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.
