Page 130 of Bid For Me
I laugh, because there’s no way I can take any more. But once again, Seb proves me wrong and shows me exactly how in command of my body he really is.
The night continues in a haze of pleasure and pain, Seb pushing me further than I thought I could go, but never too far. Each touch, each word, is a reminder of the trust between us, of the love that’s grown from the desire we share.
The intensity in his gaze takes my breath away. “You’re mine, Elle,” he says, his voice fierce and unwavering.
“And you’re mine,” I reply, the truth of the words settling deep in my chest.
I know we’ve crossed a line, not into something darker, but into something infinitely brighter. Together. As it was always meant to be.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Elle
The smellof freshly brewed coffee fills the air as I pad barefoot across the kitchen, wrapped in one of Seb’s oversized shirts. We stayed late at the club last night, but ultimately came home and slept in this morning.
The expensive material slides over my skin, whispering against the faint marks he left on me last night – reminders of how deeply I’m his. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow.
Seb stands by the stove, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like it’s something he’s done his whole life. His dark hair is tousled, and he’s wearing sweats that hang low on his hips, showcasing his lean frame. The sight of him – so domestic, so utterly at ease – makes my chest ache with something fierce and beautiful.
“Good morning, angel,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, his lips curving into a smile that softens the sharp lines of his face.
“Morning,” I murmur, sliding onto a stool at the island and propping my chin on my hand. “Since when do you cook?”
He chuckles, flipping a pancake onto the growing stack. “Since I realised you like pancakes and I like watching you eat them.”
My cheeks flush, and I tut, but there’s no real bite to it. Seb has a way of saying things that make me feel cherished and desired all at once.
We eat together at the kitchen island, forks clinking against plates, sharing easy conversation and occasional stolen bites. The quiet intimacy of the moment feels as intoxicating as our wilder nights.
After breakfast, we curl up on the couch, a lazy tangle of limbs and contentment. Seb’s arm is draped over my shoulders, his fingers absently tracing patterns on my arm. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Elle,” he murmurs, his voice low and serious.
I tilt my head up to look at him, finding his piercing gold eyes watching me with an intensity that never fails to make me shiver.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud, but…thank you,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “For trusting me. For letting me be the one who gets all of you.”
Emotion swells in my throat, and I swallow hard. “You make it easy, Seb. You see me – the real me – and you never make me feel like I have to hide. So I guess I should be thanking you.”
His lips brush mine in a kiss that feels more like a promise than a demand, and when he pulls back, his smile is soft but wicked.
“Speaking of not hiding,” he says, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that sends heat pooling low in my belly, “I think it’s time we explored that toy I got for you.”
My breath catches, and I feel my pulse quicken. It’s not just the anticipation of what’s to come – it’s the trust that underpinsit all. With Seb, I know I’m safe to surrender, to explore the edges of who I am and what I want.
He stands, holding out his hand to me. “Come with me, angel.”
I take his hand, my heart pounding as he leads me toward the bedroom. The sunlight streaming through the windows shifts, casting us in golden light, and I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be – part of something beautiful, something that’s entirely ours.
I settle into the plush armchair in the library, curled up with a book that I probably shouldn’t be reading in broad daylight. The room smells faintly of old paper and the cedar shelves that line the walls, and the low hum of contentment fills me as I turn the pages. After Seb dragged me back to the bedroom yesterday, we barely came up for air.
But this morning he has business to attend to, the shop is closed, and I have some free time, so I decided to curl up in my favourite spot with a good book.
It’s a smutty romance – raw and unapologetically explicit, the kind of thing that has my cheeks heating and my thighs clenching as the heroine is bent to the hero’s will, in ways that make my body thrum with envy.
“Enjoying yourself, angel?”
I jump, the book slipping from my hands as Seb’s voice cuts through the quiet. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed, but the predatory gleam in his eyes says he knows exactly what I was reading.