QSFer Wendy Rathbone has a new MM sci-fi romance book out: Centauri Doll.
Hades is a Slave King, one of the most powerful and wealthy beings in the galaxy. But all he wants is to be left alone with machine servants and his collection of broken robots. So what makes him purchase a flawed vat-grown human slave boy?
Doll, one of the most beautiful of the manufactured Botticelli pleasure slaves, is imperfect. He was pulled from his tank missing his right foot. Not only that, something must be wrong with his brain, because though he was bred to want pleasure, he finds himself filled with a different sort of longing no slave should have. He wants to be loved.
Doll is way outside Hades’ preference for company and sexual release. But when Doll imprints on Hades and falls in love with him, he yearns to find a way to become more to Hades than just another item in a vast and priceless hoard.
Contains: an uncanny pairing, pleasure slaves, age gap, first time, high heat, broken supertoys, and a robot god. Guaranteed HEA.
“Your name is Doll?”
I took a sudden breath. Was that deep male voice talking to me?
“Do all your parts work but the foot?”
I nodded, not looking up.
The fingers clenched against my bare skin. The red silk of my robe had been all but torn away.
“Well, slave? Do you have an answer?”
The murmurs and exclamations of the large room never ceased, but around me in a ten foot circle I heard soft gasps and then silence. How many were watching me now? How many waited for me to speak?
“Yes. All my parts work.” The words grumbled up from the depths of my throat.
“That’s absolutely perfect. I will take you.”
I lifted my head, the lights bright and blinding, even the little firefly glimmers vanishing in a wave of whiteness.
“Look at Hades!” someone exclaimed, voice amused. “I think he’s about to make a purchase!”
“But Hades only looks. He never buys. And definitely not humans.”
I blinked. Raised my head further back. The whiteness began to recede. A shadow figure loomed over me.
“First sale of the night, perhaps?” Another voice to the side.
“Shut up, Ram,” said someone to my left.
The voice who said he would take me spoke again. “I will overlook the foot if you will overlook my hubris.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice shivering with a sudden timidity. Masters were prideful. They did whatever they wanted. I was required to overlook any and every fault they might have.
No answer came.
Up and up I gazed until he grew solid before me, details coming into focus.
He stood tall, near to six and a half feet, and had straight white-blond hair, blinding like a sun, cut chin-length in front, tapering to the collar in back. Firefly light threaded through his locks; another glimmer entered his broad-muscled chest between the folds of his billowing white shirt.
“Do you sing?”
I had never tried. But I had been bred to say yes to everything. “Yes.”
“I bid two hundred million.”
Gasps echoed throughout the room as more attention focused on us.
I saw vivid green eyes peering down at me. His face was somewhat angular but with a beauty one saw cast mostly in art, and with a coolness about him that was mesmerizing and off-putting at the same time. He had small silver and blue rings all along the outside of his left ear. A sapphire hung suspended just below his throat on an invisible chain. It threw blue shadows against the V of pale skin at the top of his chest which his shirt did not cover.
To my shock, I realized he was a Slave King. The energy of him rippled as he gazed down with no smile but apparently an interest in me that was worth the fortune he offered.
No one countered with a higher claim, as was their right. No one wanted me. He could have offered far less to bind me, but a Slave King’s pride was infamous. They loved over-paying for the things they desired.
Wendy Rathbone has written many lgbt romances in a variety of sub genres including: contemporary, sci fi, fantasy, vampire and omegaverse mpreg.