Page 55 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

I woke up before Moerrven, which almost never happened.

He was on his stomach, one arm flung over the side of the bed, his face pressed into the pillow. The blanket had slipped to his thighs, and in the gray morning light, I could see the marks on his skin, the faded welts across his ass from the paddle, pink against the blue-gray. His breathing was deep and even, and his body was relaxed, sprawled with the abandon of a man who had been thoroughly, catastrophically fucked.

I had done that.

I lay on my side and looked at the marks, and my first reaction was a possessive sort of pride, but this had been our most intense scene yet, and as always, there was the quiet, insistent voice that asked whether I had taken it too far.

It was an old worry, dating back to the first time I’d tried this: the first time a guy had begged for pain, and I’d discovered that coaxing someone to relinquish their control to me made me harder than anything else in the world. The rush of it, the power, the way a man twice my size could go soft and desperate under my hands, it all made me feel alive in a way that nothing else matched.

But every time, the morning after was the reckoning that followed every sort of unhinged power trip: the inventory of what I’d done and what it said about me that I’d enjoyed it.

He’d asked me to keep going. He’d begged for me to go harder, to make the pain sing. He’d cried, and the crying had unlocked something that had been, I believed, what he needed: therapeutic, cathartic, consensual, good.

But how did I know it was right?

And what kind of fucked up person would get off on it? Not metaphorically but literally: my cock had been hard the entire time I was hitting him. The sound of leather on skin, the way his voice broke on the numbers, the tears on his cheeks, all of it had aroused me, and not in a detached, professional way but in a hungry, possessive, fuck-yes-he’s-mine way that I was certain was part of who I was.

I liked ruining my partners, loved the way their cocks got hard from it. I thrilled in the trust it required to let go like that. But there was always a little guilt that came with being hard when your partner was crying. Even when he was begging for more.

Moerrven shifted in his sleep, and his breathing changed. He reached for my hip, his hand heavy and warm, and he pulled me closer. His fingertips brushed the bare skin of my waist and tightened, like he was making sure I was still there. He hummed, soft and happy, and nuzzled closer.

I traced a finger over the marks on his skin, reminding myself that they were evidence of trust, not damage.

“Good morning,” I said.

He groaned and pulled me closer, wrapping me up in a body so big I never had to be gentle with him. I liked that about Moerrven.

“How did you sleep?” I asked.

“Mm. So well. Could you spank all my emotions out every night? I don’t remember feeling relaxed, well… pretty much ever.”

I smiled, some of the tension in my chest easing. “You were fully unconscious. I had to check your breathing twice. I was worried I broke you.”

“You didn’t break me, you… Honestly, I don’t know how to describe what you did, but suffice it to say I’m an addict.”

“My little pain slut,” I whispered.

He laughed and rolled over on top of me, pinning my arms above my head, reminding me of his strength, of what he could do if he chose to. He kissed me, and I arched up into it, enjoying the rough capture of his lips. Then he lifted his head and grinned. “Little, am I?”

“Not at all. And that makes your surrender so much more sexy.” I gave a light push, and he went easily, letting me roll on top of him and straddle his stomach. “What’s the plan for today?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “We should make for Frostholm. Kethilda’s library, like Runhilda said.”

“The long way through Clovermere?”

“No.” He shook his head. “We’ll cross Greymere Gorge.”

I cupped his jaw, guiding his face to turn until he was meeting my eyes. “You sure?”

He drew my hands to his horns, to the trolgar. “Do the thing you do with the emotions, but this time, focus on your strength. That incredible force inside you that lets you be brave when everything should scare you.”

For once, it was my turn to blush. “Pretty sure I have a normal amount of strength.”

“No. It’s quite unusual. And I should know, because I’m an author. A student of people and what makes them tick. When I feel you through the trolgar, I feel someone who is steady, warm, and sure of himself.”

“If only you knew what I was just thinking,” I said with a chuckle.

“What? You can tell me.”