"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 lostcontrol—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 mychest 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.