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—"
"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 canmake 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.