Created in a laboratory. Trained to be the perfect soldier. He has no name, no past, and no future. He is Subject 5691. One of thousands such experiments...and the only one who lived. Now he's free.
Grokhaar Xandria is an edgeworlder: a native from a world hovering just outside Alliance control. He’s an independent trader, a rogue, a scavenger, and a smuggler who longs for someone to share the skies, his bed, and his heart.
In a desperate bid for freedom, the experiment forces his way onto the Den’Lastrian Diamond and into Grokhaar’s life. As they fight their way across the galaxies, Subject 5691 must carve out his own identity, escape from the scientists who created him, and discover if a genetically created being has the capacity for love.
Grokhaar Xandria is an edgeworlder: a native from a world hovering just outside Alliance control. He’s an independent trader, a rogue, a scavenger, and a smuggler who longs for someone to share the skies, his bed, and his heart.
In a desperate bid for freedom, the experiment forces his way onto the Den’Lastrian Diamond and into Grokhaar’s life. As they fight their way across the galaxies, Subject 5691 must carve out his own identity, escape from the scientists who created him, and discover if a genetically created being has the capacity for love.
“I am not what you think I am, Grokhaar Xandria.”
“No?” He slid his hands to twine their fingers together. Inching forward until their chests brushed with every breath, he nudged his knee between the male’s legs. “I think you’re everything and more, lad. You’re beautiful and maddening and sexy. Your skin is smooth as the finest satin. Your eyes draw me in until I could happily drown in their glow. I’m so hard right now it hurts, and I want to kiss you so bad I can barely think straight.”
“Why?” The word was a whisper on a breeze. A breath of sound that stirred him in all the right places.
“You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” He moved in closer and ran his lips over silky hair and down one smooth cheek. Cradling the male’s hand, he pulled it from the wall and pressed it over his pounding heart. The soft inhale encouraged him to be bold. He urged their hands lower, down his chest and over the ridges of his stomach, until he closed their fingers around his dick. He didn’t know who groaned loudest. “Fuck waiting.”
He tried to keep the kiss gentle, to give the male a chance to turn away—Minost knows he tried—but his lips were so soft, so tempting. At the first spicy taste, his brain turned to mush and his libido took over. He nipped at the lush fullness of the plump bottom lip and then soothed the sting with his tongue. Each pointed fang called to him. Their sharp tips drew blood from his tongue and lips, blood he was happy to lose when it caused the male to gasp, to open to further plunder, to arch his lithe body against him.
Grokhaar slid his hand down the lad’s arm to tangle in his hair. Tilting his head, he pulled him closer and deepened their kiss. Every centimeter of his mouth was a new discovery, a new treasure of taste and desire. The first tentative brushes of the lad’s tongue against his nearly caused his undoing.
Tharking Azhell, he wanted this male, but not now and not like this. The boy deserved better than a quick fuck against a cold wall in the middle of the Between. He deserved hours of slow, thorough exploration. With his tongue. Groaning, Grokhaar lifted his head and rested it on the male’s shoulder. His pulse pounded in his ears as fast as a galloping oonta.
“That,” he brushed his lips over the heated skin, “is what you do to me.”
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