Little Songbird
A Vampire Eren Yeager x Lounge Singer reader
Synopsis: As a lounge singer, you see many captivating faces in the crowd, but none are as captivating as the man with the green eyes. He always watches from the far back, making your knees weak
But what happens when he finds you after the curtains close?
Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, strangers to lovers, vampire!eren, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck, implied masturbation, oral fingering, handjob, Exhibitionism, spit, Dacryphilia.
Word count: 12,483!
The air in the lounge was warm tonight, smelling of spilled gin, expensive perfume, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the gilded ceiling. It was just part of the scenery, like the worn velvet of the booths or the soft gleam of the brass foot-rail along the bar.
Low light from frosted glass sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the room, accompanied by the murmur of conversations. At a corner table, a group of men in tailored suits argued over a poker hand. Near the stage, a woman in a feathered headband laughed with her friends.
It was another Friday night at The Pixis Palladium, full of the same kind of people with the same kind of wants.
A drink, a game, a distraction.
You stood in the narrow space behind the crimson stage curtain, your right foot tapping on the dusty floorboards. You could hear the band finishing their last instrumental number. The number even had a few couples up and swaying. You took a slow breath. You were adorned in a deep red number with a drop waist and delicate beading that caught what little light there was back here. Your fingers went to your hair just to check.
It was pinned up in careful waves, a few artful curls escaping to frame your face. The makeup girl, Sadie, had done her usual magic, giving you a cupid’s bow lip and smoky eyes that made you look enchanting.
“Five seconds, doll,” a stagehand whispered. You nodded.
The music faded. The master of ceremonies, a portly man named Arthur with a booming voice, stepped into the spotlight’s white circle.
“And now, the voice that turns our whiskey to honey, the lady who makes our hearts beat a little faster… give a warm welcome to our own songbird!”
The applause was polite, punctuated by a few whistles from the usual hecklers near the front. You smoothed your hands down your dress. A smile, one you’d practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, settled on your face. You pushed through the heavy curtain.
The light was as blinding at first but after you blinked just a few times, you could see better. You smiled as you walked to the center of the stage, your low heels clicking softly. You lifted a hand in a small wave, your eyes scanning the crowd as they always did, taking in the blurred faces in the dark beyond the stage lights.
"Sing for us dollface!"
"Come on pretty lady!"
Out of all the mens voices and whistles, your eyes immediately looked up and just a few seats back.
And then you found him. Like you always did now.
He was seated at a small round table for two near the back, far from the busiest part of the room. But the shadows didn’t seem to cling to him. His silhouette was as clear as the bright moon in the sky. He sat with one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him.
In his other hand, he held a glass of something dark. Whiskey, you guessed. His hair was dark and brushed back from a strong, handsome face. But it was his eyes you always found first.
Green as fresh spring grass, as emeralds pulled from the earth. They stared at you from a table midway back, positioned perfectly in your line of sight.
Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat before you locked it back in place.
There you are.
The man with the green eyes. He’d been coming for months. At first, you’d noticed him because he was so still. Everyone else fidgeted, talked, drank, laughed. He just watched. And he watched you. It wasn’t a leer, not like some of the men who came to see the “girl singer.” It was just so focused that it managed to make your skin prickle every single time.
You turned slightly to nod at the bandleader, Mr. Hoover. He gave a little nod back, his fingers poised over the piano keys. You turned back to the audience, finding those green eyes again. You let your gaze rest there for a second longer than you would with anyone else.
His eyes were just so hauntingly captivating.
A corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.
You opened your mouth, and the first notes of “Ain’t Misbehavin’” came out. The band slid in perfectly behind you. You let the music take over, swaying gently with the beat, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the microphone stand. You performed the song, hitting the notes, putting in the little shrugs and winks the audience expected. "I'm saving my love for you."
More whistles and dog shouts erupted from the crowd.
Your eyes roamed the crowd, making brief contact with a smiling couple here, a nodding older gentleman there. But your attention, like a compass needle, kept swinging back to the back table.
He hadn’t moved. He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. His eyes never left yours. Not when a man at a nearby table let out a loud guffaw at a joke. Not when a waitress passed right in front of his table, blocking his view for a moment. His gaze was a fixed point. You feltlikeas if he was touching you.
It was unnerving.
It was exhilarating.
It made you put a little more ache into the song. As you sang your eyes met his, and for a wild second, you felt like you were singing the words directly to him. Seemed as if you were.
During a particularly soft bridge, you saw him take another drink. This time, a drop of the dark liquid escaped the rim of the glass and traced a path down his lower lip, over the faintest shadow of stubble on his chin. He didn’t seem to notice at first, his eyes still locked on you. Then, with a slow, agonizing movement, he lifted his thumb and wiped the droplet away. His eyes finally broke from yours, glancing down at his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the whiskey off it, his gaze sliding back up to meet yours as he did so.
The action was mundane, but something about the way he did it, almost made you gasp, but you were a professional.
The rest of your set passed in a blur of melody, cheers, and hoots. You finished with an upbeat number, “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” blowing a kiss to the audience as the applause swelled. You gave a final bow, your eyes sweeping the room one last time. He was clapping, slowly, three times. Just three. Then he set his glass down, before licking his lips.
You retreated behind the curtain, the cacophony of the lounge muffling as you heard Aruther walk up to speak again. Your heart was beating a little too fast.
“Knocked ‘em dead again, honey,” Sadie said, passing you with an armful of costume hangers. She winked. “Especially that tall drink of water in the back. I saw him looking. Hell, everyone saw him looking.”
You managed a laugh, but it sounded breathy. “He’s just a regular.”
“Some regular,” she said, her voice dropping. “Kinda gives me the creeps, but damn if he isn’t pretty to look at.”
You didn’t answer, just made your way to the small, cluttered dressing room you shared with two other girls. You sat at your mirror, staring at your own reflection. The slightly smudged eyeliner, the red lipstick still intact. You unclipped your hair, letting the waves fall around your shoulders with a sigh.
The night came to an end as it always does. Sounds if the men stacking chairs, cleaning glasses, and the band packing up their instruments. You changed out of the beaded dress, hanging it carefully, and pulled on your own clothes as the other women, Historia and Pieck left the dressing room with sweet goodbyes. "See you all next time."
You slipped into your simple white-colored blouse, a black skirt, and stockings. Finally, you shrugged into your maroon coat. The collar and cuffs lined with soft, creamy fox fur. Perfect for the cold.
You said your goodbyes, poking your head into various rooms. “Night, Arthur.” “See you tomorrow, Jimmy.” You found Mr. Pixis in his cramped office, going over the night’s receipts with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“Heading out, my dear?” he asked, looking up. His eyes were always so kind. He made sure that everyone was treated with respect at his establishment, especially the women.
“Yes, sir. Good night.”
“Walk quickly,” he advised, as he always did. “It’s a strange world out there after dark.”
You nodded, with a smile. “Always do.”
Pushing open the heavy brass and glass door of the lounge, you were consumed by the chill of the night air. It was a clean, free of smoke and multiple types of perfume. The street was quiet, most of the legitimate businesses closed for the night. A single, sickly yellow streetlamp cast a weak circle of light on the damp pavement a few doors down. You turned left, starting the eight-block walk to your boarding house.
Your heels echoed on the sidewalk, as you pulled the fur collar tighter around your neck, your gloved hands buried in the pockets. You were used to this walk. You’d done it a hundred times. But you never liked it. The shadows between buildings seemed too deep. Every alley mouth was a gaping black maw.
Dangerous it was.
About three blocks in, you heard it. A soft, shuffling sound from behind you, like a shoe scraping over grit.
You froze for a second, your ears straining. Nothing. You shook your head. Just a cat. Or your imagination. You started walking again, a little faster.
Shuffle-scrape.
It was closer this time. And it wasn’t a cat. It was the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Your heart jumped into your throat. You didn’t want to turn around. Turning around meant seeing what was there. Your pace quickened to a near-jog. Your boarding house was still five blocks away.
Shuffle-scrape. Shuffle-scrape.
They were keeping pace. Matching your speed. The sound was directly behind you now. Panic lanced through you. You broke into a full run, your purse banging against your hip, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. You dared a glance over your shoulder, trying to see a shape in the dark.
A stalker from the lounge?
That killer that had been on the loose?
It could be anyone.
You didn’t see the person in front of you until it was too late.
You slammed into a chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, sure you were about to hit the hard pavement.
Strong hands shot out and caught you by the shoulders, stopping your fall effortlessly. The grip was firm but not painful, the fingers long and surprisingly elegant-looking against the dark wool of your coat. You looked up, gasping for breath.
And you found yourself staring into those same piercing green eyes.
He was even more striking up close. The dim streetlamp caught the angles of his face. The beautiful line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows. His lips looked soft as silk and as pink as rose. His mouth was set in a concerned line.
He also smelled so good.
Deliciously so.
“Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was lower than you’d imagined it would be, but nonetheless captivating. His hands were still on your shoulders, holding you steady.
For a moment, you were speechless. You just stared at him, your mind trying to reconcile the man from the shadowy lounge with the man holding you up on a dark street.
“I… I’m sorry, sir” you finally stammered, your voice shaky. You took a step back, and his hands fell away, leaving your shoulders feeling strangely cold. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I heard… I thought someone was following me.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes moved from your face. He looked past you, down the dark stretch of sidewalk you’d just run from. His gaze was just like how it was at the lounge, focused. It was a hunter’s look. He stared at a particular patch of deeper shadow between two brick buildings, his body perfectly still. He didn’t blink. You watched him, clutching your purse to your chest, your own fear momentarily forgotten in the strangeness of his concentration.
After what felt like a full minute, he blinked once, slowly, and looked back down at you. His eyes softened, the intense scrutiny replaced by something more gentle.
“It’s too late for a woman to be out alone, miss” he said simply. His voice held no judgment or malice. He gestured down the street with a slight tilt of his head. “Are you headed far?”
You swallowed. “Just to Acacia Street. The boarding house there.”
“May I accompany you?” he asked. He didn’t smile, but the offer seemed genuine. He extended his arm slightly, not quite offering it to take, but presenting the option. “It would put my mind at ease.”
Every warning you’d ever heard, every bit of common sense screamed at you. Don’t go with strangers. Especially men you don’t know. Especially men who stare at you for months and then appear out of nowhere on a dark street. But another part of you, a part exhausted by fear and still humming from the adrenaline of the chase, looked at him. He’d caught you when you fell. He hadn’t tried to grab you or hurt you. He’d just… asked. And those eyes, now that they were on you again, held nothing but safety.
Your caution wrestled with your desire to not walk the last five blocks alone. The memory of the shuffling footsteps decided it.
“Okay,” you said. “Thank you.”
You didn’t take his arm. You fell into step beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He nodded, understanding, and began to walk, matching his longer stride to yours. The silence was total, broken only by the synchronized sound of your footsteps. The air felt colder now. You were focused on the man beside you, of the way his shoulder occasionally brushed the sleeve of your coat.
He walked with a kind of liquid grace, his movements completely silent aside from the tap of his fine leather shoes on the pavement. You found yourself glancing at him sideways, studying his profile. He seemed utterly unbothered by the quiet.
And breathing beautiful in the moonlight.
After a few blocks, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. The footsteps were gone. The street seemed less menacing with him beside you.
“You have an incredible voice,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice didn’t startle you, it was actually the complete opposite. It was like smooth molasses filled your ears.
You looked at him, surprised. “Thank you, sir”
“How does one acquire a voice like that?” he asked. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. “Training? Or were you simply born with it?”
You shrugged, a little thrown by the question. “Born with it, I guess. I sang in church as a kid. Never had lessons or anything.” You paused. “My mom said I was singing before I was talking.”
He turned his head to look at you then, a soft smile touching his lips. “A beautiful gift,” he said. “To bring such a sound into the world. It’s a rare thing.”
The compliment was so direct, so unadorned, that you felt your body starting to heat up. You looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk. “It’s just a job.”
“It’s more than that,” he said quietly. “I can see it when you sing.”
You didn’t know how to answer that. So you just kept walking.
Finally, you turned onto Acacia Street. Your boarding house was halfway down the block, a tall, narrow building with a faint light glowing in the front parlor window.
“This is me,” you said, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading to the front door.
He stopped beside you, turning to face you fully. The weak light from the parlor window barely reached him, outlining him in soft gold. “I’m glad you’re home safely miss,” he said.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward. You should just say goodnight and go inside. But you felt a pull, a need to acknowledge this bizarre yet intriguing encounter. You stuck out your hand for a handshake. “Thank you, Mr… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
He looked down at your gloved hand, then back up at your face. He didn’t take your hand to shake it. Instead, he reached out and gently turned it over, so your palm faced downward. His touch through the soft leather of your glove was a faint. Without breaking eye contact, he bent at the waist. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of your gloved hand.
It wasn’t a dry peck. He held his lips there for a full two seconds. You could feel the softness of his mouth, the slight pressure. A shiver ran straight up your arm and into your core. You had to bite your lip from how tender it was. His lips were warm. They felt dangerous. They felt like sin.
His eyes met yours as he kissed your hand, his lips finally pulling back. He straightened up, but he didn’t let go of your hand. He kept his fingers lightly around your wrist, his thumb resting on your pulse point. He looked up from the spot he’d kissed, his green eyes finding yours. They seemed to drink in the streetlight.
“Eren,” he said, “You may call me Eren, if you’d like.”
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Your pulse was hammering under his thumb, and you knew he could feel it. The feeling of his mouth on your glove was better than any kiss you have had with a man.
“Eren,” you repeated, the name felt perfect on your tongue. You managed a smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. “What a lovely name. I'm Y/n."
He returned the smile, a little wider this time, showing a glimpse of white teeth. He finally released your hand, and you let it fall to your side, as he locked his eyes on yours again. "Your name is...intoxicatingly beautiful."
This man was dangerous. That voice, the looks, the gaze. It was enough to have a woman throw their panties at him, no man has ever held your attention like this, and yet, you had to go inside.
“Goodnight,” you whispered.
He simply nodded, a single, graceful dip of his head. “Goodnight.”
You turned, fumbling in your purse for your key. Your fingers were trembling. You found it, fitted it into the lock, and pushed the heavy door open. You stepped into the foyer, your cat immediately coming to wrap its furry body around and inbetween your legs. You paused, your hand still on the door.
You had to look. You had to see if he was still there.
You turned around, leaning back out the door.
The bottom of the stone steps were empty. The sidewalk was clear. You scanned the street, left and right. Nothing. No retreating figure, no shadow moving away. He was just gone. As if he’d never been there at all. As if the whole walk, his hand on your shoulder, his lips on your gloved hand, had been a vivid dream conjured by the night air and your own fear.
You stood there in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the empty space where he had stood. The chill from outside was beginning to seek inside your home, causing your cat to run towards your living room area, but you didn'treally feel it. All you felt was the lingering warmth on the back of your hand, and the realization that the man with the green eyes was now a man with a name.
Eren.
You finally pushed the door closed. You leaned back against the wood, and clutched your chest. The night was over, but something, you knew with a certainty was that, this will not be the last time you see him.
The weeks that followed that first encounter passed in a blur of music, smoke, and those green eyes.
Eren became a regular fixture, not just at The Pixis Palladium, but in your life. He started showing up everywhere. At the corner store where you bought your weekly groceries, somehow appearing in the produce section just as you were selecting apples. Outside the boarding house on Sunday mornings when you left for your walk in the park. At the library where you sometimes spent your afternoons off, reading romance novels in the back corner.
It should have been unsettling. It should have sent every warning bell in your head ringing. But instead, you found yourself looking for him. Anticipating his arrival. Your heart would do this stupid little jump whenever you spotted that dark hair and those devastating eyes.
The conversations started small. A comment about the weather. A question about what you were reading. But they grew. You learned he had a taste for jazz, that he’d traveled extensively though he never quite specified where, that he had an opinion on everything from politics to poetry. He was educated, well-spoken, and had this way of listening to you that made you feel like every word you said mattered.
And god, could he talk. His voice alone was enough to make your thighs clench together. But the things he said, the way he said them, always walking this razor’s edge between proper and provocative. He’d compliment the curve of your neck and make it sound like he was discussing architecture. He’d describe the way you moved on stage and somehow make it feel like he was touching you with his words alone.
More than once, you’d excused yourself to the bathroom after a conversation with him, your underwear embarrassingly wet, your body buzzing with want. He was a gentleman, always. But there was something underneath, something dangerous that lurked behind those eyes and that smooth voice. Something that promised he could be very, very ungentlemanly if given the chance.
Tonight was different though. The city was on edge, well it had been for a while now. Three more people had gone missing in the last fortnight, all last seen in nightclubs or on their way home from them. The papers screamed about a possible serial killer, a “Jazz- Age Jack the Ripper.” The laughter at The Pixis seemed forced now, the applause thinner.
Your friends from the lounge, Sadie and Pieck, were especially jumpy. After your Friday night set, the three of you were changing in the dressing room, accompanied by none other than quiet anxiety.
“I don’t like it,” Pieck muttered, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. “My pa won’t stop telling me to quit. Says it’s not safe for a girl to work nights.”
“It’s never been safe,” Sadie snorted, wiping off her stage makeup with cold cream. “But now it feels…even scarier. I keep looking over my shoulder.”
You were feeling it too, but you hated to see some of your favorite girls so down.
“We should go out,” you said suddenly, turning from the mirror. “Somewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Let’s go to The Sapphire Room. They’ve got that new swing band. We’ll dance until we can’t think.”
Sadie’s eyes lit up. “You know, that’s not a half-bad idea. I’ve been wound tighter than a clock.” Pieck hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But we stick together. No wandering off.”
“Perfect" you said, a real smile touching your lips for the first time all night.
You chose your dress with care. It was a new acquisition, a sinful indulgence from a second-hand shop that specialized in clothes from fallen society girls. Orange-brown silk, shot through with golden threads, beaded with tiny amber crystals. It was a body-con garment that clung to every curve, with a ruffled hem that swished around your mid-thigh. It was not a dress for a lady. It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be looked at. You paired it with silk stockings, T-strap heels, and left your hair down in loose waves.
You looked like a sunset distilled into a woman.
The Sapphire Room was a different from The Pixis. It was bigger, brighter, bawdier. The air vibrated with the blare of trumpets and the pounding beat of a full swing band on a raised platform. The dance floor was a swirling mass of bodies, men in suits, women in fringe and sequins, all moving in a frantic, joyful release.
You lost Sadie and Pieck to the throng almost immediately, swallowed up by eager partners. So much for Piecks plan, but you didn’t mind. You let the music get inside you, let it move your hips, your shoulders. A man in a pinstripe suit appeared in front of you, his face flushed with drink and good cheer. He didn’t ask, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the whirl."Let's go pretty lady."
You laughed, letting him spin you. The dress swirled around, the beads catching the light. It felt good to move without a microphone in your hand, to be just another body in the crowd. Another man cut in, then another. You became a prize to be passed around the floor, a flash of orange-brown silk in the sea of black and navy. You smiled, you danced, you let their hands settle on your waist, your back.
You were spinning away from the third man feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, when you collided with a chest that you had come to recognize along with his scent.
Sandwood. Old books. Rain. And underneath it all, something metallic.
Your hands came up, palms flattening against the fine wool of his jacket. You looked up.
Eren. His green eyes were like chips of stained glass under the spinning lights. He wasn’t smiling fully, just a little smirk. His expression was intense, focused solely on you. “Fancy meeting you here,” you said, your voice coming out a little breathy.
“I go where the music is,” he said, his voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it over the band. His hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers spanning the curve of them through the silk. They were warm. Almost hot and it was making you feel hot too. “And I had a feeling you’d be where the music is.”
“You followed me,” you said.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, a ghost of a smile finally touching his mouth. “Saw you through the window. Couldn’t help myself.”
The song shifted to something slower, a bluesy number with a sensual beat. The dancers around you melted into closer embraces. Eren didn’t ask. He simply pulled you against him, one hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush to his body. You could feel every hard plane of him. Your breasts were crushed against his chest, your stomach against his. Your head fit perfectly under his chin.
“This is dangerous,” you murmured into his collar. You could smell his skin and oh how it feels like you feel under a spell.
“I know,” he breathed into your hair. “I don’t see you moving away though, huh?"
You started to move with him. He was a good dancer, leading with subtle shifts of his body. You let him guide you, your bodies swaying as one unit. His hand on your back crept lower, one singular finger going agonizinly slow down your back before he rested his whole hand on the swell of your backside. A shiver racked your entire body. You turned your head, so your lips were near his ear.
“People are watching,” you whispered.
“Let them,” he whispered back. His breath was warm against your ear.
If he was gonna be bold, so could you. You turned in his arms so your back was to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, crossing over your stomach, holding you tight against him. You could feel his form against the base of your spine. A soft moan crawling its way out your throat.
“Yeah,” he groaned softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You feel that don't you? That’s all for you. Has been for months.”
You arched your back, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His arms tightened. One of his hands slid up from your stomach, over the silk covering your ribs, stopping just shy of your breast. His thumb stroked the underside of the curve through the fabric. Your breath hitched.
“Eren…”
“Tell me to be a gentleman and I’ll take my hands off you. I’ll walk you back to your friends and say goodnight.”
You didn’t say a word. You turned your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder. You let him see the want in your eyes, the raw, unguarded hunger. You’d hidden it for weeks, but you didn’t hide it now.
His hand finally closed over your breast, palming it fully. The silk of the dress did nothing against his touch. You could feel the heat of his hand, the slight roughness of his palm. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure. "Shit..." You closed your eyes and moaned just a bit into his ear. Your nipple that he had been twisting was now peaking painfully against the fabric, and you bit your lip to stifle a much louder moan from the sight.
His other hand slid down from your stomach, over the front of your dress, his fingertips pressing against the silk covering your mound. You gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. The music was still pounding, people were still dancing all around you, but the world had narrowed to the space where his body met yours.
“We need to leave,” Eren whispered into your ear. His voice was ragged. “Right fucking now.”
You nodded, unable to form words. His hand left your breast, grabbed your hand, and he was pulling you through the crowd. You followed, your legs shaky, your core throbbing with every step. You caught a glimpse of Sadie’s surprised face as you passed, but you didn’t stop. You pushed through the packed bodies, past the bar, and out into the night.
The street was quieter, the jazz a muffled thump behind the closed doors. You were both breathing hard, clouds of vapor forming and vanishing in the lamplight. He still had your hand in a tight grip.
He led you down the block to where a beautiful black Packard was parked, its long hood gleaming under a streetlamp. It looked expensive, that must come with being rich. He opened the passenger door for you and you slid in, the smooth leather of the seat cool against your bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. He closed the door, walked around the front with quick, long strides, and got in behind the wheel. The engine growled to life with a turn of the key.
He drove fast, his eyes on the road. You watched his profile, the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over, tentatively, and placed your hand on his thigh, massaging it a bit. The muscle there was taut as a steel cable. He glanced at you, his green eyes glowing in the dark of the car.
“If you keep touching me, I’m going to wreck this car,” he said, his voice tight.
“Then pull over,” you heard yourself say. The words were out before you could think them through.
A low sound came from his throat, almost a snarl. “Not a chance.”
He kept driving, leaving the bright lights and crowded streets of the city center behind. The buildings grew farther apart, giving way to larger estates shrouded in trees. Finally, he turned onto a long, private drive lined with old, gnarled oaks. At the end of it stood his house.
It was exactly as you’d pictured in your wildest, darkest imaginings. A tall structure of blackened brick, all sharp angles and pointed arches. Gothic spires clawed at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way that made your stomach flip, like looking at a sharp knife. He parked in front of the heavy wooden door and killed the engine.
He got out, came around, and opened your door. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your heels sinking into the gravel. He didn’t let go of your hand. He led you up the wide stone steps to the door, unlocked it with an old, ornate key, and pushed it open.
Inside, it was dark and cavernous. The air was cool, smelled of old stone. He flicked a switch, and a chandelier high above sputtered to life, casting a dim, wavering light over a grand foyer. A wide staircase curved upwards into shadows.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He was still playing the part of the host, but the act was paper-thin. You could see the tension in every line of his body, the barely-restrained need.
You shook your head. You were done with pretending. You turned to face him, reached up, grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to yours.
His lips were soft, just like you remembered from the touch on your glove, but they moved against yours with a hunger. You opened your mouth to him and his tongue plunged inside, tasting of whiskey and something awfully metallic. You moaned into his mouth, your hands sliding from his jacket to tangle in his hair. It was as soft as it looked.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the cold stone wall next to the staircase. The impact jarred you so much you broke the kiss for a second. You were both panting. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green and a string of saliva connecting both of your tongues.
“Upstairs,” he managed to say. “Now.”
You didn’t need telling twice. You took the stairs two at a time, him right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as if he was afraid you’d vanish. The hallway upstairs was dark, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed open a heavy door and pulled you inside his bedroom.
It was large, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed with dark velvet hangings. A fireplace held cold ashes. Books were piled on every available surface. Moonlight streamed in through a tall, narrow window.
The door clicked shut behind you. You were on him again in an instant, kissing him roughly, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. Your hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling in your haste. He helped you, tearing it open, sending buttons pinging across the wooden floor. His shirt followed, ripped open down the front. You ran your hands over his chest. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, stretched tight over hard muscle. He was perfect.
You kissed him again, your tongue sweeping into his mouth. And that’s when you felt them. The sharp points.
You froze. Your tongue had glided right over them. Two elongated canines, sharp as needles.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Your eyes flew open. You stared at his mouth. His lips were red and wet from your kiss. He wasn’t smiling. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.
“Eren…” you whispered.
His eyes began to shine. Not a trick of the light. They literally glowed from within, a eerie emerald light. “Surprise,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
Before you could react, he moved. It was too fast for a human. One second he was in front of you, the next you were on your back on the giant bed, the velvet covers soft beneath you. He was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His weight was immense.
He lowered his head to your neck. You felt the warm puff of his breath against your skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of your jugular. Something had been bugging you ever since you met him. He was always so gentle yet so mysterious. Mostly out at night.
“I knew it,” you breathed, more to yourself than to him.
“Knew what?” he murmured against your skin. His lips brushed the frantic pulse there.
“That you were different. Dangerous.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Dangerous is one word for it.” He licked a stripe up your neck, from your collarbone to your ear. You gasped. His tongue felt like fire. “You’re different too, you know. From the others.”
“Others?” You tried to twist, but he held you easily.
“The women,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His mouth was right by your ear. “The ones who go missing. The papers have it all wrong. It’s not a man with a knife. It’s a man with fangs.” He kissed just below your earlobe. “Most of them… they’re just food. A quick drink in an alley, a body dumped in the river. Easy. Forgettable.”
His free hand came up and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His glowing eyes were terrifying, beautiful. “But you… I saw you that first night. On that stage. You shone. Like a fucking beacon. I couldn’t just take you. I had to have you. All of you.”
His confession should have horrified you. It shocked you. But it also sent a flood of heat straight to your core. You were wet, so wet you could feel it soaking through your silk panties. The monster had chosen you. Not to kill quickly, but to… to what?
“My latest prey,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck again. “But I don’t want to just drain you dry. Not yet. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you while I drink from you. I want to feel you cum on my cock while your blood is on my tongue.”
The filthiness of his words, the raw, graphic hunger in them, made you whimper. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily. You felt it, his erect dick, still confined in his trousers, press against your center.
“You want that too,” he observed, his voice smug. “I can smell it on you. The fear… and the want. They’re mixing together. It’s intoxicating.”
He shifted his weight, releasing your wrists. Before you could move, his hands were on the straps of your dress. He pulled them down your arms in one rough motion, baring your torso to the waist. The beaded silk pooled around your hips. The cold air hit your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. He stared down at your breasts, his glowing eyes full of a reverence that was completely at odds with the things he’d just said.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
You cried out, arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as it lashed over the sensitive peak. He sucked, hard, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth, his fangs scraping delicately against the areola. The combination of him being a threat and searing pleasure was dizzying. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same torturous attention, biting and sucking until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers clutching at the velvet bedspread.
“Please,” you heard yourself beg.
He lifted his head. His lips and chin were slick with your scent, with his saliva. “Please what?” His hand slid down your stomach, over the silk of your dress bunched at your hips, and cupped your covered up pussy between your legs. You gasped, your eyes rolling back. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart."
“I want you to bite me,” you blurted out.
His eyes flashed brighter. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Do it.”
A grin spread across his face. “Ofcourse, sweetheart.”
He dove for your neck again. This time, there was no preamble. You felt the piercing pain, twin points of exquisite pressure breaking your skin. You gasped so hard it felt like the air was caught in your throat. For a second, it was just pain.
Then it changed.
A wave of pure pleasure washed over you, so intense it bordered on pain itself. It started at the point where his fangs were buried in your flesh and radiated outward, a molten heat that flooded your veins, pooled in your belly, made your toes curl. Your back arched violently off the bed. A long, broken moan was torn from your throat.
He groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through out your entire body. He was drinking, swallowing, his throat working. And with each pull, another wave of that impossible pleasure crashed through you. It was an aphrodisiac. Ofcourse. Your mind went blank, white noise and fireworks. You were grinding yourself against his hand, which was still pressed against you, desperate for more friction.
“Fuck,” he snarled, pulling his mouth from your neck with a wet pop. Blood, your blood, smeared his lips, dripped down his chin. His eyes were blazing. “You taste… fuck.”
He kissed you, hard. You could taste your own blood on his tongue. It should have been disgusting. It was the most erotic thing you’d ever experienced. You kissed him back greedily, sucking on his tongue, licking the blood from his lips.
He broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice guttural. “You understand that, don't you?"
In that moment, swimming in the haze of blood-loss euphoria and lust, you didn’t care. “Yes,” you panted.
He finally moved his hand from between your legs to yank at your dress, pulling it and your stockings down your hips and legs in one frantic motion. He tossed them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your silk panties, which were soaked through, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them off you, the sound of tearing silk loud in the room.
They were one of your good pairs but you didn't give a shit right now.
He stared down at your naked body with a ravenous gaze. He leaned down and kissed your stomach, licking a path between your legs. You tensed, expecting his mouth on your dripping, plump cunt, but he didn’t stop. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you jump and cry out.
“So responsive,” he muttered against your flesh. His fingers moving slowly against your dripping folds. His fingers moved slowly against your dripping folds. They traced the outer lips, slick with your wetness, the pads of his fingers barely touching you. He was mocking you. Drawing out the moment, making you wait. You whimpered, lifting your hips off the bed in a silent plea for more pressure.
"None of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left there, then returned his attention between your legs. His fingers continued their maddening exploration, sliding up and down your slit, gathering wetness, but avoiding the spot that ached for him. He parted your lips with two fingers, exposing the glistening, flushed pink flesh within. Your pussy was swollen, the hood of your clit visible and sensitive to the cool air. You were completely bare, having learned long ago that hair could complicate things, could hold a scent you didn't want lingering.
He blew a cool stream of air across your exposed core. You shuddered, a full-body twitch that made the velvet covers rustle. "Fuck, Eren, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"Please what?" he asked, his tone conversational, as if he were asking about the weather. He dragged a single fingertip from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, circling your clit once, so lightly it was torture. "You have to use your words."
"Touch me. Fucking touch me properly."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
His middle finger dipped inside you, just the tip, breaching your entrance. You gasped. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate for more. He withdrew it, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. In, out. A shallow, teasing penetration. You could feel the drag of his finger, the wet sounds it made. "Yeah, moan just like that." He added a second finger, stretching you slightly. The stretch was good, but it wasn't enough. He kept the pace slow.
He was doing this on purpose.
"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So wet. So needy. I've barely touched you and you're soaking my hand."
You turned your head to the side, embarrassed by how exposed you were, how desperate. But he wasn't having it. His free hand came up, grabbed your chin, forced you to look down at him. His eyes were still glowing, that eerie green light making him look otherworldly. "Watch," he commanded.
You obeyed. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside you, then reappeared, coated in your slick. "Aghh, fuck yes, yes." He pumped them in deeper, curling them slightly. When he found that spot inside you, that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids, you cried out. Your back arched, your hands fisted in the velvet. "AAGH!"
"There it is," he said with a grin. He stroked that spot again, and again, his fingers moving faster now. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the otherwise silent room. Your thighs began to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you more. The sensation was overwhelming. His thumb found your clit, pressed down on it in small circles, so much so you could feel the roughness of his finger going over your clit before getting slicked with your wetness.
"Oh god, oh fuck, yeesss" you panted. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, grinding down onto his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. He was watching you with rapt attention, his mouth slightly open, his fangs visible. He licked his lips at the sight of you.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Ride my fingers. Take what you need. Don't stop till you had your fill."
His fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of your wetness was filthy. You could feel it running down, wetting the sheets beneath you. It was making you dizzy. "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes!" His thumb rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles. The combination was too much. You felt the orgasm building, felt it racing toward you like a train. Your inner walls started to flutter around his fingers.
"Eren, I'm-I'm gonna-"
"Come on, songbird" he growled. "Cum on my hand. Let me see you clench around these fingers."
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you with such intensity that you screamed. "Eren aghhh!" Your body convulsed, your pussy clenching around his fingers, gripping them tight, just like he asked. But, he didn't stop. He kept pumping them in and out, kept circling your clit, drawing out your climax until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. He was such a bastard. And that turned you on even more. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. "Shit, baby yes."
Finally, it subsided. Your body went limp, boneless against the bed. He withdrew his fingers slowly. You felt empty without them. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his hand up to his face. His fingers were glistening, dripping with your release. He held your gaze as he slipped them into his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean. His eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned like he was tasting the finest wine.
"Fucking delicious," he murmured when he'd licked every trace of you from his skin.
Something in you shifted. The post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a different kind of hunger. You sat up slowly, your breast exposed to the firelight as you sat up straight. Eren watched them move for a second before he locked his eyes on yours again. Curiosity began to flicker in his glowing eyes. You crawled toward him on your hands and knees across the bed. He was still mostly dressed, his shirt torn open, his trousers tented obscenely at the front. You straddled him, settling your bare, wet pussy against the bulge in his pants.
He hissed, his hands coming to your hips, massaging them tenderly. "What are you doing?"
You didn't answer. You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was, how big. The friction against your sensitive clit made you gasp and lean your head back for a moment. "Oh fuck," You braced your hands on his shoulders and moved faster, chasing another high.
Your folds gliding across the fabric making it wetter and wetter. It was so erotic and addicting to look at, you even brought your fingers to your mouth, coating them in saliva, before bringing them down to rub at your clit.
"Fuck," he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. He was watching your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your eyes glazed over. You leaned forward, bringing your face to his neck. You inhaled deeply. He smelled incredible. That sandwood and something like coffee, but underneath it, something richer. Copper.
Blood.
You licked a stripe up the column of his throat. His pulse was there, fast beneath his pale skin. You opened your mouth and let your teeth glid across his neck for a moment. "You smell so good, Eren." He groaned, his hips bucking up against you. As you did the same letting out a moan right next to his ear. You took your hand and brought it to the other side of his neck, whispering again.
"I'm a bit thirsty too."
You bit down, not hard enough to break skin. Not yet. You sucked at the spot, leaving a mark. Then you opened your mouth wider, positioned your teeth right between his shoulder and neck, and bit down hard.
Your fangs sank into his flesh with ease.
Eren went rigid beneath you. His entire body locked up. "What the, oh fuck!" He was stunned to say the least. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into you harder. Grabbing at your backside and spreading it as you drank his blood.
Its been a while since you had blood like this. This rich, this delectable, this addicting. "Mmm."
You pulled back slightly, blood flooding your mouth. His blood. You swallowed, then slowly licked the puncture wounds, feeling them begin to close already. You smiled down at him with a wicked grin. You knew what you must look like. Your bottom lip smeared with his blood, your eyes probably glowing now too, that telltale amber light that came with feeding.
"Surprise," you said, throwing his own word back at him.
His eyes were wide, shocked. His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You could see his mind working, trying to process what had just happened. You ground down on him again, reminding him of where you were, what you were doing.
"There is no way" he finally managed.
"A girl has to wat right?" you said. You leaned down, licked another stripe up his neck, tasting the remnants of his blood on his skin. "Did you really think you were the only monster in this city?"
"The missing people," he said, the pieces clicking into place. He didn't look scared or angry, he looked impressed and turned on. "You're the one thats been killing recently,huh?"
"Mhm," you confirmed. You sat back, still straddling him, still moving your hips in lazy circles. You could feel your cunt gripping at nothing. "The men mostly. And some women that piss me off. " You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement. "That night you found me, when I was running? I knew there was someone there." You ground down on him harder, causing him to moan and smack your ass in return. You moaned before speaking again, keeping your hips grinding against his clothed cock.
"I knew. I knew some bad man was chasing me. I made my prey think I was helpless. Works every time. They always want to play hero, but then you showed up and interrupted my meal."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Not quite," you said with a laugh. You reached between your bodies, started unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanted to eat me. I'm here now." You looked deep into his eyes as you brought your thumb to your lips to wipe his blood off and brought it to his plump pink lips.
He smiled before taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood, his blood off of it. You leaned down and whispered. "Undo me, Eren."
Something snapped in him. You saw it happen, saw the shock morph into something hungrier. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You're fucking insane," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Its hot as hell."
You freed him from his trousers, pulling his cock out. It sprang up between you. A nude pink at the tip. It was beautiful. Long, with veins running along the shaft, a slight curve that you knew would hit all the right spots. Precum was already beading at the slit. You wrapped your hand around it, gave it a slow stroke, It was so damn hard, not to jump on his cock right now. He was hot in your palm, rock hard. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Mmmm fuck baby."
"You've been thinking about this," you said, stroking him again. "Haven't you? All those nights watching me sing. You were thinking about fucking me." You were teasing, licking up the side of his dick for a moment.
"Every goddamn night," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'd go home and jerk off thinking about you. About bending you over that piano. About making you scream my name." Oh, he was obsessed. You loved the kind of man who could only see you, it made you clench again.
"Dirty boy," you purred. You ground your wet pussy against his cock, coating him in your slick wetness. The head of his dick bumped against your clit and you moaned. "I want to...fuck you so bad right now." You were so wet, so ready. You could just sink down on him right now, take him all the way inside. But you wanted to draw this out. Wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made you suffer.
You kissed him, pushing your tounge into his mouth and just exploring. He kissed you back just as roughly, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, your waist as you continued to slid your wet fold on his dick. "Mmm!" He moaned against your mouth as he slapped your ass. You bit his bottom lip, drawing blood before sucking on it and catching his eyes. "You taste so good, Eren." He growled into your mouth, retaliating by biting yours. The pain was exquisite.
You both took turns sucking on tounges, or biting lips as your hands traveled over eachkthers bodies. Everything about it was just invigorating.
You pulled back, breathless. You looked down at him. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and bloody. He looked completely debauched and you loved it. "I want to taste you."
Before he could respond, you slid off him, off the bed. Your knees hit the floor, the plush carpet soft beneath them. The fireplace across the room had ignited somehow during your activities, maybe Eren had done it, or maybe it was just the heat between you both, and firelight danced across your skin, painting you in shades of orange and gold.
Eren sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his cock jutting up between them, still hard and leaking. You settled between his thighs, looking up at him with those doe eyes you use. "You want me to put this dick in my mouth?" His eyes were locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Yeah...suck my dick, sweetheart."
You leaned forward, licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. He tasted like musk and skin, it left you even more wet, your wetness soaking the carpet. He hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets. You did it again, slower this time, tracing the thick vein with your tongue. Then you took the head into your mouth, sucking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groaned.
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, creating suction. You could only fit about half of him in your mouth before he hit the back of your throat. You pulled back, took a breath, then went down again, trying to take more. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dripping down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.
You pulled off with a wet pop, looked up at him. His eyes were glowing brighter now, his fangs fully extended. He looked feral. You smiled, then spit on his cock. The glob of saliva slid down his length. You wrapped both hands around him, started stroking him, using your spit as lubricant. You twisted your wrists with each upstroke, paid special attention to the head, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath it.
"Goddamn," he panted. His hips were moving now, fucking up into your hands. "That mouth. Fuck."
You leaned down, took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently while your hands continued their work on his cock. He groaned, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding himself. You switched to the other one, gave it the same treatment, then licked your way back up his shaft.
This time when you took him in your mouth, you didn't hold back. You relaxed your throat, pushed past your gag reflex, and took him all the way down. Your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You held there for a moment, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in your throat. Then you pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
You did it again. And again. Each time taking him deep, each time coming up gasping and drooling. Your eyes were watering, your jaw aching, but you didn't care. You loved the way he fell apart, the way his thighs trembled, the way he moaned your name like a prayer.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you better-"
You took him deep again, sucked hard, and felt him explode. His cock pulsed, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it all, kept sucking, milking him through his orgasm. He was moaning, a long, low sound that vibrated through the room. When he finally stopped, you pulled off, licked him clean, then sat back on your heels.
He was staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
You stood up, but before you could say anything, he was on you. He moved with vampire speed, grabbing you, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as you yelped in surprise. "Oh you're eag-" He kissed you, hard, cutting you off. You could taste yourself on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on yours. His cock, still hard despite having just cum, pressed against your entrance. "Mmmm, holy..shit!"
You ground down against him, coating him in your wetness again. "Its not even in me yet and I want to cum." The stimulation made you both moan into each other's mouths. He walked you backward, then sideways, navigating the room by memory. Then you were falling. Your back hit the bed, the velvet covers soft beneath your skin. He came down on top of you as his weight pinned you down.
He reached between your bodies, grabbed his cock, positioned it at your entrance. You felt the blunt head pressing against you, beginning to stretch you open. Your breath caught. "You got it baby. Deep breathes." He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense. He was bigger than his fingers, thicker, and you felt every bit of him as he filled you. "Aaagghhhh fuuuuuck!"
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," you panted. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You were completely full, stretched to your limit. "AAGGHH YES!" He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust. You could feel him pulsing inside you, could feel your walls clenching around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
You screamed. The pleasure was blinding. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. The sounds were obscene and so fucking good all at the same time. Skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking his cock in further into your gummy walls, both of your moans and gasps.
"Yeah, little songbird. Sing for me."
He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. His other hand went to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. His hips pistoned, driving into you over and over and over again. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that sweet spot that made you see stars, made your mind go blank, made you shiver and tremble.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take my cock."
"R-right..there!"
He obliged. His grip on your wrists tightened, his hand on your throat squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. He fucked you like he hasn't fucked in decades, each thrust driving you up the bed and the headboard intk the wall. You were going to come again. You could feel it building, faster this time, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Come oooooonnn," he urged. "Cum on my cock. Let me feel that pussy, baby."
You came with a shout, your body convulsing beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him dry, or so you though. Yet again, he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it, making it go on and on until you were sobbing. "Eren...baby please- I- I..."
But he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled out of you suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach. You were still shaking from your orgasm, but he didn't give you time to recover. He grabbed your hips, pulled them up so your ass was in the air. Then he was inside you again, slamming in from behind.
This angle was even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your screams. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust. He watched as your ass bounced and recoiled with every thrust. The sight was a sight to behold. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was loud in the room and was making you wetter every second.
He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he panted. "So. Fucking. Good. Keep taking this dick."
You turned your head, trying to look at him. He saw the challenge in your eyes and grinned. He slowly pulled out, feeling your tight hole try to cling to it. He smiled before flipping you onto your back again, then drove back inside in a maddening pace. This time he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made him hit even deeper, made you feel impossibly full.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Look at you taking my dick. Fuck, you're beautiful like this."
You were drooling, you realized. Couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much, your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, ruining you. Your eyes were glowing, you knew. That amber light that came when you were feeding or feeling intense emotion.
Eren noticed. His grin turned predatory. He leaned down, his hair falling into his face, creating a curtain around both of you. "There she is," he murmured.
He bit into your neck again, in the same spot as before. You screamed, the combination of his fangs in your flesh and his cock in your pussy sending you into another orgasm. This one was different, more intense, bordering on painful. Your entire body seized up, every muscle locking. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He drank from you as he fucked you, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. The aphrodisiac effect worked both ways. You could feel it flooding through him, making him harder, making him fuck you with renewed vigor. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm.
He pulled his mouth from your neck, blood dripping from his fangs. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"Yours," you gasped.
"Say it again."
"It's yours, Eren. My pu- pussy is yours!"
"Mhmmm."
He changed the angle again, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, the sound vulgar and perfect. He reached between your bodies, found your clit, rubbed it in fast circles with two fingers as he pressed down. You were going to cum again. How many times was this now? You'd lost count.
"Sing for me," he commanded. "Sing like you do at that lounge. Let me hear that pretty voice scream."
You did. You screamed his name as another orgasm tore through you. "Errreeeennn!" You screamed until your voice went hoarse, until your throat was raw. He kept fucking you through it, kept rubbing your clit, drawing it out until you were thrashing beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't run from it," he growled, holding you in place. "Stay right here. Let me keep fucking this pussy."
You were crying now, tears streaming down your face. It was too much. Too good. Your body didn't know whether to chase the pleasure or flee from it. "I can't," you sobbed. "I can't take anymore." You were thrashing a bit, your heels digging deeper into the bed.
"Yes you can, sweetheart" he said firmly. "You can take it. You're going to take everything I give you."
He shifted again, pulling your legs off his shoulders, pushing them wide, opening you up even more. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his hair creating that curtain again. His hips snapped forward, each thrust making your whole body jolt.
"Look at you taking this dick," he said, his voice full of wonder and lust. "Fuck, baby. You're sucking me in like this and you wanted me to stop?" He started moving faster and faster as you leaned your head back and screamed his name. "Eren fuuuuuuuccckkk!"
He smiled and laughed as he began to get louder. "Yeah baby, sing for me."
He sat up slightly, grabbed your hips, and really let loose. He pounded into you with everything he had, the bed shaking so hard you thought it might break. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and he couldn't seem to look away from them. He leaned down, took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard you though he might draw a bit of blood. You arched into him, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you. "Yes, aghh baby please."
He bit down on your nipple, his fangs piercing the sensitive flesh. You screamed again, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that shouldn't make sense but did. "Yes, yes, yes!" He drank from you there too, just a few mouthfuls, then moved to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. You were covered in bite marks now, marks that would heal by tomorrow but for now made you look thoroughly claimed.
"I'm close," he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel him rearranging your insides as your drool trailed down the side of your mouth towards your scalp. "I..I..I..."
He held your waist, his fingers making mark in your skin as he leaned down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Use those words, sweetheart." You swallowed as he continued to pound deeper and deeper into to your aching cunt. "Cum..inside..."
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, watch my cum eack out your wet pussy, huh?" You didn't say anything, couldn't do anything but moan and gasp. That seemed to make him want to go harder. As he drove into you faster, your vison became hazy.
Your brain was nothing but fog.
You've never felt anything like this in your life. He grabbed your chin, licking away your drool before whispering against your lips, "I said use your words, songbird. You want me to cum inside your cunt?"
You somehow found your voice, even if it was small. "Yes." He smiled against your lips as he moved faster, his balls slapping against your in-between your legs. You were crying getting louder as he reached into the deepest part of you, making you jolt a bit in the air. "Holy fuck yes!"
That pushed him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a loud moan of his own. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the hot flood of his release coating your walls. It triggered one more orgasm in you, smaller but no less intense. You clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Your heart was racing, your body completely spent. He was still inside you, softening slowly. You didn't want him to pull out yet. You wanted to stay connected like this, joined together.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a wet sound. You both hissed at the loss. You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, your pussy was sore and used, it would heal soon but, damn. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down the inside of your thighs and onto the bed.
Eren propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. He reached between your legs, gathered some of his release on his fingers, making you jolt a bjt as his finger tips brushed across your clit.. Then he brought them to your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean. The taste was salty, bitter, but nonetheless delicious. You licked between his fingers, making sure you got every drop and making sure you kept your eyes locked on his.
"Jesus," he muttered, watching you with dark eyes.
You released his fingers, smiled up at him. For a long moment, you both just looked at each other. Your glows were fading now, eyes returning to their normal colors. The room was a mess. The sheets were soaked with various fluids, pillows scattered across the floor, the headboard had left dents in the wall. You both looked like you'd been through a war.
It sure as hell felt like it.
After a few minutes, you found your voice again. Stronger than the last time. You looked over at him, your hair laid out on the mattress below as you spoke. "How long have you been a vampire?"
He laughed. He flopped onto his back beside you with a grunt as he sighed and put a hand under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the light from the fireplace made weird shadows. "About sixty years." His head turned to look at you as he spoke in a whisper now. "And what about you?"
"Seventy-three," you said. "Turned in 1857."
"1867," he confirmed. He turned his head to look at the ceiling again before looking at you once more. "And you've been hunting in this city how long?"
"Two years," you said. "Yo-"
"Three."
You chuckled at that and placed yohr hand on your chest before letting out a sigh. "And we never crossed paths until six months ago."
"Funny how that works." He laughed just the same. You both laid there silently listening to the wood in the fireplace burn as you were trying to catch up. You turned onto your side, your hair falling to the side of your face and tilted your head ever so slightly. He mirrored your position. You reached out, traced a finger down his chest, following the drying blood smears. "What now?" you asked.
He caught your soft hand in his, brought it to his beautiful pink lips, and kissed your palm. "Now I think we might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
His green eyes met yours, and something in them made your breath catch. "I don't think I can let you go." You sat there stunned for a while before sitting up and over him, letting your hair fall over both of your faces. You whispered with a smile.
"I'm right where I want to be."
