Page 80 of Hilarina and the Ogre

“Did something happen on shift?”

“Forget it. I’m being sexy right now.”

“What’s not sexy about workplace drama?”

Hilary pressed up against him, smelling even better than the sheets. “What does the virgin want to do today?”

“Earn a promotion, I think.”

Hilary laughed and twined his arms around him. “You’ll have to undergo a performance review first. Are you prepared for that?”

“How many chances do I get?”

“How many do you want?”

“Every day of forever?”

“Greedy bastard.”

He tilted Hilary’s face up, leaned in, and kissed him. It wasn’t like in the shower. Soft and careful, this time he welcomed the thoughts, letting them take hold of the moment and wrap it up, perfectly attentive, placed deliberately to be remembered forever. He wouldn’t take any chances. This, and every moment with Hilary, could not be forgotten. Everything else, maybe, but not this. Please, not this.

“What’s with that face? Are stalkers no good after all?”

Trenton had to force the words through the thickness in his throat. “If something happened. If I went crazy again, or if I broke even more, would you still come after me? Would you try to fix me?”

“I can’t fix you, Trenton. I can only be here. Is that enough?”

Hilary had always looked at him. Since the first, the man hadn’t gotten distracted. Had never tried to be elsewhere when they were together or made any hints that he wanted change. Being there, as he said, and always helping him to see what they had in each other. “Yes.”

“Then show me.”

It was permission, Trenton thought. Or maybe something more than that, like preemptive forgiveness. A free pass to fuck up.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where can I—”

“Everywhere, I think. But maybe not the back end. I was weird about it last time.”

Trenton flushed. He hadn’t meant—he hadn’t even gotten that far ahead in his own mind. He’d meant more along the lines of Hilary’s chest, or something. It was all so new. He’d never touched Hilary without a shirt. Even the thought of kissing him again was having his heart hammer fit to burst. He was sure Hilary could hear it. It was getting hard to think again. His face felt stuffed up, and he thought maybe he was breathing weird.

Hilary nudged up against him. “Slow. As slow as you want.”

That seemed quite the assumption. Who said he wanted slow? But Hilary’s next kiss was glacial, the barest pressure of lingering there, suspended in time.

Trenton groaned, the sound surprising himself, and Hilary too, who laughed a little. “I’m the one who’s been waiting. How dare you show impatience.”

It wasn’t impatience. Not quite. As much as he wanted to hurry, he also wanted to dawdle, to hang back until it killed him, just breathing in the wonder of him. “Hilary.”

Hilary bumped up against his hips. “Push me. I want to feel you.”

Trenton’s blood roared louder, and his hands trembled, but when he pressed Hilary down against the mattress and kissed him, hands clenched in his and letting his weight fall, the satisfaction went deep. It wasn’t trapping Hilary, not quite, but having him there, beneath him, feeling the lines of him and all the filled-in places—there was nothing like it. He could have stayed like that, never doing anything more, and still felt entirely fulfilled. “You feel so good.” The words were kisses. He would never pull his mouth away. “I’ve never felt anything as good as you.”

“You’ve never tried with anyone else.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone else.” He pushed down some more, their fingers interlaced, like marrying their hands together. “Show me how to make you want it.”