Page 17 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
“I do. I’ve spent all morning raking them up.”
“I’ll put it back together for you.” Toby shrugged. They lived outdoors, and leaves would be leaves. Why rake them into a pile in the first place? But he knew Arlo preferred to stay busy and liked things neat and tidy, so if Arlo wanted them in a pile, Toby would rake them into a pile—after they took full advantage of the opportunity.
Arlo hesitated. “I’m bigger than you. Will they hold me?”
Toby eyed the enormous pile and struggled not to laugh. “They’ll hold you, yes. They’ll squish beneath you and cushion the fall. Ready?”
Though he still looked skeptical, Arlo nodded. “If you say so.”
“Three,” Toby shouted, “two, one… Go!”
Arlo hurdled across the grass to the pile, heaved himself into the air, and landed in the center of the stack with a whoosh. Tousled leaves scattered every which way. Booming laughter sounded from within the stack.
Toby skipped over as the dust settled. One big, gray hand emerged from the mess. Toby grabbed it and tugged. Arlo sat up, wiped his face with his free hand, and let out a string of guffawing laughter so joyous Toby had to join in.
“You liked the game, I take it?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Arlo squeezed his hand.
Toby prepared to haul Arlo to his feet for another go, but with a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes, the troll gave a mighty tug. He yanked Toby off his feet, into the pile, and straight on top of him. Toby landed with a huff that stole his breath, chest to chest and half buried in fallen leaves.
They lay there in a fit of giggles that trickled away to leave a warm tingling sensation deep in Toby’s stomach. He lifted his head to stare down at Arlo, who lay grinning beneath him. As Toby’s gaze caught on those plush, slate-gray lips—the same mouth that had been tempting him for months—Arlo’s grin softened to a more serious expression.
Toby laid his hand on Arlo’s cheek and risked a glance to his unwavering blue eyes. Finding no opposition, he leaned in for the kiss he’d longed for. Moving slow, he pecked Arlo’s lips, soft and gradual. As Toby’s courage grew, he deepened the kiss.
When Arlo’s arms came around his waist and pulled them tight together, Toby knew he’d made the right choice. He only wished he’d done it sooner. Opening his mouth, Toby sucked on Arlo’s bottom lip. The troll groaned. The rumbling vibrated against Toby and sparked a fire in his veins. Their tongues slid in a gentle caress, wet heat building between them.
Toby wished they could go on like this forever, but he was beginning to feel pleasantly lightheaded. He pulled back to catch his breath.
Bits of leaf and twig were caught in Arlo’s hair. Toby picked them out gently, then trailed his finger along Arlo’s thick brow.
“Toby.” Arlo’s whisper came out gruff and throaty. “Kiss me again.”
How could he refuse? He leaned in for more. The way Arlo’s hands moved on him—stroking his back, kneading his shoulders, and wrapping around his nape—Toby couldn’t get enough. He moaned into the kiss, letting all the pent-up desire smolder and burn between them.
Arlo kissed with his whole focus as if the rest of the world faded away and only Toby remained. The result was a staggering sense of significance and an urge to protect this connection burgeoning between them.
“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that,” Toby breathed against Arlo’s ear.
Arlo’s lips moved against his jaw. “I’m so glad you did.”
Cuddling into Arlo’s bulk, Toby pressed a line of featherlight kisses down his throat. “I wasn’t sure…that is, I didn’t know if you felt the same way.”
“I do.” Arlo held him close.
Heat stirred between them, but so did the dust from the leaf pile, tickling Toby’s nose and threatening to make him sneeze.
“Come, let’s get out of the leaves.” Toby climbed to his knees, took a moment to commit the picture of a freshly kissed Arlo on his back beneath him to memory, and helped him up.
They scrambled out together and brushed each other off. Toby still felt oddly shy despite the new intimacy, but he took Arlo’s hand and led him to the moss-covered bank of Red Elk River. They settled in the shade of Arlo’s bridge, side by side, and smashed as closely together as they could manage.
“Arlo, have you ever”—heat crept along his cheeks, but he made himself ask it—“had a lover?”
“Does it matter?” asked Arlo.
“Well, yes, but perhaps not in the way you might think. I’m only curious if you’ll tell me.”
“I’ve had lovers,” said Arlo but offered no further explanation.
