Page 45 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

He collapsed forward onto my chest. His forehead pressed against my collarbone. He released my horns and slid down to my shoulders, and he held on, breathing hard. I lay on the bedroll in a forest clearing with my wrists still loosely bound, cum on my stomach, and the ruins of fourteen novels scattered around me.

After some time, Sky propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. His hair was damp with sweat. His cheeks were flushed. His expression was smug in a way that I found both infuriating and devastatingly attractive.

“So,” he said. “How was that compared to Chapter Twelve of The Black Night Guard?”

“I am going to rewrite every sex scene I have ever published.”

He burst out laughing. “That bad?”

“That inaccurate. I had no idea, Sky. I wrote it as if — as if describing a sunset to a blind man. I captured the concept and missed the entire experience.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am being precise.” I turned my head to look at him. “Untie my hands. I must touch you. Please?”

He did, gently, rubbing the circulation back into my wrists with his thumbs. Then he pulled a blanket over both of us and tucked himself against my side, his head on my chest, his leg thrown over mine. Poppy made a sound of feline judgment from her habitat, and I ran my hand down his back, massaging his muscles, bringing comfort to the body that had brought me the most intense pleasure of my life.

“When can we do that again?” I asked. The question left my mouth before I could examine it, which was unlike me. I examined everything. I weighed words with a precision that my readers praised and my sisters found exhausting. But the thought of experiencing that sensation again had bypassed every filter I possessed.

“When you’ve recovered.” Sky traced a pattern on my chest with one finger. “So, tomorrow?”

“Tonight.”

He looked up at me. “Tonight?”

“I am a troll. We recover quickly.” I paused. “Though perhaps with slightly less restraint.”

Sky’s grin spread across his face like a sunrise. “You liked being tied up.”

“I did not say—”

“You loved it. You pulled against the cord when you came. Your wrists are going to have marks.”

I looked at my wrists. They were red. I did not mind.

“I would like to note,” I said, “that in none of my novels did I accurately convey the compulsive nature of this experience. I wrote it as transcendent. It is not transcendent. It is addictive. There is a meaningful distinction.”

“A meaningful distinction,” Sky said, and his voice was warm with laughter. “You’re already workshopping your rewrite.”

“I am always workshopping.”

He kissed my chest. “Good. Because I still haven’t fucked your hole yet… wait until you get to feel me inside you.”

I stared up at the canopy, at the stars beginning to show through the oak leaves, and contemplated the fact that I was already hard again. I drew my hand down to his cock, and he groaned, then smiled wickedly at me as he gave my cock one more lazy pass with the oil and climbed back on, sinking down on me with less urgency now, dropping his lips to mine to kiss me slowly as our bodies undulated together.

Chapter 14

Sky

No book I had ever read had prepared me for quite how slow quests go, and we spent another day plodding along behind Clover until we reached a bigger town with a bridge, where we resupplied and finally enjoyed a private bedchamber instead of a bunkroom. After that, we crossed the river and headed back into the remote, isolated mountain territory of before.

But he made it all bearable with his cute little whimpers and his big cock, and the hopeful look he got in his eyes when I pulled out the bag that held his favorite paddle. I was insatiable for Moerrven, and he seemed to feel the same for me. My perfect slutty submissive gave me all the play I wanted and at least two orgasms’ worth of troll cum every night. I was holding Clover’s reins while teaching him about cockwarming nearly a week after we’d left Frostholm. Moerrven was very pro-cockwarming, especially if I kept one hand on his trolgar point.

A city rose out of the mountain as we rounded a bend, sudden and wonderful. It was like a Tibetan monastery on steroids, towers and terraces climbing a massive mountain in tiers, built into the cliff in an incredible marriage of innovation and sheer force of will. Each level was connected by stone bridges and stairways older than anything I’d ever seen, and waterfalls threaded between the buildings where springs had been channeled through carved aqueducts that caught the afternoon light.

“Holy shit, it’s beautiful,” I said, which was the most inadequate thing I’d ever said about anything.

“Welcome to the grand trollish city of Highmark,” Moerrven said. “We have come to our library. The Great Archive.”