Page 30 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“I cannot… I cannot accurately describe—” He swallowed. “Yes. Good. So good that I fear I may not have done it justice when I wrote about it.”

“What do you feel?”

“It’s… the same sort of tingle as when a person touches your cock, but compounded by the connection. I feel you. Sky, who is warm and funny and open to everything—”

“Except camping,” I said.

“Open to most things,” he amended with a twitch of a smile. “And I feel that maybe you’re lonely, and maybe you want. But I don’t know if that’s coming from you or me.”

“Probably both, if we’re being honest.”

I kept going, slow strokes from base to tip, my thumb pressing into the warm groove, and his head dropped forward until his forehead rested against my shoulder. His breath was hot on my neck. His body was trembling, fine tremors running through his massive frame, and his hand had slid from my waist to my hip and was gripping hard enough to leave marks.

“I’ve got you,” I said, the way I said it when I had someone in my hands and knew what I was doing to them. “I’ve got you, Moerrven.”

He moaned, low and broken, against my neck. His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer, and his whole body curved into mine, this enormous man folding himself around me like I was the only warm thing in the world.

I moved my other hand to his other horn, matching the movements, pushing forward the emotions I wanted him to feel: that I liked him, that he intrigued me, that I was sad for him, and I wanted desperately to make it all better. He moaned softly, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the sensations or the emotions.

I cupped his face in both hands and dragged him up to face me, then leaned in and brushed my lips against his. He went still, and pulled back a fraction, and I stopped, my thumbs resting on his cheekbones. “Is this okay?” I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment, something enormous moving behind his eyes, and I watched him decide. “Yes,” he said, and surged into me, hands sliding up my spine, curling down around me as he devoured my mouth. Arching forward, I pressed my hardness against his, whimpering at the clothing between us as I sucked on his tongue and slid my hands from his face back up to his horns, working my thumbs into the grooves, holding him exactly where I needed him as I tasted him for the first time.

The kiss was unlike anything I’d ever felt, electric and wild and full of everything pent up between us over the past few days. He tasted of honey and strawberries, and his strength and heat beneath me were a study in restrained power as he let me take control, let me devour him like a man starved.

I wanted to be touching him everywhere.

Chapter 10

Moerrven

His hands left my horns. I made a mortifying sound of protest, and he laughed, low and warm.

I had written trolgar scenes into many of my novels: the ache of wanting to be touched there, the vulnerability of permitting it, the devastating openness that followed. But now I was wondering how well I had captured the reality of it. It was heady and addictive and so damn good. No amount of research or imagination had prepared me for the experience itself.

I hadn’t considered what it would be like to sense the wild desperation he felt as he surged forward, rocking his cock against mine, or how intense it would be to understand how much sucking on my tongue delighted him.

He pulled back, breathing hard, and gave me a little shove. “Lie down.”

I complied, because I knew something of the wickedness inside Sky’s mind, and I desperately wanted to see what he’d do if I gave myself over to it. He ripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, then tugged at mine.

“Can I explore you? All of you?” he asked, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my trousers.

“Yes.” I lifted my hips and let him slide them off, and Sky gasped in delight as my cock sprang free. He untied the ties on the front of my shirt, and I sat up long enough for him to shove it off my shoulders, then sprawled back out on the bedrolls, bare for him, cock hard against my stomach.

“Fuck, you’re pretty.” His hands came up and framed my face, and his thumbs traced my jaw, my cheekbones, the ridge of bone above my brows.

“Trolls are not pretty.”

“Oh, you are,” he said, kissing his way down my throat, tracing his fingers over my pectoral muscles. “This line,” he said, licking and nipping at my collarbone. He moved lower, stopping to pay particular attention to my left nipple, until I was squirming and whimpering beneath him. “Your muscles are beautiful for someone who never works out.”

“Works out of what?”

Sky laughed. “In my world, people do exercise for the purpose of exercise. They take classes where they lift heavy things for hours each day to sculpt muscles like these.” He kissed my shoulders, my chest.

“I lift heavy things for hours each day in my garden, I suppose,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “But not for the purpose of beauty. I do it when my brain won’t cooperate with writing.”

“Whether or not it’s for the purpose of beauty, you’ve accomplished it,” Sky said, slowly kissing lower. “You’re trembling.”