#vvw25

Vincent is changing as you ride him, teeth elongating into snarling fangs before your eyes. His head twists from side to side, hair a wild, tangled mess that's quickly growing longer, while his eyes flash. Flickering between red, orange and yellow as his pupils shudder from circles to slits while you move back and forth on his cock.

There's something different about this time, you're not sure what's causing this, but you don't want to stop. You like watching him change, a physical manifestation of his desperation and need. He had been moaning your name but the sound is even sweeter now, syllables leaving his lips in a jumbled hiss, formed by a tongue that's too long and a mouth that's far too wide.

You don't stop, your arousal continuing to build. His cock pulses and throbs inside of you as you move faster, pretty sure that's actually growing larger inside of you, your body stretching to accommodate him. His hips buck up into you roughly, sharp bones pressing to your skin as he forces you to grip tightly to his heaving chest.

His pectorals widen underneath your fingers, chest barrelling as his heart beats too strongly. His lungs heave, chest expanding too much for his skin, ribs pressing outwards, bulging through his chest.

A sudden pain grips your hips and you tilt downwards as black claws prick at your skin. His grip is strong, forcing your pace, not allowing you to stop. The pain feels good, enhancing the sensation and you trust him enough to not worry about him hurting you, even when he's like this.

"Are you alright Vincent?" you ask, out of breath, trying to slow down to allow him to reply, but his claws don't relent.

He growls in response, the sound so deep and animalistic that it vibrates through your entire body, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. His head thrashes, hips pushing upwards. You bounce roughly, almost folding off him, but his pricking claws hold you down. He holds you steady, setting a brutal pace and you do your best to keep up while he hits every spot inside of you. His cock is throbbing, changing size inside of you and it's addicting, the size knocking the breath from your lungs.

His claws are starting to hurt now, pushing past the line from enticing pain to distracting. You reach down and place your hands over them. They're so much bigger than they should be, pale, veins and tendons prominent and flexing. He drags them down your hips, raking lines into your skin as you hiss, skin burning.

"Too much," you call out. His hands leave you immediately. They slap down on either side of the mattress, shredding and tearing at the sheets, ripping through them with his claws like butter. The sound only turns you on more.

You try to ride him, to pick up the pace you were at before, but his hips are bucking too much. Without his support you're almost flying off him, struggling to keep yourself upright and keep up your rhythm on his cock.

Vincent is still tearing through the sheets, he's shredded them down to the mattress now and foam flies around you. He's growling, hissing as his mouth is forced wide open around fangs that no longer fit in his mouth. Lifting up his too large hands, the black claws wicked sharp and so much longer than they were before, he presses them around your hips. He grips you carefully, skin against his huge palms, longer fingers not touching your skin.

He flips you over roughly, crawling on top of you, cock somehow not leaving your body as you grip onto him for support. He looks down at you with his changing eyes, yellow, red and slitted. Hair that is far too long and thick, ends tipped with blood red covers you, blocking out all the light. He's all you can see, your perfect ethereal and sometimes monster of a boyfriend.

His hands are by your head, claws already shredding the mattress as he pushes his hips forward. The strength in them is incredible, every part of your body oversensitive and singing for him, stretched and hot and wanting more. If this kills you, then you'll die happy.

He was startled from his bitter reverie as a small body clambered into his lap. “Gods, child, you are quiet to sneak up on me.”

Marlene peered up at him, dark eyes in a pale face visible in the growing sunlight. “Mr. Vincent?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you always sad?”

His insomnia-addled brain offered only static in response.

“I’m sad a lot, too,” the child lamented. “People are always leaving.”

“True.” He supposed he should have said something comforting, but why lie to his unexpected little companion?

“You leave a lot,” she accused, an audible pout in her voice.

“True. But I will always come back.”

“Always and forever? For as long as I live?”

“Always and forever. For as long as you live.” And beyond.

“I love it when you visit.” She nestled more comfortably against him.