She bridges hard, catching me off-balance. She uses my own weight against me and reverses our positions in one smooth movement. Suddenly, she’s on top of me, straddling my hips. Her hands brace against my chest for balance, and she shifts her weight, trying to establish control. Her hips grind against mine.
It’s not intentional, just the mechanics of the position, but my body doesn’t care about intent.
Heat shoots through me like fire. My cock begins to stir, starting to emerge from between my thighs, where it’s nestled under my skin. I can feel it happening, and I know if she stays on top of me for another second, she’ll feel it too. It will press against her core and there will be no hiding what she does to me.
I shove her off harder than I mean to. She goes sprawling to the side with a surprised yelp, and scrambles to her feet, eyes wide.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks.
I’m already backing away, putting distance between us. My cock is still threatening to emerge fully, and I need her away from me before it does.
“No. You did fine. Training session is over.”
“Are you sure? I can keep going–”
“You have skill,” I say, cutting her off. My voice sounds strained. “With my help, you’ll become lethal. But that’s enough for tonight.”
I turn toward the door before she can respond, before I can do something stupid like reach for her, or apologize, or explain. I need to get out of this room, away from her scent and her touch.
“I just remembered I have an appointment,” I lie over my shoulder. “Almost forgot about it.”
I push through the door and practically run through the FBI building, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, because I need to move, need to burn off this energy that’s threatening to consume me.
The parking garage is cold and dimly lit. My motorcycle is where I left it. I throw my leg over and start the engine, not bothering with anything except my helmet. I don’t need protective gear – my skin can harden if necessary – but the helmet helps me blend in and look more human.
I pull out of the garage and into LA traffic, driving on autopilot. I can’t stop thinking about the training session. The way she moved, efficient and strategic, unafraid to hit me with everything she had, the way she felt under me on the mat, warm, solid, and real. The way she smelled, sweat and skin, and something that made me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
The sound of her breathing, the feel of her heartbeat, the weight of her body on top of mine, her hips grinding against me.
I reach my apartment building and park the motorcycle in my designated spot. I take the stairs two at a time, unlock my door, and head straight for the bathroom. I need cold water. I need to clear my head. I need to stop thinking about Wren Hayes and what her body just did to mine.
I step into the shower, glad there are no clothes to get out of. Symbiotes don’t need them. Our bodies need to be able to shift to fluid state at any moment, and emergency situations don’t allow time for removing fabric. Our skin is our clothing, smooth and adaptive. Our intimate parts are concealed beneath the skin,protected and hidden. My cock is nestled between my thighs, sheathed inside my body, leaving my crotch area nearly flat and featureless.
But when I get hard, it emerges from my body, pressing out and becoming visible. And right now, I can feel it threatening to do exactly that.
I turn on the cold water and step under the spray. Freezing needles hit my back, and I brace my hands against the tiles, forcing myself to breathe slowly. But closing my eyes just brings back images of Wren.
My cock begins to emerge despite the cold water, pressing out from between my thighs, hardening. I curse under my breath and turn the water even colder.
I’ve worked with dozens of hosts over the years. I’ve merged with them, been inside their bodies, felt their thoughts and sensations. I’ve never responded like this, never wanted someone the way I’m starting to want Wren.
She doesn’t even like me. She was afraid to touch my hand. She pulled away from the merge like it disgusted her. And yet, something about her calls to me, makes me want things I have no right to want, makes me imagine things that are completely inappropriate given our professional relationship.
I’m supposed to be her bodyguard. I need to merge with her completely for the mission to work, be inside her body for weeks, potentially, with access to all her thoughts and feelings. How am I supposed to do that when just training with her makes me hard? When her scent alone makes me lose focus?
I lean my forehead against the cold tiles and let the water pour over me. My erection finally starts to subside, retreating into my body, where it belongs.
This morning, I thought the job would be hard because Wren didn’t want me.
Now I know the job will be hard for a completely different reason.
Because I want her.
And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Chapter Six
Wren
