affect me,” I admit softly, my voice trembling.

Seb’s fingers pause briefly before resuming their rhythm. “Hate it, or fear it?” he asks, his tone gentle but probing.

“Both,” I whisper, a knot forming in my chest. “You take so much control, and it terrifies me how easily I let you.”

He tilts my chin up with his other hand, forcing me to meet his gaze, but much more gently this time. His dark eyes are steady, searching, but there’s no mockery in them now – only a deep, quiet intensity. “I take control because you need me to,” he says. “And I need to. Do you trust me, Elle?”

The question hangs in the air between us, and I feel the weight of it settle over me. Do I? The instinctive answer rises in my chest, and the truth of it scares me more than anything.

“I…I think I do,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

With my body at least.

With my heart?

Never.

Seb’s expression softens, and his thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t realise had fallen. “You do,” he says firmly. “Your body trusts me, even when your mind fights it. And I’ll never abuse that trust, Elle. Never.”

His words wrap around me, grounding me in a way I can’t explain. The knot in my chest loosens, and I release a shaky breath, my head dropping back against his shoulder.

“I feel so exposed,” I murmur.

Seb presses a kiss to the top of my head. “That’s because I see you,” he says quietly. “The real you. And I like what I see.”

A lump rises in my throat at his words, but I push past it, letting myself sink into the warmth of his embrace. “I hate you,” I say weakly, the words lacking any real bite.

Seb chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You’re terrible at lying, Elle. Always were.”

His arms tighten around me, his hand resting on the curve of my hip as his lips brush my forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, but there’s no harshness to the declaration this time – only quiet certainty.

And for the first time, I don’t feel the need to argue. Instead, I let the weight of those words settle over me, like a safety net I didn’t realise I craved.

“I’m yours,” I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can stop it.

At least until the contract is over and you discard me. Then I’ll still be yours, but broken and ruined for anyone else.

Seb’s smile is slow and satisfied, but his tone is soft when he responds. “And I’ll take care of you, Elle. Always.”

Always being for twelve months. The duration of the sham of our marriage.

The words linger in the air, a promise that feels as solid and unshakable as the man holding me, but I can’t help my bitter doubts.

Seb’s arms hold me tightly, his body solid and reassuring against mine. The weight of the moment wraps around us like the duvet, thick and inescapable. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the storm inside me refuses to settle.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.

I hesitate, my heart pounding. I know exactly what he means. But the more I say it, the more I believe it, and then it’ll be even harder to let him go.

“I’m yours,” I whisper again, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. Because it’s not a lie, no, it’s the bitter truth.

He exhales a low, satisfied sound, and pulls me even closer. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but laced with something unyielding. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The vulnerability in his tone surprises me, and I tilt my head to look up at him. His face is softer now, his features no longer clouded by dominance but by something deeper – something that makes my chest ache.

“You mean it,” I say, the realisation dawning on me. “This isn’t just about control for you.”

Seb’s jaw tightens slightly, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch tender. “No, Elle,” he says quietly. “It’s never just about control. It’s about you. Always you.”

The weight of his gaze presses against me, stripping me bare in a way that has nothing to do with my body. I want to look away, to shield myself, but I don’t. I can’t.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” I admit, my voice trembling. “You make me feel...exposed, but safe at the same time. It’s confusing.”

Seb strokes his thumb along my cheek, grounding me. “That’s because you’re not used to letting someone take care of you. You’re so used to fighting, keeping your guard up.”

“Maybe I have to,” I say defensively, the words sharper than I intend.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull back. “Not with me,” he says simply. “You don’t have to fight me, Elle. Ever.”

The sincerity in his voice wraps around me, disarming me completely. Tears sting my eyes again, and I blink them away, frustrated by my own emotions.

“You make it sound so easy,” I mutter, looking down at where my fingers toy with the edge of the blanket.

“It’s not,” he says, surprising me. “It’s messy. It’s complicated. But that’s what makes it real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His words settle into me, a quiet promise that feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

“You say that now,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “But what happens when I screw things up?” What happens when the contract ends?

Seb’s fingers gently tip my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze again. His expression is steady, unyielding. “Then I’ll remind you that I can handle you, Elle. I’m not afraid of your edges or your walls. I’ll keep coming back until you believe that you’re worth it.”

My breath catches, the weight of his words sinking into the cracks I’ve tried so hard to keep sealed. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. No one’s ever wanted all of me – the good, the bad, the broken.

“I don’t know if I can give you everything,” I confess, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My virginity? Easy. Have my body, my submission, my trust even. But my heart? Well, it’s already his, but can I let him know that? I don’t think so.

This is just temporary. Always doesn’t mean forever. This is him upholding his end of the contract only. Nothing more. Do not fall any harder Elle.

Seb smiles faintly, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. “I’m not asking for everything all at once. Just start with what you can. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

His calm, steady assurance is infuriating and comforting all at once, and I find myself leaning into it despite myself.

“Okay,” I whisper, the word fragile but real.

Seb’s arms tighten around me, and he presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. “That’s all I need,” he says softly.

For a moment, we lie there in silence, his hand tracing lazy circles on my back, my head tucked under his chin. The quiet feels heavy, full of unspoken promises and possibilities I can’t quite wrap my mind around.

“You’re not what I expected,” I finally say, breaking the stillness.

He chuckles, the sound warm and low. “Neither are you, Elle.”

I glance up at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “That’s not necessarily a compliment.”

Seb smirks, his hand trailing up to cup my cheek. “With you, it is.”

His lips brush against mine, soft and lingering, a kiss that feels more like a claim than an invitation. And this time, I don’t resist.

As I sink back into his arms, something shifts inside me – a tiny crack in the walls I’ve built. It’s terrifying, this idea of letting him in, of giving him pieces of me I’ve kept hidden for so long. But as his warmth surrounds me, his steady heartbeat anchoring me, I think maybe – just maybe – I’m ready to try.