Page 51 of Ransom
"Whose?"
"Yours."
"Whose mouth?"
"Yours."
"Whose cum stays in you?"
"Yours."
I leaned in toward the side of his neck below his jaw, where a collar wouldn't cover it, and I felt him angle his head to give it to me before I'd even closed my teeth.
"Mark me," he said against my ear. "Do it where they can see it."
I bit down hard enough to taste copper. He jerked against me and groaned, but he didn't pull away — he pressed up into it.
"Yes," he breathed. "Yes. There."
I kept my teeth in him, counted his pulse against my tongue, and didn't let up until I knew it would scar.
When I pulled back, the bruise was already coming up around the teeth marks, and the skin was broken in two places.
Mine.
"Look at that," I said against his throat. "Gonna wear that all day. Sierra's going to look at you. Coyote. Rafe. They're going to know."
"Yeah."
"Know what?"
"That I'm yours."
"That you let a bad man put his teeth in you and asked for it." I drove in harder, and his head snapped back against the tile. "Pretty fucking quiet now, Ranger."
"Ransom, please."
"Please what?"
"Harder—"
"You don't get to come yet."
He made a sound like I'd hit him.
"Hold it."
"I can't—"
"You will."
"Please—"
"You want it bad enough?"
"Yes."
I fucked him through the begging and the shaking until he was babbling a quiet litany of please.
