Page 23 of His Best Friend’s Heat

"Nick," he says, my name coming out rougher than usual. His hands fist in my shirt, pulling me down. "I've wanted this for so long."

"Have you?" I kiss along his throat, feeling his pulse jump under my lips. "Thought about me touching you?"

I take my time with the rest of his clothes, then strip out of my own, Micah's eyes following every movement. When I settle between his thighs, he's already flushed and breathing hard.

"Christ, you're gorgeous," I say, running my hands up his legs, watching how he shivers at the contact. "And you're mine."

"Prove it," he challenges, his eyes dark with want.

I grin, lowering my head to trace my tongue along his hip bone. He arches off the bed with a gasp that goes straight to my cock. "Like that?"

"More," he demands, his hands tangling in my hair. "Nick, please—"

I explore him with mouth and hands, mapping every sensitive spot, every place that makes him curse and writhe beneath me. The soft sounds he makes—breathy moans, my name on his lips—drive me crazy in the best possible way.

"Tell me," I murmur against the inside of his thigh. "Tell me what you want."

"You," he gasps, his back arching as I bite gently at the sensitive skin. "Inside me. I want to feel you claim me properly this time."

The raw need in his voice makes my cock throb. "Yeah," I growl, reaching for lube. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby."

I work him open slowly, watching his face as he takes my fingers. He's responsive, vocal, pushing back against my hand and cursing when I find his prostate.

"Fuck, right there," he moans, his head thrown back against the pillows. "God, Nick, I need—"

"What?" I add another finger, stretching him carefully. "What do you need?"

"You," he pants, his hands gripping the sheets. "Stop being such a fucking tease and get inside me."

I laugh, low and rough. "Bossy."

"You like it," he shoots back, then gasps as I twist my fingers just right.

When he's ready—relaxed and open and begging—I position myself at his entrance. "Look at me," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Want to see your face when I claim you."

His eyes lock on mine as I push in slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. He's tight and hot and perfect, and the way he looks at me—like I'm everything he's ever wanted—nearly undoes me.

"Mine," I breathe when I'm fully seated inside him. "Say it."

"Yours," he gasps, his legs wrapping around my waist. "Always been yours, you just never—ah—never knew it."

I start moving, slow and deep, watching how his eyes flutter closed with each thrust. "That's it," I murmur, angling to hit his prostate. "So fucking perfect for me."

He meets my rhythm, rolling his hips up to take me deeper. "Harder," he demands, his nails digging into my shoulders. "I'm not going to break."

I give him what he wants, picking up the pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room along with our heavy breathing. Micah's moans get louder, more desperate, and I can feel through our bond how close he's getting.

"Touch yourself," I order, my voice rough with desire. "Want to watch you come on my cock."

His hand flies to his dick, stroking in time with my thrusts. The sight of him—flushed and needy and completely wrecked—pushes me right to the edge.

"Gonna knot you," I warn, feeling the pressure building at the base of my cock. "Gonna mark you again and make sure everyone knows you're mine."

"Do it," he gasps, his back arching as his orgasm hits. "Mark me, claim me, make me yours—"

When he comes, crying out my name, I lean down and bite gently at the existing bond mark. Not breaking skin, just renewing the claim. The sensation combined with his body clenching around me triggers my own release, my knot swelling to lock us together as I spill inside him.

Unlike during his heat, the knot forms slowly, giving Micah's body time to adjust. I watch his face carefully for any sign of discomfort, but there's only bliss as his body accepts me completely, locking us together.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips as we settle into the familiar position, my weight carefully distributed to avoid crushing him. "I've always loved you. I just didn't have the right words for it until now."

Micah's smile is radiant, nine years of hidden feelings finally allowed to show. "I love you too. Always have. Always will."

We lie together, connected in every possible way, as our breathing slows and the intensity of the moment settles into quiet contentment. I feel a peace from Micah that mirrors my own—a sense of rightness, of coming home.

"What happens now?" he asks eventually, his fingers tracing patterns on my back.

"Now we figure it out," I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Together."

"The baby," he says, his free hand drifting to rest on his stomach. "We're going to be parents."

The thought still sends a thrill of both terror and joy through me. "Yeah. We are."

"Are we going to live together?" The question is practical but loaded with meaning. "I mean, Amara said separation will get more difficult as the pregnancy progresses..."

"I want you here," I say without hesitation. "Not just because of the bond or the baby. I want to wake up with you every morning. I want this—" I gesture to the room around us, to the evidence of my unconscious nesting, "—to be our space. Not just mine with pieces of you. Ours."

Joy radiates from him at the idea, but there's practicality too. "My apartment lease is up in two months. That's good timing, actually."

"Or you could move in sooner," I suggest, unable to bear the thought of two more months of separation. "We could get your stuff this weekend."

Micah laughs, the sound vibrating through both of us where we're pressed together. "Eager much?"

"Nine years, Micah," I remind him, nipping playfully at his earlobe. "I think we've waited long enough, don't you?"

His expression softens. "Yeah. We have."

As my knot gradually subsides, allowing us to separate physically, I pull him close against my side, unwilling to break contact completely. Our connection hums with contentment, no longer an alien presence but a welcome awareness, strengthening what was already there.

"We should tell our families," Micah says after a while, his head resting on my chest. "About us. About the baby."

The thought of sharing our news brings a smile to my face. "My mom is going to be insufferably smug. She's been telling me for years that you were special."

"My sister too," Micah admits with a rueful laugh. "Ellie's going to say 'I told you so' for the next decade at least."

"They saw what we couldn't," I acknowledge, running my fingers through his hair. "Or what I couldn't, anyway."

"Better late than never," he says, tilting his face up for a kiss that I gladly provide.

As the evening deepens around us, we talk about practical things—whose furniture to keep, how to arrange the second bedroom for the baby, whether Micah's commute will be manageable from my apartment.

Ordinary, domestic conversations that should feel overwhelming given how quickly everything has changed, but instead feel right.

Natural. Like we've been heading toward this all along.

And maybe we have been. Maybe every Friday night movie, every shared meal, every time I unconsciously prioritized Micah over everyone else in my life was leading us here—to this moment, this choice, this future we're building together.

Not because biology demanded it. Not because circumstances forced it. But because, when finally given the chance to see clearly, we chose each other. Just as we always have, in all the ways that matter.