Chapter 109 109: Mine To Mark
Saint didn't speak again.
He simply moved.
One hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around Baby's throat—not crushing, but claiming. The pressure was steady, possessive, thumb pressing just enough against the side of Baby's windpipe to make his next breath come shallow and sweet. Baby's eyes fluttered, pupils blowing wide, lips parting on a soft, involuntary whimper.
"Good boy," Saint rasped, voice like gravel dragged over silk. "You asked for it. Now take it."
He shoved Baby flat onto his back in one smooth, controlled motion, following him down until his weight pinned Baby to the mattress. Baby's legs fell open instinctively, thighs bracketing Saint's narrow hips. The thin sleep pants did nothing to hide how hard Baby already was—cock straining against the fabric, a dark wet spot blooming at the tip.
Saint's mouth descended first.
He didn't kiss. He bit.
Teeth sank into the soft skin just below Baby's collarbone—hard enough to leave a perfect crescent of red, not quite breaking skin but promising to bruise deep purple by morning. Baby arched with a sharp cry, hands flying to Saint's shoulders, nails digging in.
"Fuck—yes—"
Saint growled against the fresh mark, tongue lapping over it once, soothing the sting before he moved lower. Another bite—right over Baby's left pec, teeth catching the pebbled nipple on the way down. He sucked hard, pulling the bud into his mouth until it throbbed, then released it with a wet pop only to bite the tender underside of the same pec. Baby's hips jerked up, seeking friction, grinding helplessly against Saint's stomach.
"Saint—please—"
Saint lifted his head just enough to meet Baby's glassy eyes.
"You don't get to beg yet," he said quietly, dangerously soft. "You get marked first. Every inch I've been dying to claim while you were out there playing games."
He released Baby's throat only to flip him in one brutal motion—face down, ass up, pants yanked away. Baby barely had time to brace on his forearms before Saint's palm cracked against the right cheek—sharp, ringing, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Baby moaned loud and broken, pushing back for more.
Another slap—left cheek this time—then a third, fourth, fifth in rapid succession until both cheeks glowed hot pink. Saint's handprints bloomed across pale skin like ownership stamps. Baby was shaking, thighs trembling, cock leaking steadily onto the sheets beneath him.
"Look at you," Saint murmured, voice thick with hunger he'd kept leashed for weeks. "So fucking slutty for it. You love being marked up, don't you? Love knowing tomorrow you'll feel me every time you sit, every time you move."
"Yes—fuck—yes—" Baby's voice cracked, forehead pressed to the mattress, ass arched high. "More. Please, Saint—mark me everywhere—"
Saint obliged.
He leaned down, teeth finding the sensitive skin at the base of Baby's spine. He bit. He sucked. Left a dark, sucking bruise right above the dimples. Then lower—biting the swell of one cheek, then the other, hard enough that Baby sobbed into the pillow. Saint's hands never stopped moving: one sliding up Baby's back to fist in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to expose the long line of his throat; the other slipping between Baby's thighs to cup his balls, rolling them gently before giving a light, warning squeeze.
Baby keened—high, needy, shameless.
Saint's mouth found the nape of Baby's neck next. He bit down—slow, deliberate—until Baby was trembling violently beneath him, then soothed the mark with long, wet licks before returning to bite again, harder. A necklace of bruises was already forming across Baby's shoulders, down his spine, along the curve of his hips.
When Saint finally flipped Baby onto his back again, Baby looked utterly wrecked: lips swollen from earlier kisses, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and dark with want, chest heaving, fresh bite marks blooming like violent flowers across his torso.
Saint settled between his thighs, caging him with both arms braced on either side of Baby's head. He lowered himself slowly, deliberately, letting Baby feel every inch of his weight, every hard line of muscle.
"Look at me," Saint ordered.
Baby's eyes snapped to his—wide, desperate, trusting.
Saint reached down, wrapped a hand around both their cocks, stroking them together in one long, slow pull. Baby's hips bucked, a filthy moan tearing out of him.
"You're mine," Saint said, voice low and final. "Say it."
"Yours," Baby gasped instantly. "All yours—always—fuck, Saint—"
Saint kissed him then—deep, filthy, devouring—while his free hand returned to Baby's throat, squeezing just enough to make Baby's next breath hitch beautifully. At the same time, he lined himself up, nudging the blunt head against Baby's entrance—already slick from how desperately Baby's body had responded to every mark, every slap, every bite.
He pushed in slow—agonizingly slow—watching Baby's face the whole time: the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes rolled back, the way his fingers clawed at Saint's shoulders like he was afraid to let go.
When Saint bottomed out—buried to the hilt, hips flush—he stilled.
Baby was shaking beneath him, inner walls fluttering wildly, trying to pull him deeper.
"Feel that?" Saint whispered against Baby's ear. "That's me claiming every fucking inch of you. No more pretending. No more games. Just this."
Baby nodded frantically, tears slipping down his temples—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of finally being full, finally being owned exactly the way he'd craved.
"Move," Baby begged, voice wrecked. "Please—fuck me like you hate me. Like you love me. Just—don't stop—"
Saint didn't.
He pulled back almost all the way—until just the head remained—then slammed back in, hard and deep. Baby cried out, back arching off the bed. Saint set a punishing rhythm: long, brutal strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside, hips snapping forward with enough force to make the headboard thud against the wall.
Every thrust earned a new mark—teeth on Baby's shoulder, fingers bruising his hips, palm cracking against the side of his ass when he tried to push back too eagerly.
Baby took it all—slutty, receptive, perfect.
He moaned with every impact, begged with every retreat, clenched hard every time Saint bottomed out like he was trying to keep him there forever. His own cock leaked steadily between them, untouched, smearing slick across both their stomachs.
"Gonna come—" Baby gasped, voice breaking. "Saint—gonna come just from you fucking me—marking me—"
"Do it," Saint growled, teeth grazing Baby's jaw. "Come on my cock. Let me feel how much you love being mine."
Baby shattered with a sob—whole body locking tight, cock pulsing untouched between them, spilling hot and thick across both their stomachs while his hole clenched rhythmically around Saint's length.
The sight—the feel—snapped the last of Saint's restraint.
He fucked Baby through the aftershocks—harder, deeper—until his own release hit like a freight train. He buried himself to the hilt, hips grinding in tiny, possessive circles as he came deep inside, flooding Baby with heat, marking him from the inside out.
They collapsed together—sweaty, trembling, marked and claimed.
Saint didn't pull out.
He simply rolled them so Baby was draped across his chest, still connected, still full. His arms wrapped around Baby like iron bands, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his neck, thumb stroking over the fresh bite mark there.
"Mine," Saint whispered into Baby's hair, voice soft now, reverent.
Baby nuzzled closer, pressing a shaky kiss to Saint's collarbone.
"Yours," he breathed. "Always."
And for the first time in weeks, the silence between them wasn't heavy with lies.
It was heavy with truth.