Page 43 of Bid For Me

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?”