Page 8 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Nick

I 'm in way over my head.

I know the basics of omega heat. The biology, the progression, the mechanics. But nothing has prepared me for the reality of Micah in the nest he's made from my clothes, nearly naked and flushed with fever, looking at me with a mixture of desperation and want that makes my mouth go dry.

I've helped female omegas through heat before, but this is different. This is Micah. My best friend, the person I care about more than anyone else. And despite all my experience, I feel like I'm about to fumble this completely.

"Touch me," he whispers again when I don't immediately move. "I need you to touch me."

I hesitate, not from reluctance but from a sudden, overwhelming need to make sure I don't screw this up.

Micah reaches for me, his fingers trembling as they close around my wrist. He tugs gently on my wrist, guiding me fully into the nest he's created.

I settle beside him, hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch.

He's radiating heat, his skin flushed and damp with sweat.

Up close, his scent is even more potent—sweet and rich and distinctly omega, but with that underlying note that's purely Micah.

It fills my lungs, makes my head swim, makes my body respond in ways I can't control.

"You're still wearing too many clothes," Micah murmurs, his fingers plucking at the hem of my t-shirt.

I laugh, the sound strained. "Yeah, I guess I am."

With hands that aren't quite steady, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside. Micah's eyes darken as he takes in my bare chest, his pupils dilating further. He reaches out, hesitant, then places his palm flat against my sternum.

"Your heart's racing," he says softly.

"Yeah." There's no point denying it. "This is...new territory for me."

Micah's expression falters. "We don't have to—"

"That's not what I meant," I interrupt, covering his hand with mine. "I meant I've never wanted anyone the way I want you right now. Male, female, doesn't matter—this is different. And it's confusing as hell, but it feels..."

"Right?" Micah supplies, hope flickering in his eyes.

"Inevitable," I say, and the word surprises me with its truth.

Micah's face lights up, and the sight does warmth spreads through my chest. I lean forward, driven by an instinct I don't fully understand, and press my forehead against his. It's an alpha gesture—scenting, claiming—and it feels as natural as breathing.

"I've got you," I murmur, the words more promise than reassurance. "Whatever you need."

Micah shivers, his body arching slightly toward mine. "I need you to touch me," he says again, his voice breaking.

This time, I don't hesitate. I slide my hand along his side, feeling the heat of his skin, the slight tremor in his muscles.

He's always been lean, but there's strength there too—the wiry build of someone who spends his days on his feet, caring for others.

My fingers trace the curve of his ribs, the dip of his waist, learning the topography of his body in a way I've never allowed myself to consider before.

Micah makes a small, desperate sound as my hand skims over his hip. "More," he whispers. "Nick, please."

The need in his voice triggers every alpha instinct I have. I growl low in my throat, a sound I've rarely made before, and pull him closer. Our chests press together, skin to skin, and the contact sends electricity racing through my veins.

"Tell me what feels good," I say against his ear. "Show me how to help you."

In answer, Micah guides my hand lower, past the waistband of his soaked briefs. The moment my fingers make contact with him, he gasps, his body jerking like he's been shocked.

"Fuck," I breathe, stunned by the heat of him, the slick evidence of his need.

This is different from being with female omegas—similar in some ways, wildly different in others—but my body doesn't seem confused at all.

My alpha instincts know exactly what to do, how to touch him, how to draw those desperate little sounds from his throat.

"Is this okay?" I ask as I explore him with careful fingers, mapping unfamiliar territory.

"God, yes," Micah groans, his hips pushing into my touch. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I have no intention of stopping. Not when every gasp and moan from Micah's lips feeds the hunger growing inside me. Not when his scent is getting sweeter, headier with each touch. Not when this feels like the most natural thing I've ever done.

I lose track of time as we learn each other's bodies. Everything narrows to the feel of Micah's skin under my hands, the taste of his mouth when I finally gather the courage to kiss him, the sound of his breathing growing more ragged as I bring him closer to the edge.

"Nick," he gasps against my mouth. "I need—I can't—"

I pull back enough to see his face, flushed and desperate. "Tell me."

"More," he says, his voice breaking. "Inside. I need you inside me."

The words send a jolt of pure heat through my system. My cock, already hard enough to be painful, throbs at the thought.

I take my time, preparing him carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But there's only pleasure there—his eyes half-closed, lips parted, small sounds of encouragement escaping with each breath.

When I finally position myself between his thighs, I pause one last time. "Micah," I say, needing him to hear this. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I know I can't stop. Is that okay?"

His eyes open fully, meeting mine with a vulnerability that steals my breath. "I know," he says softly. "And yes. God, yes."

My chest tightens at his words, relief mixed with anxiety I can't name. I lean down and kiss him, desperate and grateful and completely out of my depth.

When I finally push inside him, the sensation makes my vision blur. Micah is tight and hot around me, slick and welcoming in a way that scrambles my brain.

"Fuck," I gasp against his neck. "Micah, I can't—this is—"

"I know," he breathes, his hands fisting in my hair. "God, Nick, you feel so good."

I start to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as Micah's responses guide me.

His legs wrap around my waist, but that's not enough.

I need him closer, need better access. Without thinking, I hook my hand behind his knee and push his leg higher, opening him up more.

The new angle makes us both gasp, and Micah's eyes go wide with surprise.

"Nick," he breathes, and there's awe in his voice that's new to me.

I don't even realize I'm doing it until it's done—my free hand finds his wrists, pressing them into the mattress above his head. Not hard, but firm enough that he can't move them. The submissive position makes my pulse spike with possessive satisfaction.

I find myself leaning down to breathe in his scent at the curve of his neck.

The urge is so strong it's almost compulsive—I need to smell him, need to cover him with my scent.

My teeth find the sensitive juncture of Micah's neck and shoulder, and I press down without thinking.

Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to mark.

"Mine," I growl against his throat, the word ripping out of me before I can stop it. "You're mine."

The possessiveness in my voice shocks me. Where the hell did that come from?

"Yes," Micah gasps, his body arching beneath me. "Yours, Nick. Always yours."

His words trigger an instinct that I don't recognize, don't understand. I've rarely felt anything like this—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 most natural thing in the world.

"I'm yours," Micah whispers, and I release his wrists so I can frame his face with my hands, making sure he can't look away.

"Damn right you are," I say. Micah's pupils dilate even further and he makes a needy sound. His body clamping down around me like a vice, and then he's coming, his cock pulsing between us, painting our stomachs with his release.

The feeling of him coming apart around me is too much. With a growl I follow him over the edge, my orgasm tearing through me so hard I see stars. I'm dimly aware of Micah's name on my lips, of his nails digging into my shoulders, of my knot swelling and catching, locking us together.

When I come back to myself, I'm collapsed on top of him, our bodies still joined, both of us breathing hard.

Micah's fever-hot skin is cooling slightly against mine, and I can feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat where our chests are pressed together.

I shift carefully, not wanting to hurt him with my knot, and roll us to our sides, keeping him close.

"You okay?" I ask, brushing sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

He nods, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips. "Better than okay," he murmurs. "That was...God, Nick. That was incredible."

Relief washes through me. "Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It really was."

We lie in silence for a while, our bodies cooling, my knot gradually subsiding.

I should feel weird about this—about what we just did, about the possessive shit that came out of my mouth, about how I literally couldn't control myself.

But all I feel is satisfied in a way I've rarely experienced, like I've been starving and finally got fed.

"What are you thinking?" Micah asks eventually, his voice soft and slightly hoarse.

I consider the question, trying to sort through the chaos in my head. "I'm thinking I have no idea what just happened to me," I say finally. "I've never...I don't usually..." I trail off, frustrated by my inability to articulate the way my brain seemed to shut off and my body took over completely.

Micah shifts to look at me, concern flickering in his eyes. "Do you regret it?"

"No," I say quickly, because that much I'm certain of. "God, no. It's just...I held you down. I moved you around like you were mine to position however I wanted. I've never done that before. With anyone."

I run a hand through my hair, still trying to process it. "And the scenting thing? What the hell was that about?"

A flush spreads across Micah's cheeks. "Alpha instincts," he says softly. "Heat brings them out more intensely. Makes you more...possessive. More dominant."

"Is that what that was?" I ask, relief warring with unease under my skin. "Because for a minute there, all I could think about was making sure you knew you belonged to me."

A flush that has nothing to do with heat fever spreads across Micah's cheeks. "Nick, you don't have to—"

"I'm not making excuses," I interrupt, needing him to understand. "I'm just trying to figure out why I wanted to bite you so badly I actually sort of did it. Why hearing you say you're mine made me want to beat my chest like some caveman."

I can see him trying not to smile. "You really have no idea how alpha you just went, do you?"

"Apparently not. Is it always like that during heat?"

"Not always," Micah says. "But when there's compatibility..." He trails off, color deepening on his cheeks.

"Shit," I mutter. "No wonder I felt like I was going crazy."

"Are you kidding?" Micah says, his voice going rough. "Nick, that was the hottest thing I've ever experienced. I had no idea you had that in you."

"Neither did I," I mutter, but his words send a thrill of satisfaction through me.

He tucks his face against my neck, and I can feel him smiling against my skin. "You were pretty incredible," he admits, his voice muffled. "Even if you don't know what you're doing. Or maybe because you don't."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say dryly, but I'm smiling too.

There's relief in knowing that the overwhelming possessiveness, the need to claim him, the way I completely lost control—it's all biological.

But there's also this weird pride that I was good at it, that I made him feel that way.

We fall silent again, and I find myself marveling at how different everything feels. Not just physically, though the satisfied ache in my muscles and the lingering scent of sex and heat is definitely new. But emotionally too—like a switch has been flipped that I can't flip back.

But beneath the satisfaction, uncertainty creeps in. What I did tonight—losing control, letting instincts drive me—that's exactly what I've always sworn I'd never do. That's my father's playbook, not mine.

I know this is just a temporary reprieve—Micah's heat will surge again soon, demanding more from both of us. But for now, in this quiet moment, I'm trying to wrap my head around what just happened and what it means.

Nine years of friendship, and I've rarely experienced anything like the possessive hunger that just tore through me. Nine years of dating women and never once feeling the need to mark them, claim them, make sure they knew they belonged to me.

What the hell does that mean?

"Your scent is changing," Micah murmurs, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. "Getting stronger."

I nuzzle into his hair, breathing him in. "Yours too," I observe. "How long until...?"

"Not long," he says, a slight tremor in his voice betraying the returning need. "Maybe an hour. Less, probably."

My body stirs at the thought, and I'm surprised by how ready I am for another round. "I'll take care of you," I promise, tightening my arms around him. "However many times you need."

Micah presses closer, his lips finding my collarbone.

Then he looks up at me, and there's something in his eyes, deep and vulnerable and achingly familiar.

Something that makes my chest tight with recognition I'm not ready to name.

We stare at each other in the dim light, and I feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between us, heavy with meaning I can't bring myself to acknowledge.

The intensity of whatever passes between us scares me as much as it draws me in. I see everything he's not saying reflected in his hazel eyes, and it terrifies me.

"I don't know what happens after," I say honestly, my voice rougher than I intended, breaking the charged silence. "I don't know what any of this means or how to make sense of it."

Hurt flickers across his face at my words, but he nods slowly. "I understand," he says softly. "It's a lot to process."

We lay there in silence, the easy intimacy from moments before now strained with my inability to give him what he needs. What he deserves.

I want to take the words back, want to tell him what he wants to hear. But I've seen what happens when alphas make promises driven by biology instead of genuine feeling. I've seen the wreckage my father left behind.

I won't do that to Micah. I won't be that kind of alpha.

Even if my silence breaks his heart.