Page 36 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“But our second night of camping also included giving you training in the art of blow jobs! How am I supposed to continue that here?”

I glanced around at the other guests. “For once I’m glad you use that strange idiom. Hopefully they all believe you’re talking about explosive work as I first did.”

Sky snickered. “It’s explosive if you do it right.” Then he frowned and looked around. “Where is Poppy?”

“The innkeeper keeps a separate accommodation for pets.”

“This looks worse than my Chinese-American summer camp where we could only speak Mandarin.”

“I do not know what summer camp is, or Mandarin, but I intend to get a good night’s rest. You’re on the bottom, and I’m on top.”

Sky giggled. “Oh, am I?” Then he dropped onto his bunk and bounced experimentally. The frame creaked. “How do we get a good night’s rest without…” He glanced at the orc merchants, who had gone back to their game. “Explosions.”

“Surely you can survive a single night.”

“Not now that I had plans. They are swirling around in my brain and I can’t execute them!” He leaned back on his elbows, sprawled on the narrow bunk, practically dainty against the troll-sized pillows. How could something so cute and small have me so tied up in knots?

“Perhaps,” I said, lowering myself onto the bunk opposite his and ignoring the creak of wood under my weight, “you could save your plans for an establishment with private rooms.”

“When’s that?”

“Perhaps in the next town. I have not been there, so I’m not sure.”

I unpacked and organized our gear, setting aside what we would want for the night, then pulled up a stool to sit next to him. Sky sat cross-legged on his mattress with the resigned air of a man whose evening had not gone to plan.

“If I don’t keep myself distracted, I worry,” he whispered after a moment. “About Pip. About my mom. She totally freaks out if I don’t call, and it’s been days!”

I reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze, my heart breaking for him. “What if you spend the evening planning the use of those, er…” I glanced at the elves on their bunks. “Implements that you bought. A plan you can execute most thoroughly as soon as we are alone.”

His smile returned as quickly as it had faded. “I do have ideas. Can I whisper some of them to you?”

Through the window, the last of the daylight caught the mountain ridge to the east, and I did not look at the gorge. And Sky leaned in and whispered, “How do you feel about pain? Measured, controlled, designed to perfectly extend your ecstasy.”

I sat back, ears hot, and huffed out a breath, folding my hands over my lap. “Well. I’ll be sitting here for a few minutes to keep you company.”

“Because you like the idea?”

“Because I very much do not want to put my body’s reaction to the idea on display!” I whispered back, and he burst out laughing, leaning forward and kissing my cheek.

Chapter 12

Sky

The road out of Frostholm was pretty and boring. I was going to lose my mind.

We’d been on the road the better part of a week, and Clover had not once exceeded the pace of a man strolling to a meeting he didn’t want to attend. I’d finished three of Moerrven’s novels and started rationing the fourth. I had, on at least one occasion, considered getting out to push.

My grandfather had a proverb for this exact feeling, something about patience, or rivers, or patient rivers. I tried three times to put it back together and mangled it worse with every pass. I sighed, and then I grinned, because he would have made me hold horse stance until I got it right. I wished he was around to set me straight. Then he would have stopped me from losing my mind.

The losing-my-mind part wasn’t because of the scenery, which was all rolling green hills, wildflower meadows, and crumbly stone fences marking off sheep pastures. There was a whole pastoral fantasy postcard situation. It was fine. Lovely, even. A normal person would have sighed with contentment and maybe written a poem.

I was not a normal person. I was a person who had spent two nights with the man I wanted sleeping three feet away on a separate mattress. I had a brand new riding crop in my bag and a troll that I very much wanted to play with.

Moerrven drove the way he did everything: with steady, competent focus that should not have been as attractive as it was. His hands stayed relaxed on the reins, his shoulders broad and straight under his shirt. His horns caught the morning sun, the ridged bases warm and dark where they met his scalp. I knew what those bases felt like under my thumbs, knew the way he reacted when I pressed the trolgar point, knew the way his whole body shuddered and went soft.

I also knew he’d told at least three people in Stonedeep that I was his soulmate.

This was information I had learned to store as ammunition, which was probably unhealthy, but I couldn’t stop myself.