Page 11 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Nick

M icah's whimpering.

The sound cuts through my exhausted sleep like a knife, instantly triggering every protective instinct I possess.

His scent hits me next—that sweet omega smell but different now, sharper and more concentrated.

Like someone's taken everything that makes Micah Micah and distilled it into pure pheromone.

"Nick," he gasps, his body writhing against mine. "Nick, please."

My body responds before my brain fully engages, hardening instantly against his hip.

This is the fourth wave of his heat in twenty-four hours, and each one has been more intense than the last. Amara warned us breakthrough heats could be severe, but nothing prepared me for this—for how his need seems to claw at me, demanding I fix what I broke.

"I'm here," I murmur, fully awake now, gathering him against my chest. His skin burns against mine, fever-hot and slick with sweat. "I've got you."

But do I? Yesterday I had him crying into my neck, thanking me for trying to be enough. Today he woke up with walls around his heart because I can't say three simple words.

Micah makes a broken sound that's half relief, half desperation. His hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. "It's worse," he pants. "This wave is worse."

I press my lips to his forehead, tasting salt.

He's right. His temperature feels higher than before, his trembling more violent.

And beneath the physical symptoms, I can feel his emotional pain like a constant ache.

He's trying so hard to protect himself from me, even while his body demands my touch.

"Tell me what you need," I say, though I already know the answer. And I already know I'll give him everything I can except the one thing he really wants.

Micah's response is to press his body against mine, his hardness evident against my thigh. "You," he breathes. "Inside me. Now. Please, Nick."

There's a desperation in his voice I haven't heard before, raw in a way that bypasses my conscious mind and speaks directly to every alpha instinct I have. Every instinct that wants to claim him completely since I can't love him properly.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, but it's useless.

My control has been hanging by a thread since yesterday, since I realized how badly I'm failing him.

I've always prided myself on my self-control, on being different from the stereotypical alphas who let their biology rule them.

Different from my father, who used his alpha status as an excuse for his worst behaviors.

But his scent is breaking down walls I didn't know I had, calling to parts of me I've kept carefully leashed. And underneath it all is this desperate need to give him permanence since I can't give him love.

"Nick," Micah whimpers, his hands sliding down my chest, wrapping around my cock with trembling fingers. "Please. It hurts."

His touch sends electricity racing through my system, short-circuiting any attempt at restraint. I'm failing him in every way that matters, but at least I can give him this. At least I can make the physical pain stop.

A growl builds in my chest, rumbling out before I can stop it. "Turn over," I hear myself say, my voice deeper than normal, resonating with alpha command I've never used before.

Micah responds instantly, presenting himself to me with his ass in the air, face pressed into the pillow.

The position—so submissive, so trusting—triggers an instinct in me that's pure alpha possession.

Mine, my brain insists. If I can't love him, at least I can claim him. At least I can give him that.

I run my hands down his back, feeling the tremors that race through him.

He's producing so much slick that it's soaking the sheets beneath us, the scent of it making my head swim.

I should take my time, prepare him carefully like I did during the previous waves.

But there's this urgency in me now, this need to possess him completely.

"Please," Micah begs, pushing back against my hands. "Don't make me wait. I can't—I need—"

I position myself behind him, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. He's so wet, so ready, that I slide in with one smooth thrust. Heat grips me, tight and perfect, while his scent fills my lungs and his desperate sounds fill my ears.

"Fuck," I groan, holding still for a moment to keep from coming immediately. "You feel so good."

He whines in response, pushing back against me, trying to take me deeper. "Move," he demands. "Please, I need you to move."

I comply, setting a rhythm that's harder and faster than anything we've done before. Each thrust pulls desperate sounds from Micah's throat, and I find myself wanting to hear more, wanting to drive him so high he forgets about everything I can't give him.

"That's it," I growl, my hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. "Take what you need from me."

The words come from somewhere primal, somewhere that doesn't care about love or emotions—just about making my omega feel good, making him mine in the only way I know how.

"Mine," I growl, the word escaping without conscious thought. My hands grip his hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place as I drive into him. "My omega."

"Yours," he gasps, the word broken by his panting breaths. "Always yours, alpha."

Alpha. Not just Nick, not just his friend, but his alpha. And I should be able to give him everything that means.

Primal instincts roar to life at the sound, instincts I've always kept carefully contained. If I can't be his love, at least I can be his alpha. At least I can give him that much.

I lean over him, covering his smaller body with mine, one arm wrapping around his chest to pull him up and back against me. The new angle has him crying out, his body clenching around me in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

"That's it," I murmur against his ear, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "Take everything."

He turns his head, seeking my mouth, and I kiss him—hard and possessive, swallowing his moans as I continue to thrust into him.

That bond from yesterday pulses between us, stronger now, carrying echoes of his pleasure to me.

But it's not enough. It's just another half-measure, another way I'm failing to give him what he deserves.

"Nick," he gasps against my mouth. "I'm close. So close."

I slide my hand down his sweat-slick stomach to wrap around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. "Come for me," I command, my alpha voice making him shudder. "Let me feel you, Micah."

He comes with a cry that's almost a sob, his body clenching rhythmically around me. His pleasure echoes through our forming bond, nearly pushing me over the edge too. But instinct holds me back—some primal knowledge that says not yet, not like this.

I ease him down onto his stomach as the aftershocks subside, still hard and aching inside him. "Turn over," I say, carefully withdrawing. "I want to see your face."

Micah complies, rolling onto his back with limbs that seem boneless with pleasure. His eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide, but there's still that desperate edge to his scent that tells me his heat is far from satisfied.

"Alpha," he whispers, reaching for me with trembling hands. "Need you."

Alpha. So simple, yet it breaks open a part of me I've kept locked away my entire adult life.

I've rarely experienced anything like this overwhelming need to claim, to possess, to make sure everyone knows he belongs to me.

It should scare me. Instead, it feels like the only real thing I have left to offer him.

I settle between his thighs, pushing back inside him with a groan that comes from somewhere deep and primal.

"I've got you," I promise, establishing a new rhythm, slower but deeper. "I'll give you everything I can."

The words taste like an apology, because we both know everything I can isn't everything he needs.

Micah wraps his legs around my waist, pulling me closer, deeper.

His hands clutch at my back, my shoulders, my hair—touching everywhere he can reach like he can't get enough.

I understand the feeling. Despite being as physically connected as two people can be, it doesn't feel like enough.

I want more—want to crawl inside his skin, want to make it so no one can tell where I end and he begins.

I want to give him permanence since I can't give him love.

"Nick," he moans, his back arching as I hit that spot deep inside him. "Right there. Please, don't stop."

I angle my hips to hit that spot again, watching in fascination as pleasure transforms his features.

He's beautiful like this—flushed and desperate and mine.

The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through me that's almost frightening in its intensity.

But it's all I have. It's the only way I know how to give him something real.

"Mine," I growl again, the word coming unbidden to my lips. "Tell me you're mine, Micah."

"Yours," he gasps immediately, his eyes finding mine with startling clarity given his state. "I've always been yours. Even when you can't—"

He cuts himself off, but I know what he was going to say. Even when you can't love me back.

It hits me then. Here he is, giving me everything, asking for nothing except what I can't provide. And all I can do is take what he offers and give him my body in return.

It's not enough. It will never be enough. But maybe I can make it permanent. Maybe I can give him a bond that will mean...something, even if I can't give him the words.

My thrusts become harder, more demanding, driven by an instinct older than conscious thought. Micah responds beautifully, meeting each thrust with eager sounds that drive me higher, push me closer to the edge of all control.

I feel my knot beginning to swell, catching slightly on his rim with each thrust. "I'm close," I warn him, fighting for the last shreds of control. "My knot—"