Chapter Twelve – Wren
Chapter Twelve
Wren
I move through the exercises. Now that I’m not fighting Zeth anymore, his strength flows through me like it was always meant to be there.
Every movement feels effortless and powerful, like I could take on anyone and win.
I’ve never felt this way before. My body should be screaming after this much exertion, but there’s nothing.
Just smooth, controlled power coursing through every muscle and every bone.
It’s almost superhuman, which makes sense since he is supernatural and currently living inside me. The exhilaration builds in my chest until I can barely contain it. This is what it means to have a symbiote merged with you. I understand why people seek it out.
“Want to try some defensive combinations?” Zeth asks in my head.
“Yes. Show me.”
He moves me through strike sequences, and my fists cut through the air with precision I’ve never had before.
Jab, cross, hook – combinations I’ve practiced thousands of times, but now they’re sharper, faster, and perfect.
He guides me through slips and rolls, defensive movements flowing seamlessly into counters.
I bob and weave, then explode upward with an uppercut that would break someone’s jaw.
My body pivots, throws an elbow strike, and follows with a knee to an imaginary opponent’s ribs.
Everything connects perfectly. There’s no wasted motion and no hesitation.
“Are you okay?” he checks in. “Want to keep going?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Show me more.”
He takes me through close quarters combat next. Elbow strikes, forearm blocks, and clinch work that would let me control someone bigger and stronger.
“Still good?” he asks.
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
As we move, I realize his fighting style is different from mine.
I know Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu because I’ve trained hard for years in both.
But Zeth fights like someone who’s combined everything into something uniquely his own.
He fights like someone who knows he can end things quickly and has never doubted his physical superiority.
When he makes me practice a grab, even just mimicking the motion, I can feel the potential force behind it.
He could crush bone, tear muscle, and break joints without effort.
That confidence translates through every strike and hold, and it makes me realize how much I second-guess myself in fights, how I compensate for being smaller and for being a woman in a male-dominated field. He has no such hesitation, only pure, controlled violence when needed.
He transitions me into ground fighting sequences.
I sprawl to defend an imaginary takedown, then immediately spin to take the back position.
From there, my arm sinks into the perfect choke hold, positioned exactly right across the throat.
We release, scramble up, and defend against another rush.
Footwork patterns follow – lateral movement, angling off, countering with a straight punch that comes from my hip.
Everything flows like a choreographed dance, but it’s not choreography.
It’s real technique and skill, and my body moves in ways it never has before.
It feels natural, though, like this is what I was always capable of doing. I just needed him to unlock it.
Sweat pours down my face and soaks through my shirt, but I’m not tired, just heated, energized, and alive in a way I’ve never experienced.
After a particularly complex combination, Zeth pauses.
“How are you feeling? Need to stop?”
I’m breathing hard, but not from exhaustion.
“I’m good,” I tell him. “Really good.”
“We should probably stop,” he says. “You’ve been at this for over an hour.”
I glance at the clock. It felt like fifteen minutes, but he’s right.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree. “I need a shower.”
The moment I say it, I become aware of how drenched in sweat I am. My shirt clings to my skin, my hair is plastered to my neck, and I can smell myself. Ew.
“You need to unmerge,” I tell him. “I’m hitting the shower.”
Zeth hesitates.
“Actually,” he says carefully, “it would be better if we stayed merged.”
I stop moving and cross my arms.
“What? Why?”
“When the mission really starts, we’ll be merged constantly. Days at a time, maybe weeks. We need to get used to it.”
Logically, I know he’s right. But the thought of showering with him in my head makes panic grip my chest.
“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not showering with you inside me.”
“I won’t look through your eyes,” he offers. “I’ll just–”
“I can’t shower with my eyes closed, Zeth. I’ll slip and crack my skull open.”
Silence stretches between us. I can feel him considering, weighing his options.
“All right,” he finally says. “But we should try to stay merged as much as possible moving forward.”
“Fine. Tomorrow we can try longer. But right now, I need privacy.”
He pours out of me in that strange sliding sensation that’s becoming familiar. The moment he’s gone, I feel empty and like my body is small and weak. I shake off the feeling, grab clean clothes, and head into the bathroom.
I close the door behind me and turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up while I strip off my soaked clothes. They’re damp and heavy, clinging to my skin as I peel them away.
When I step under the hot spray, I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting the water run through my hair and down my face.
I run my hands over my body to soap up, and something’s different.
My skin feels sensitized and hyper-aware.
Every touch of my hands sends little sparks of sensation through me.
I trail my fingers down my arms, cup my breasts and hum when I discover my nipples are hard and aching.
I slide my hands over my stomach and down my thighs. Good God, everywhere tingles.
It’s like the hours Zeth spent inside me woke up every nerve ending in my body and made me more aware and responsive. When he’s merged with me, I’m so conscious of him living inside me that now that he’s separated, it’s like my body is searching for him, craving him back and missing that fullness.
My hand drifts between my legs almost without conscious decision. I tell myself I’m just washing there, being thorough. But the second my fingers brush over my clit, I gasp out loud. I’m so sensitive, so ready, and I can’t fight this anymore. It’s been building for days.
I let my fingers slip lower and find how wet I am. I circle my clit slowly, my other hand braced against the shower wall for support. My eyes fall closed, my head tips back, and water cascades over me while I touch myself.
I slide two fingers inside my pussy, and it feels good but it’s not enough.
I need more. I need to be filled, stretched, and taken by something bigger and harder than my own hand.
I think about this morning, when I woke up to find Zeth in bed beside me with that massive erection tenting the sheets.
I’d wondered then what it would look like fully exposed.
Is it charcoal gray like the rest of him?
Do those silver markings run through his cock too, raised like veins?
How big is it? Big enough to make me feel full, stretched, and claimed the way I need to be claimed?
I pump my fingers faster, grinding the heel of my palm against my clit.
I imagine him behind me in the shower, his massive body crowding mine against the tiles, those strong hands gripping my hips and holding me in place while he positions himself.
That huge cock pushing inside me, filling me completely, spreading me open around his thickness.
I’d feel the silver markings inside me, raised veins dragging against my walls with every thrust.
I add a third finger, panting now, getting close to the edge. I imagine him pounding into me with no hesitation, no holding back, using all that supernatural strength to take what he wants, taking me the way I need to be taken.
The wave builds inside me, pressure mounting low in my belly.
My fingers work frantically, my pussy clenching around them, my clit throbbing against my palm.
I push myself over the edge with a choked gasp, my body convulsing as the orgasm rolls through me, hard and satisfying but still not enough. I want the real thing.
I want him.
I come down slowly, breathing hard, my legs shaky.
I pull my fingers out and rinse my hand, and as my mind clears, it’s starting to dawn on me that this is wrong.
What the hell did I just do? I masturbated to my bodyguard, to my FBI-contracted protection, but more importantly, to the symbiote I have to merge with and work with professionally for weeks.
I grab the soap with shaking hands and wash myself properly this time, trying to scrub away the evidence. But I can’t scrub away the knowledge of what I just imagined and what I just came to. I finish the shower quickly and turn off the water.
I stand dripping on the bath mat, staring at the fogged mirror.
I can’t see my reflection, but that’s probably for the best. I don’t want to look myself in the eye right now.
How am I going to merge with him again? How will I keep him from sensing these thoughts and feelings?
When we’re connected, he might know. He might know I fantasized about him and gave myself an orgasm thinking about his cock inside me.
I dry off and get dressed in clean pajamas, then take a deep breath and steel myself.
I open the bathroom door and immediately smell food.
Tomato sauce, cheese, garlic – oh my God, my mouth is watering already.
I look over and see pizza boxes on the small table.
Two of them, steam still rising when I lift the lid slightly.
Zeth sits on the bed, watching TV like he didn’t just order food without me knowing.
I turn to him, confused.
“How did you...?”
He looks up, his expression neutral.