Page 25 of A Troll in the Hay

“What if I’m not pregnant?”

“Then we’ll celebrate the opportunity to keep trying when your scent sends me into another rut.”

Heat pools between my legs at the thought of him rutting me again. “I’ll go pee on the stick.”

Three minutes always go by in a blink—except when you’re waiting for two pink lines to appear.

When I open the bathroom door, Ogram is right there waiting.

I have never been good at playing it cool. Or faking things. Or being quiet.

And now is not the time to start.

“I’m pregnant!” I squeal, throwing my arms around him. My feet leave the ground, the air whooshing out of me as he spins me around. Carefully, of course. Because I’m pregnant. “And a little disappointed,” I say, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face when he sets me down. “Your troll super-sperm deprived me of more super-hot troll rutting.”

Chuckling, he scoops me into his arms and heads toward our bedroom. “You’ll be fertile again, my mate. Until then, we’re celebrating that you’re not.”

Best celebration ever.

So far.