Page 38 of Bid For Me
She shivers, a flush spreading up her neck, her lips parting as if to speak, but I don’t give her the chance. I press a finger to her lips, cutting off whatever excuse or apology she might be thinking of, and I take a step closer, crowding her, letting her feel the full force of my anger and need.
“You think you can play these little games with me? You think I’ll let you get away with that?” My tone is low, deadly, but there’s a roughness there too, a hunger I can barely contain. I slide my hand down to her waist, pulling her flush against me, feeling the way her breath catches, her body melting into mine even as she tries to hold onto her anger.
She lets out a soft gasp, her hands instinctively clutching at my shirt again, and I can feel her body responding, in the way that she leans into me, her breaths shallow and shaky. Her need is a palpable thing, and I can tell she’s just barely holding herself together, every nerve ending alive, her skin heating under my touch. The way she trembles against me, the way her lips part, it’s enough to drive me to the brink.
“I want you to look at me, Elle.” My voice is firm, commanding, and she hesitates, her gaze flickering with defiance before finally meeting mine, her cheeks flushed. “If you want to test my patience, I’ll make damn sure you understand the consequences.”
Her lips part, a soft, barely-there sound escaping her, and I can see the surrender there, the way she’s struggling to hold onto her defiance even as her need, her vulnerability, betray her. “Seb…” she breathes, her voice a soft, pleading whisper, and it sends another wave of raw heat through me, every ounce of control I have barely holding me back.
I lean in, my lips grazing her ear, my voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Oh, don’t worry, angel. I’ll make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elle
Seb’s eyes are dark,intense, boring into mine as he leans close, his voice a low, commanding whisper. “Your safeword is red.”
The words send a shiver down my spine, anchoring me in this moment, making my pulse race. My body tenses and then melts, a mix of anticipation and nerves firing through me. He’s staring at me, waiting for my response, and I can feel his authority settling over me, the unspoken power he wields in that single sentence. I take a deep breath, nodding slowly.
“Yes, Sir.”
There’s a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, but it’s tempered by something colder, something calculating. This isn’t the usual game, the playful push and pull we’ve had before. This is a punishment – one I’ve earned, one he’s intent on making sure I feel in every nerve.
He steps back just slightly, enough to create a sliver of space between us so that my arms fall to my side. His gaze roams over me in a way that makes me feel entirely exposed, vulnerable. My heart pounds, and I’m caught between the desire to reach out forhim and the urge to retreat, to shield myself from the weight of his stare. But I stay rooted, my breath shallow, letting him see every flicker of my apprehension.
“Take off your clothes,” he says softly, his tone steady, unwavering.
I hesitate, my cheeks flushing, but his eyes are steady, his expression unreadable, and I know there’s no room for argument. Slowly, I reach up, my fingers fumbling slightly as I undo the zipper on my dress, the fabric slipping down my shoulders and pooling at my feet. I feel his gaze following my every movement, leaving me in just my black lace thong and no bra.
The cool air of the room prickles against my skin.
His expression doesn’t change, and somehow, that calm is more unnerving than anything else. I feel like he’s dissecting me with that gaze, breaking me down with each second that passes in silence. My chest tightens, a heady mix of excitement and dread tangling within me, leaving me on edge, waiting, my body thrumming with tension.
“Turn around,” he orders, and his voice has dropped even lower, a dark velvet that wraps around me, sinking into my skin. I swallow hard, turning slowly, feeling his eyes on my back, my every movement magnified under his scrutiny.
A moment later, I feel his hands on my shoulders, firm, grounding. He slides his fingers down my arms, his touch achingly slow, and it feels like fire, each brush of his skin against mine sparking something deep within me, something I can’t control. I lean in to his touch, my body already responding, every inch of me attuned to him.
“Did you enjoy yourself out there?” he murmurs, his lips just barely grazing my ear. The question makes my stomach twist, and my cheeks heat as I remember the way I’d felt on that stage, the thrill, the surge of defiance. The arousal of both the eyes onme and the kiss of pain. I’d wanted him to see, to know that he wasn’t the only one with power in this, but now, under his touch, with his voice so close, I can’t keep up that same bravado.
I swallow, forcing myself to nod, though I can’t meet his gaze. “Yes, Sir,” I whisper, swallowing nervously.
He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a laugh and a hum of disapproval. “I thought so,” he says, his fingers trailing down my spine, leaving a line of heat in their wake. “But that won’t happen again, will it?”
I shake my head quickly, biting my lip, the weight of his control wrapping around me, pressing down, making me feel small, vulnerable. He’s toying with me, letting me feel the extent of his power, his control, and I know I’m exactly where he wants me.
But I’m also exactly where I want to be too.
His hands slide around to my waist, pulling me back against him, and I feel his breath warm against my neck. “I want you to remember this, Elle,” he murmurs, his tone laced with promise. “You’re mine. Every single part of you belongs to me. And I don’t share what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through me, my breath catching as he presses a kiss just below my ear, the softness contrasting with the edge in his tone. The heat is radiating off him, his need as potent as my own, and it takes everything in me not to turn, to press myself against him, to beg him to take me right here, to forget about punishment, about all of it.
But he’s not going to make this easy. I know that much.
“On your knees,” he says softly, releasing me, and my body obeys before my mind even processes the words, sinking down onto the soft carpet, my head bowed, every nerve ending alive, waiting, anticipating.
I hear him move, stepping back, his presence hovering over me, and I feel the pulse of his gaze, the weight of it pressing down on me. Time stretches, each second drawn out, the tension thickening the air around us, and I realise he’s waiting, letting me sit in this position, making me feel every inch of my vulnerability.
Finally, he circles round and kneels in front of me, lifting my chin with one finger, forcing me to meet his gaze once again. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark, filled with something raw, intense, and it steals my breath, making my pulse race even faster.