Chapter Eight – Wren
Chapter Eight
Wren
I’ve never been touched like this in my entire life.
Zeth is barely doing anything, just playing with my hair and running the very tips of his fingers over my skin, not even in intimate places.
My forehead, my shoulder, the curve of my ear, my neck…
These are simple touches that shouldn’t mean anything, but I’m already burning inside, melting into the mattress, and it’s the most intensely erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
I try to rationalize it. My last relationship ended two years ago, and since then there have been a few unsatisfying one-night stands that left me feeling emptier than before, but nothing else.
I haven’t had any action with a man in too long.
Even if I can take care of myself, it doesn’t compare to a man who knows what he’s doing.
That must be why I’m reacting like this.
But I know I’m lying to myself.
I shiver despite my best efforts to stay still.
My skin flushes hot, then cold, then hot again as his fingers trace along my collarbone.
I want to pull away because it’s embarrassing how aroused I am when this whole thing we’re doing shouldn’t arouse me at all.
This is supposed to be clinical – a necessary step before we can merge.
I don’t pull away. I can’t. Zeth and I need to merge, and if he thinks touching me like this will make the process easier, then I’ll lie here and let him do whatever he needs to do.
His fingers slide through my hair again, nails gently scraping against my scalp, and heat pools low in my belly. My panties are soaked. I’m squeezing my thighs together, needing some sort of pressure where I ache most. This is insane. He’s barely touching me and I’m ready to come apart.
“Are you ready?” His voice is low, almost gentle.
I swallow hard.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He shifts on the bed beside me, and I feel him align his arm over mine.
His fingers entwine with mine, and then I feel it – the merge.
It’s like liquid dissolving into my skin, like water seeping through cracks, spreading and spreading until there’s nowhere left untouched.
A foreign presence wraps around my muscles, slides between the fibers, and becomes part of me.
I swallow heavily and furrow my brows. The sensation is invasive but not painful. It’s invasive in a good way, the way you want someone to invade you and make you forget about everything else. It’s invasive in the way you want to be consumed.
I force myself to stay put and let it happen.
I focus on my breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, trying to keep my mind calm.
But then I feel more of him pour inside me, more of his body dissolving into mine, spreading through my arm and my shoulder, and moving deeper.
I keep my eyes closed because I don’t want to see what’s happening, don’t want to watch my skin change color and ripple with his presence.
The more he merges with me, the more I can feel him in my head. It starts as a whisper, a sense of something other hovering at the edge of my consciousness, then it grows stronger and more defined, until I realize that when I have a thought, he sees it.
Oh fuck.
I feel him in my chest now, spreading through my ribs and wrapping around my lungs. I feel him in my stomach, in my legs, everywhere. He’s in my head. Actually in my head. Not just connected to my body but connected to my mind.
My eyes snap open.
The realization hits me gradually, layer by layer. I can see the water-stained ceiling above me, the cracks in the plaster, and the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand. But I’m not the only one seeing these things. Zeth sees through my eyes. He’s looking at the world through me.
I turn my head to look at the spot beside me. Empty. Zeth isn’t there anymore, he’s inside me. I lift my hand and stare at it, turning my palm this way and that.
“Are you all right?” His voice echoes in my head.
“Y-yes,” I say, my voice trembling. “I think so.”
“Don’t talk to me out loud. Talk to me through your thoughts.”
I close my eyes and focus, trying to isolate one specific thought from the chaos swirling through my mind. I push it toward him.
“This is weird. It’s weirding me out.”
“I know.” His response is immediate, accompanied by a wave of calm that washes over me like warm water. “But the merge worked. Everything is fine.”
I sit up in bed, and that’s when I become fully aware of how soaked my panties are. The fabric clings to me, uncomfortable and wet, and when I glance down, I can see a dark stain spreading across the front of my trousers. Jesus Christ.
I slide off the bed, and the movement makes the tight seam of my pants rub directly over my clit. Pleasure explodes through me, sharp and sudden, and so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. I’m so horny I would do anything to have a quick orgasm right now. Anything.
Heat floods my face. I’m blushing so violently that I can feel it spreading down my neck and chest. Zeth can see all my thoughts. He can feel what I’m feeling. He knows exactly how turned on I am, how desperate and how pathetically needy.
And then another thought slides through my mind. When I put pressure on my clit, does he feel something too? Maybe in his cock?
The second I think it, I want to die. I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.
A chuckle rumbles through my head, low and warm, and far too amused. It echoes through my thoughts like distant thunder.
“Maybe you should get out now,” I think frantically. “This was a bad idea.”
“I told you I won’t judge you, Wren. And I won’t linger on your thoughts.”
I wait, breath held, to see if he’ll answer my unspoken question. The one I’m too ashamed to ask directly even though curiosity is eating me alive. But he doesn’t offer an answer, and I can’t bring myself to push.
I need a distraction, something to focus on besides the fact that I have a stranger in my head who just felt me almost come from my pants rubbing against me.
I grab my jacket.
“I’m going out.”
“All right.”
I leave the motel room and start walking with no real destination in mind.
I just want to see how it feels to have Zeth inside me while I move through the world.
I try to act normal, but I’m tenser than usual.
My shoulders are tight and my movements are a little too controlled.
But no one seems to notice. People barely glance at me as I pass.
The silence in my head is strange. I keep expecting Zeth to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s just there, a quiet presence humming underneath my skin. I’m processing the weirdness of it all, trying to adjust to the fact that I’m not alone in my own body anymore.
I find a small supermarket and go inside. The fluorescent lights are harsh overhead, and the aisles are narrow and cluttered. I grab a few things without really thinking about it: bread, peanut butter, some fruit.
“Do you want anything?” I think toward him.
“No.”
“You don’t eat or drink at all?”
“I don’t need human sustenance.”
I pause in the middle of the cereal aisle, frowning.
“Then what do you eat?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then: “You haven’t read the contract between the FBI and the MSA, have you?”
A chill runs up my spine. No, I didn’t read it. Why would I? I was sure it was fine and that the FBI had handled all the details. But now Zeth’s tone suggests I should have read it very carefully.
“We’ll talk about it back at the motel,” he says, and I can feel him sensing my distress.
I pay for the groceries, my hands moving on autopilot.
Before I leave, I spot a display of cigarettes behind the counter.
I haven’t smoked in ages. It’s a bad habit, one I kicked years ago, but right now I feel like I need a few puffs to calm my nerves.
Plus, it works well with my undercover identity.
A struggling ex-con chemist would probably smoke.
I buy a pack and step outside. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. I stand at the corner of the supermarket and light up, bringing the cigarette to my lips.
The first drag fills my lungs, and I feel Zeth recoil inside me. It’s like he’s rippling, pulling away from something unpleasant, his presence shuddering through my nervous system.
“Are you okay?” I think quickly.
“I’m fine.” His voice is tight. “I just don’t like the taste of nicotine.”
Oh. Of course, he can taste everything I taste.
I put out the cigarette, grinding it under my heel.
I’m starting to realize the implications of that.
I’ll have to ask him before I eat certain spicy foods, before I drink alcohol, maybe.
These are things that should be a person’s individual choice, but now every choice I make affects him too.
Even though he doesn’t eat normal food, he still experiences it through me.
I head back to the motel, the plastic bag of groceries swinging at my side.
Once inside, I throw the bag on the table and go straight to the bathroom. I need to see myself, need to confirm that I look normal even with a literal person inside me. I flip on the light and stare at my reflection.
I look the same. Red hair, blue eyes, the same face I’ve always had. There’s no visible sign that Zeth is in there with me. It’s crazy.
“I’ve never been so pretty in my life,” Zeth says.
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“When I’ve been with other hosts and looked in mirrors, I never saw something so exquisite.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I snap instead.
“Get out. And tell me what you meant earlier about needing another form of sustenance.”
“Maybe we should stay merged for a while longer. You’re doing well–”
“I know the merge works now. I’m fine. It’s time to get out.”
There’s a pause, and then I feel him moving.
It’s the strangest sensation, like he’s flowing out of me in reverse.
He pours through my legs and pools at my feet in a puddle of black and silvery liquid that gleams under the bathroom light, then he separates from me completely, sliding across the tile floor and reforming into his humanoid shape.
I cross my arms over my chest, acutely aware of how sensitive my breasts are. Damn it. He’s doing things to my body he definitely shouldn’t be doing.
“Tell me what you eat,” I say out loud.
He straightens, his black eyes meeting mine. “Your energy.”
“What?”
“It’s in the contract.” His voice is hesitant, almost apologetic.
“The reason symbiotes need hosts is because we feed off other people’s energy.
Bioelectrical energy, the electrical impulses that run through your nervous system and keep your body functioning.
You generate more of it than you use, so under normal circumstances, we can feed without causing harm. ”
I stare at him.
“That’s why people call you parasites.”
“Yes.” He looks away. “But we’re not parasites. For a taste of energy, we give so much in exchange. Protection, strength, healing.”
“How often do you need to feed?”
“I can feed just a little, now and then, throughout the day. You won’t even feel it.” He pauses. “But once a week, I need a serious feed. A complete one, where I take more from you.”
“What will that do to me?”
“You’ll feel extremely exhausted. There will be muscle weakness, you might feel cold or shaky. You’ll need to eat a lot to compensate, and you’ll have to sleep ten to twelve hours.”
“Ten to twelve hours?” My voice rises. “I don’t have time to sleep that long. Who the hell sleeps for twelve hours?”
“I’m sorry.” He takes a step back, his expression pained. “I’ll try not to feed that much off you. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Guilt replaces my anger. He looks genuinely distressed, and here I am yelling at him for needing to eat. I feel like an asshole.
“It’s not an inconvenience,” I say quickly.
I should have read the damn contract. I was too busy obsessing over Zeth and our first failed merge to pay attention to the details. This is my fault, not his.
I take a breath and meet his eyes.
“If this is the way you eat, then it would be horrible of me to expect you to hold back just because this is new to me and I’m feeling slightly uncomfortable. I’ll learn how to deal with it. Of course, you must feed whenever you need to.”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then he says, in a low, appreciative voice:
“You are a wonderful person. I’m lucky to be working with you.”
My eyes widen. I don’t know how to respond to that. No man has ever spoken to me the way Zeth does. I don’t know how to take a compliment like that.
We stand there, close enough that I could reach out and touch him. And that’s when I realize something else. He smells like me, as if his skin has absorbed my personal scent during the merge. It’s strange, intimate and awkward, and I have no idea what to do with that information.
So, I keep staring at him like a fool, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say.