Sweet Bite Marks Novels & Stories

“Mark how?” “It’s a bite, right here.” His traces a finger over the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “A deep bite, one that leaves his scent permanently on her skin.” “I – doesn’t that hurt?” I fret. Sinclair laughs, a dark, husky sound. “No sweet Ella, not if you time it right.” “Time it right with what?” I inquire innocently, furrowing my brow.

Then, seeming to sprout from where the incisors left their mark, are pale lines twisting and swirling together to form a web of a design in the center. It’s gorgeous. I wasn't expecting that at all, which led me to ask whether mate bond marks are just bites or if they create a mark as well. Chosen mates just have a bite mark and sometimes a small design of some kind. Fated mate bonds can become larger, more intricate designs. Elder Meredith told me of all the marks she'd seen in her time. They can range in all kinds of natural colors, from reds, browns, blacks, pinks, and whites. The designs themselves can't truly be described without having seen them.

I rarely sleep, my mind is never at rest to actually sleep or maybe insomnia had already seeped deeper into my system than I had expected. I was due for a haircut, my disheveled hair was a great clue. The tip of my nose stood red and pink lips, red. Wait, why were they red? Your constant biting down on it and licking, is hint enough? I rolled my eyes at my mind sassing me.

I knew that my body would be a little bruised considering the fact that he had to hold me in place, his tight grip on my waist would have left a mark as we both reached our climaxes, and I won’t mention the scratch marks which were probably on his back. The memory of him biting my neck, claiming me last night, marking me as his own was still fresh in my mind, and I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my lips despite my closed eyes. Chuckling, Blake connected his lips with my own in a gentle, loving kiss, one which I smiled into.

This attack needs to be a surprise, catching him off guard. Entering the tent, I find Cole engrossed in studying the map, his attention so intense that he remains oblivious to my presence. As I draw nearer, my eyes catch a glimpse of a mark on his neck, initially resembling a hickey or a playful “promise bite” as we teasingly refer to them. However, upon closer inspection, I discern that it is no mere hickey, but a profound mate mark.

I couldn't believe I had waited so long for her. I examined the point on my neck where she had bitten me. She had gotten me right where a mate mark was left. I wonder if she did that on purpose. I asked myself jokingly. But I noticed that there was still a dark spot there. Surely it wasn't still bruised; it would have healed by now, for certain. Sure enough, I could see something there, right where she had bitten me. I inched closer to the mirror to get a better look. But it wasn't a bruise I was seeing. It was a good mark.

she sneered to Mike’s question “Want some water?” she took it and gulped it to the last drop. While she chinned up to the drink, Mike took a moment to examine the aftermath of last night. Hickie and actual bite marks scattered all over her. Fingertip mark bruised her wrists. Fresh scratch marked her back, still swollen red. Not to mention her lips with 2 tiny little brown marks, the spot where it bleed yesterday. He was rough, but it's not all. His hand wrapped her waist and pulled her towards him.

Saraya’s breath hitched as she felt his lips on the spot near her collarbone—where he was going to mark her. “Relax,” Raf murmured, pressing his lips to her sweet spot. He kissed and sucked gently for a while before digging his canines into the spot. Saraya felt a sharp pain and tried to push him away, but Raf held her still. After a few seconds, Saraya calmed down. Raf looked at her face, then at the spot where he marked her, noticing it turning blue. “Wait till morning for the mark,” Raf whispered softly, wiping away the tear that had escaped her eye from the pain.

It is just teeth on flesh, cold and painfully ordinary. Inside my mind, my inner wolf scratches at the walls, whining in sudden panic, searching for a presence that isn't answering. Damian pulls back, breathing heavily. The mark is perfectly formed—a dark red crescent on my skin, already sealing, but it looks dull. My turn. I step closer, rising onto his toes. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and press my lips to the side of his neck. I find the pulsing heat of his gland and bite down hard.

I move to the one spot that has not been lacerated with the whip – his marking spot – and run my teeth across his skin finding the perfect spot. I sink my teeth deep into his skin until I hit bone. I want this mark to take. I want to know I have done enough to ensure this will work. I wait a little longer than necessary before I pull my teeth out wiping my tongue over the bite to close the wound. I sit back and hold my breath.