Page 12 of His Best Friend’s Heat

"Yes," Micah interrupts, his hands clutching at my ass, pulling me deeper. "Want your knot. Want everything. Please, Nick."

His desperation feeds mine, the bond between us amplifying every sensation, every emotion. I can feel my control slipping, feel the alpha in me rising to the surface in a way I've never allowed before.

This is what I was afraid of—this loss of the control I've always prided myself on. This is what my father felt, what drove him to abandon his family for biological urges. But as I look down at Micah, flushed and needy beneath me, I realize I don't care anymore.

If I can't give him love, at least I can give him this. At least I can make him mine in the most permanent way possible.

With a final thrust, I push my swelling knot past his entrance, locking us together as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. He cries out, his body clenching around me, his cock twitching between us as he comes again untouched.

Feeling him pulse around my knot is too much. I feel myself tipping over the edge, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seem to go on forever. As the first pulses of my release fill him, an instinct primal and unstoppable rises in me—a need I can't name or resist.

My mouth finds his neck, teeth grazing over his scent gland. He tastes like salt and sweetness and pure him—exploding across my tongue. I recognize this moment for what it is—a point of no return, a decision that will change everything.

For one suspended moment, I hover on the edge of that decision.

The truth crystallizes with startling clarity.

I do love him. I've loved him for longer than I want to admit, probably years.

But saying it out loud means admitting I've been lying to myself, means facing what that says about who I am.

So if I can't say the words, at least I can give him this.

At least I can make sure he knows he's mine forever, even if I'm too much of a coward to tell him why.

This isn't like my father at all. My father left because he wanted something new. I want to stay. I want to give him permanence, even if I can't give him the words he deserves.

Maybe it's selfish. Maybe it's wrong. But it's all I have to offer right now.

I bite down.

The effect is immediate and overwhelming.

Micah's body jerks beneath mine, a sound I've never heard before tearing from his throat—not pain but transcendence, beyond pleasure.

The bond between us, previously just a gentle warmth, explodes into full, vibrant life.

Suddenly I can feel everything he's feeling—the pleasure bordering on pain, the relief, the completion, the love.

God, the love. It washes over me in waves, nine years of carefully hidden feelings suddenly laid bare through the bond. It's staggering in its intensity, in its purity—this love he's carried for me all this time, never expecting anything in return.

And underneath it, threading through everything else, is gratitude. Gratitude that I've given him this permanent connection, even if I can't give him the emotional equivalent.

"Micah," I gasp against his neck, licking at the mark I've made, tasting the copper tang of blood mixed with his unique flavor. "Oh my God, Micah."

He's trembling beneath me, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. Through the bond, I can feel that they're not tears of pain but of overwhelming emotion—relief and joy and disbelief all mixed together.

"Nick," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "You bit me."

The reality of what I've done crashes over me like a wave of ice water. I bit him. I marked him. I created a permanent bond between us—one that can never be broken, not completely.

But instead of satisfaction, all I feel is crushing guilt. Because I know why I did it. Not from love, not from a desire to build a life together, but from desperation. From a pathetic need to give him something permanent since I couldn't give him something real.

I just bonded him to someone who can't love him back. I trapped him with me forever because I was too selfish to let him find someone who could give him everything.

I'm exactly like my father, letting alpha instincts override everything else, taking what I want without thinking about what's best for anyone else.

"I'm sorry," I say, horror growing as it sinks in. "I never meant to—I lost control—"

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "Shh," he soothes, though I can feel his own shock and uncertainty through the bond. "It's okay. We're okay."

But are we? I just made a life-altering decision in the heat of the moment, driven by instincts I've always prided myself on controlling. I've permanently tied him to me without discussion, without planning, without any of the careful consideration this deserves.

And the worst part? I did it knowing I can't give him what he really wants.

"I'm so sorry," I say again, horror growing as I think about what this means. "Micah, I just trapped you. I bonded you to someone who can't even say—"

"Stop," he interrupts, his fingers pressing against my lips. "I can feel what you're thinking, remember? And you're wrong."

The bond. Of course. It goes both ways—he can feel my emotions just as I can feel his. The realization is both comforting and terrifying.

"You're nothing like your father," Micah continues, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that brooks no argument.

"Nothing. This wasn't just you—it was both of us.

I wanted this, Nick. Maybe not consciously, not right now, but.

.." He trails off, a flush rising in his cheeks.

"I've wanted to be yours for nine years.

The bond just...recognized what was already there. "

His words ease the tightness in my chest, but the panic doesn't fully subside. This is permanent. Whatever happens between us now, we'll always have this connection. If I hurt him, if I leave, if I can't become what he needs—the bond will make it a thousand times worse.

"What if I mess this up?" I ask, the fear raw in my voice. "What if I can't learn to love you the way you deserve? What if I just bonded you to someone who'll never be enough?"

Micah's expression softens, his hand stroking my cheek. "Nick, you've been exactly what I needed for nine years," he says simply. "That's not going to change because we added this dimension to our relationship."

I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe him. But doubt creeps in, insidious and persistent. "But I've never been with a man before you," I point out. "I don't know if this is real attraction or just biology. What if, once your heat ends, I discover I can't actually be what you need?"

"Hey," Micah says softly, clearly sensing the direction of my thoughts through the bond. "One day at a time, okay?"

His certainty should comfort me, but all I can think about is the weight of what I've done. I've permanently bonded myself to my best friend in a moment of desperation and instinct. Nine years of friendship, and I might have just destroyed it all because I couldn't control myself.

I wanted to give him something meaningful, something permanent. Instead, I may have given him a lifetime tied to someone who might never be able to love him back.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and carefully shift us to our sides, still joined by my knot. He winces slightly at the movement, and I feel an echo of discomfort through the bond.

"Are you okay?" I ask, concern immediately overriding my own turmoil. "Did I hurt you?"

He shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips. "Just sensitive," he assures me. "And I'm not going anywhere. Whatever this becomes, whatever we become—I'm not going anywhere."

Relief washes through me, so intense it's almost dizzying.

Maybe I should be more certain, should have all the answers about what this means for who I am, for our future.

But right now, with the taste of him still on my lips and the feel of his body still imprinted on mine, all I know is that I don't want to go back to before.

Even if I don't understand what I am or what I feel, even if I'm terrified of failing him, I know I can't lose him. The bond ensures I never will, for better or worse.

But as he drifts toward sleep, I'm left alone with the new, strange presence of the bond between us. It carries echoes of his emotions even as he sleeps—contentment, security, and beneath it all, that steady current of love that still staggers me.

What have I done? I've permanently bonded myself to my best friend in a moment of heat-driven desperation. Changed both our lives irrevocably. Created a connection that can never be fully broken.

And the worst part? I still don't know if I did it for him or for me.