Page 6 of A Troll in the Hay
The need to come thrums behind my clit, and when I squeeze my thighs together, the slickness there creates an unmistakable sound. A scent too, if Ogram’s deep inhalation and flaring nostrils are any indication. But my cheeks don’t flame with embarrassment. Not even when his grip on my bouquet tightens as he takes another deep breath.
Unable to help myself, I look at the front of his jeans—and suck in an audible breath. Snug-fitting, they showcase an epic bulge, but not beneath the zipper, where human men tuck their dicks. The thick bulge of Ogram’s cock runs down his inner thigh. So far down, it should be alarming, even terrifying, to think of something that size inside me. But I’m not even a teensy bit scared of Ogram’s monster.
Forcing my gaze upward, I find his dark eyes waiting. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move—except for thrusting his arm forward to hand off the bouquet. But when I reach for it and our fingers touch, he reacts. A deep rumbling that sounds like hunger, though not the for-food kind.
He retracts his hand and stuffs both into his front pockets. “Perhaps I should wait for you outside.”
“Why?”
“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“Having you in my cabin doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” I let my eyes wander over his hulking form, lingering for a few seconds on the bulge that hasn’t gone down, before returning to his face. “Does being in here makeyouuncomfortable?”
The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting back a smile. “I am happy to remain inside with you.”
“Good.” Smiling, I move toward the sink in the cabin’s small kitchenette. When I reach it, I set the vase in the basin and turn the water on low to fill it, then add the flowers, which are already cut to the ideal length for this vase.
Everything about this gift is thoughtful and required personal effort. He may be a monster, but he’s already the best man I’ve ever dated.
“They’re perfect together, as if they were made for each other,” I say, admiring the vase and blooms while setting the arrangement carefully on the bedside table.
“I think so too.” The way he says it pulls my attention to his face, and what I see there makes me think he’s not just talking about the vase and flowers.
Heart racing in my chest, I close the distance between us and tip my head back to smile up at him. “I’m ready for our first date.”
His thick russet eyebrows rise. “First date?”
“Maybe ‘date’ is a human term. It’s when people spend time together to see if they’re a good match romantically. When I asked you out back at your market, I meant as a date. That’s what I’d like this evening to be, but if you’ve decided that’s not what you want, don’tworry about sparing my feelings, you can just go ahead and tell me. I’ll understand if I’m not your type. Oh, and ‘your type’ means the kind of person you’re usually attracted to. Just in case that term isn’t familiar either.”
For a long beat, he just stares. Processing my incessant, in-your-face straightforwardness, probably. Even for the people back home who claim to care about me, I can be “a lot,” and since Ogram is the solitary type, maybe my “a lot” is too much.
“It was the word ‘first’ that caused me to raise the question,” he says, finally. “First implies there will be another.”
Groaning, I cup both palms over my face. “And now I feel like an oblivious bumbler—again—assuming you didn’t know what ‘date’ and ‘your type’ meant. Not to mention assuming you’d want to go out with me a second time.”
Despite their large size, his hands are gentle when he draws them away from my face, continuing to hold them in the gap between us. “From what you’ve told me, you have little experience with the monster community, and prior to meeting me, none with my kind. I wouldn’t expect you to be familiar with what trolls know or like or do. Even if you’d spent every minute between our first meeting and now trying to learn about my species, you would still know only the most superficial things. With few exceptions, trolls prefer to remain in the background. We value our privacy, guard it, and have no desire to publicly share the intimate details of our abilities and customs.”
The urge to ask him to elaborate on that bit about the intimate details almost wins, but I manage to suppress it. For now.
“I find your openness endearing. Your enthusiasm, delightful and contagious.” His eyes twinkle as he looks into mine. “I have never been attracted to a human before, but I was drawn to you the moment you walked into the market, and haven’t stopped thinking about you since. To say I hope you will want me to call on you again is an understatement.”
“I already know I will, because I felt the same way when I saw you.”
His green lips curve into a small but distinct smile. “Then, shall we begin our first date?”
“I think we just did. And it’s already the best date I’ve ever been on.”
“Mine as well.” Between us, he squeezes my hands. Firmly enough to be inescapably noticeable, gently enough to convey affection.
My feet must be on autopilot because the next thing I know, we’re outside, walking down the cabin’s small set of concrete steps without any conscious effort on my part. All I can focus on is Ogram’s palm at the small of my back. How the warmth of his skin seeps through my sundress and sends sparks skittering through me. How his big hand spans my lower back completely, his fingertips overflowing around the side of my waist.
When I step onto the sidewalk from the bottom step, he removes his hand, and I immediately miss the subtle weight of it.
“You said you’re visiting from out of town. How long will you be staying in Harmony Glen?” he asks as we turn onto Glen Street, heading toward downtown and the lake.
“A week and a bit. Minus the three days I’ve been here.” Saying it makes my stomach feel as if it’s turning in knots. From the pained expression on Ogram’s face, his might be doing the same thing. Over a week here seemed like extended luxury when I made the decision and plans. Now, suddenly, it feels more like I’m on a ticking countdown timer.
“Where do you live?” he asks, breaking through my internal thoughts.