asshole.
Calder pulled off his linen under tunic, his eyes on the mirror. His flat abdomen was tight with muscle, his chest massive, widening to broad, strong shoulders. A body made for power and pleasure.
The left side of Calder’s torso was a maze of scars, with a concave indentation below his rib cage covered with unnaturally smooth skin. The rest of his body was mottled with puckers of scar tissue. Beneath that lay bones that had been crushed and rebuilt molecule by molecule.
The right side of his body was not as bad as the left, but rows of scars laced his skin from collarbone to ankle.
Some of the skin grafts had come from the right side of his body, Dr. Laas desperately harvesting every bit of healthy skin. Repairing him had been tricky business. The bones had been easiest, pinned together and left to Shareem metabolism to heal.
The organs had taken much more time and much more pain. Dr. Laas had rebuilt every single one, and now they functioned as they were suppose to. Calder had convalesced for a damn long time, during which he’d sometimes wished she would just let him die.
He had healed, but the scarring, despite Dr. Laas’ work, remained. He looked a damn sight better than when he’d first been rolled out of the plasma fire, and he’d always be grateful for that. But even techniques that had evolved in the twenty years since hadn’t helped. The damage was simply too extensive.
Dr. Laas had once suggested cyber replacements but Calder had snarled so viciously that she’d never brought up the subject again. He didn’t want to be a damn cyborg, half man, half machine. It was bad enough being Shareem.
Calder pulled open the fly of his leggings and kicked them off. His legs had taken the worst of the burning, both mangled and twisted until they’d almost disintegrated.
Dr. Laas had painstakingly pieced them back together, ignoring her fellow scientists who predicted he’d never walk again.
She’d fixed him so that not only could he walk, but his muscles healed and regained most of their strength. Now his legs were taut and strong, though the skin was ruined beyond repair.
A vain man would have gotten rid of the mirror. Calder kept it so he’d never take himself for granted.
What he could now offer a woman was not a body to gaze at, a handsome smile to make her wet in an instant. He offered a technique, an experience they would never forget.
Calder faced his naked body, remembering the heat of Katarina’s pussy through the leather.
His already-hard cock tightened. There were no scars on it , thank the gods, except a few at the very base. He’d moved his thigh over it in time when he’d fallen. The DNAmo scientists had joked that of course a Shareem would protect his greatest asset.
Now the cock rose to full erection, a standard foot long. His hand went to it as he remembered Katarina pressing her face against it. She’d kissed and explored it, begged to see it.
He imagined her beautiful lips closing over it and he stifled a groan. He grabbed a tube from his bedside table, opened it, dribbled lube onto his hand.
He smoothed in the gel, biting his lip to keep himself from growling. If it had been Katarina’s hand slathering lube all over him, her hand gripping him, he’d have come already.
He closed his hand tightly and drew his fist up the length, his palm making a snapping noise as it came together at the end. He slid his hand down for a second stroke, and a third, building up speed.
His Shareem irises widened until his eyes were nothing but blue. He felt the pulsing at the base of his balls very quickly—he’d wanted to come ever since Katarina d’Arnal had walked into his house of pleasure.
Faster and faster. The sound of his hand was loud in the silent room. His hips rocked with the rhythm, his legs moving. Calder studied his ugly body in the mirror as his hand gave as much pleasure as it could.
He thought about Katarina, how sexy she looked in that tight red dress and the
Calder pulled off his linen under tunic, his eyes on the mirror. His flat abdomen was tight with muscle, his chest massive, widening to broad, strong shoulders. A body made for power and pleasure.
The left side of Calder’s torso was a maze of scars, with a concave indentation below his rib cage covered with unnaturally smooth skin. The rest of his body was mottled with puckers of scar tissue. Beneath that lay bones that had been crushed and rebuilt molecule by molecule.
The right side of his body was not as bad as the left, but rows of scars laced his skin from collarbone to ankle.
Some of the skin grafts had come from the right side of his body, Dr. Laas desperately harvesting every bit of healthy skin. Repairing him had been tricky business. The bones had been easiest, pinned together and left to Shareem metabolism to heal.
The organs had taken much more time and much more pain. Dr. Laas had rebuilt every single one, and now they functioned as they were suppose to. Calder had convalesced for a damn long time, during which he’d sometimes wished she would just let him die.
He had healed, but the scarring, despite Dr. Laas’ work, remained. He looked a damn sight better than when he’d first been rolled out of the plasma fire, and he’d always be grateful for that. But even techniques that had evolved in the twenty years since hadn’t helped. The damage was simply too extensive.
Dr. Laas had once suggested cyber replacements but Calder had snarled so viciously that she’d never brought up the subject again. He didn’t want to be a damn cyborg, half man, half machine. It was bad enough being Shareem.
Calder pulled open the fly of his leggings and kicked them off. His legs had taken the worst of the burning, both mangled and twisted until they’d almost disintegrated.
Dr. Laas had painstakingly pieced them back together, ignoring her fellow scientists who predicted he’d never walk again.
She’d fixed him so that not only could he walk, but his muscles healed and regained most of their strength. Now his legs were taut and strong, though the skin was ruined beyond repair.
A vain man would have gotten rid of the mirror. Calder kept it so he’d never take himself for granted.
What he could now offer a woman was not a body to gaze at, a handsome smile to make her wet in an instant. He offered a technique, an experience they would never forget.
Calder faced his naked body, remembering the heat of Katarina’s pussy through the leather.
His already-hard cock tightened. There were no scars on it , thank the gods, except a few at the very base. He’d moved his thigh over it in time when he’d fallen. The DNAmo scientists had joked that of course a Shareem would protect his greatest asset.
Now the cock rose to full erection, a standard foot long. His hand went to it as he remembered Katarina pressing her face against it. She’d kissed and explored it, begged to see it.
He imagined her beautiful lips closing over it and he stifled a groan. He grabbed a tube from his bedside table, opened it, dribbled lube onto his hand.
He smoothed in the gel, biting his lip to keep himself from growling. If it had been Katarina’s hand slathering lube all over him, her hand gripping him, he’d have come already.
He closed his hand tightly and drew his fist up the length, his palm making a snapping noise as it came together at the end. He slid his hand down for a second stroke, and a third, building up speed.
His Shareem irises widened until his eyes were nothing but blue. He felt the pulsing at the base of his balls very quickly—he’d wanted to come ever since Katarina d’Arnal had walked into his house of pleasure.
Faster and faster. The sound of his hand was loud in the silent room. His hips rocked with the rhythm, his legs moving. Calder studied his ugly body in the mirror as his hand gave as much pleasure as it could.
He thought about Katarina, how sexy she looked in that tight red dress and the
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