Page 32 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

He took me into his mouth.

His mouth was a different kind of heat: wet, tight, deliberate, as if it was made just for me. His lips stretched around me and he took me deep, deeper than I would have thought possible given the difference in our sizes. His tongue pressed flat against the underside and dragged, and I groaned from somewhere below my ribs.

He pulled off, giving me a few hard strokes. “Good boy,” he said. “You’re so fucking sexy for me, Moerrven.”

Good boy.

I was a hundred and twenty-seven years old. I had written fourteen novels, two of which had won the Sapphire Quill Award. I had lost the love of my life and carried myself through five years of mourning.

So why did those words bloom warm in my chest? Why did they make me want to do anything he asked of me?

He went deeper, pressing the head of my cock against the back of his throat, and I felt him swallow as if he might drink me down. I clutched the bedroll to keep myself in check because I wanted nothing more than to fuck the wet heat, to push so deep inside his mouth that we became one.

“Sky. I cannot… if you continue, I will—”

He sucked for a moment longer, until my back was arched off of the ground and every muscle tightened in anticipation. Then he pulled off. “Not yet.”

“Wait. What?”

“Not yet.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at me, and his grin was filthy and delighted and nothing like the sweet chaos I had been categorizing him as since the bridge. “I’m not done with you.”

He rose to his feet. His hands went to his own trousers, unlaced them, pushed them down his thighs, and did a little hopping thing as he kicked them off. His cock was hard, flushed dark, and he gave it one slow stroke, his eyes on mine.

If anyone’s cock was pretty, it was his. Everything about Sky Liang was beautiful and finely proportioned.

“I want to fuck your mouth while I hold your horns. Is that — can I?”

I had never had another man in my mouth. The mechanics were clear. He was smaller than me, and my mouth was more than adequate. But the image of it, the vulnerability and the trust and the fact that he wanted to grip my trolgar while using my mouth—

“Yes,” I said, and my voice came out ragged, hardly my own. “Please.”

He moved up my body. His thighs settled on either side of my head, and the scent of him filled my nose: sweat, skin, the sharp musk of arousal. His cock pressed against my lips, and I opened for him. The first slide of him into my mouth was salt and warmth and the weight of him above me. He was bigger than I would have expected, but still small enough for me to easily take all of him.

And he felt so perfectly right seated deep in my mouth that I moaned, giving him a gentle, tentative suck.

He stayed where he was, balls heavy against my chin, cock buried to the hilt as his hands slid slowly down my horns, teasing me with the touch I needed. I wanted to beg, but that was logistically difficult with a cock in my mouth, and I definitely did not want to spit him out.

So I swirled my tongue around him, the way he had with me, and watched his eyes roll back.

“Naughty boy, I know what you want.” He gripped the base of both horns, his thumbs pressing into the pressure point above my trolgar gland. And suddenly, I could feel his pleasure layered over my own. It wasn’t specific, not like I was reading his mind, just a wave of pure, clean, sexual pleasure. I moved my tongue up to lap at his slit, and when I found the exact right spot, the feedback loop of it almost made me come.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Your mouth, Moerrven. Fuck, your mouth is so hot. You fit me so well.” He rocked his hips, shallow at first, and I gripped his thighs and pulled him deeper. “Yeah? You want more?”

I could not speak. I hollowed my cheeks, sucked, and nodded against him. His next thrust was deeper, his fingers tightened on my horns, and I whimpered.

He pulled back, all the way out, and I surged forward, desperate to get him back in my mouth.

“Shh, just let me check in, sweetheart. Am I being too rough?”

I shook my head. “No, I can… oh fuck, I can feel you, feel how good it feels when I suck you. I need more.”

He moaned softly and got back into position, shoving his cock into my mouth. His pleasure became mine, coursing through me with a wild intensity, sending shivers down my spine and into my cock, untouched and leaking against my stomach.

He tasted of salt and musk, and I wanted to commit the flavor of his pre-cum to memory, as I greedily lapped up every drop his cock released. He was controlling how much I got, how fast we moved, everything. So different from when he’d sucked me, when I’d been undone and mastered by the feel of his mouth on me.

“Good boy. You’re taking me so well. Look at you. You love having your mouth fucked, don’t you? Little cock sleeve.”

He was right, I loved it. Every sensation was amplifying the pleasure coming off of him in waves: his cock sliding across my tongue, the silk of his skin and the taste of him. Pleasure and emotion braided through me until I could not tell where my body ended and his began. The trolgar opened the locked room in my chest, and what it found there was not the emptiness I had expected. What it found was Sky: bright, warm, fierce, and lonely underneath the charm, and my body knew him in a way my mind had not yet permitted.