Once
You Go Demon
Sean
Michael
Genre:
Gay Paranormal Romance
Publisher:
All Romance eBooks
Date
of Publication: 11/1/2016
ISBN:
9781945193668
Word
Count: 50000
Cover
Artist: Scott Carpenter
Book
Description:
There’s
a shift of power happening in Hell, and nothing will ever be the
same.
Kerr
has been with high demon Horatio’s household since his age of
majority. A natural submissive pleasure demon, for the last seven
years he has been untouched by his master Horatio and his job has
morphed into a more managerial role. Still, it’s a shock when goons
from Master Belial’s house arrive at his doorstep to inform him
he’s been sold and his new master expects him to come immediately.
Lost
by Horatio in a card game, Kerr finds himself in the Belial
household, where Ceris, Master of the Harem, takes Kerr under his
wing. Kerr is not only honored and used as he was made to be, but he
is given a newly acquired demon, Harmony, as his own to train. The
three pleasure demons have a rocky start together, but they have all
the time in Hell to figure out how to work together and it isn’t
long before they begin to care for one another.
Meanwhile,
Belial has waited for thousands of years for Horatio to admit that
he’s actually a submissive. When it appears that is never going to
happen, Belial arranges for his best friend to lose a card game in
which he’s offered himself as the prize. Horatio can’t believe
Belial would do this for him, but the council puts their seal of
approval on the bet, and he has no choice but to offer himself to
Belial, who immediately gets to work convincing Horatio that he’ll
be so much happier as Belial’s sub.
Will
Kerr and Horatio find joy in their places in the Belial household?
Only time will tell.
Excerpt:
Kerr stared at the
paper that the incredibly well-dressed goons at the door handed him.
Sold?
Him?
He’d been sold
into Horatio Liverage’s house to act as the man’s submissive
since he was of maturity, and now, after so long, Horatio had sold
him without a word? Without a note?
Nonsense.
Utter nonsense.
“There must be a
mistake.”
The goon pointed one
clawed finger at the insignia at the bottom of the page. “What does
that signify?”
“Horatio
Liverage.” He couldn’t deny it was his master’s seal.
“Then there isn’t
a mistake. Bring us Kerr, and we’ll be on our way.” The teeth on
the guy doing the talking brooked no argument. Neither did the tufts
of smoke coming out of Silent and Scary’s ears.
“I’m Kerr. I
have to gather my things, make arrangements…” Right? Didn’t he
get that much at least?
The lower demon
looked at the contract again. “It doesn’t say anything about
belongings here. Let’s go.”
“I have precious
things that hold my family name, and it doesn’t say that I can’t
bring them. I am not resisting, simply gathering my stuff.” He
could bargain with the best of them. He knew he had to convince them,
though, as either one of them could pick him up and toss him over a
shoulder without even trying.
Henchman One turned
to Henchman Two, who shrugged.
“Is your master
here? He can decide.”
“He is not. He’s
away. As such, I am second in charge of the household.” He held no
illusions that he was beloved or even a lover, but he was
well-trusted with finances and with all aspects of Horatio’s life.
“I shall return in moments.”
He began to pack—the
stash of jewels that he had been collecting for years, his few
precious books, his favorite clothes, and the music and computer that
were his. He grabbed his toiletries, the hologram of his sire and
dam, and the fragile glass orb that throbbed with a sweet, gentle
light.
Both goons were
frowning when he came back, pushing the palette of his things.
“We won’t be
party to you stealing from your master.”
“I haven’t
stolen a thing. These things are my own and now go with me to my new
master.” Fuckers. Horatio might be able to sell him on a whim, but
these were his possessions and they were going with him.
They looked at each
other again, shrugged, and turned, heading down the walk toward the
truck at the end of it. “We’re not toting anything,” the talker
called back over his shoulder.
“Not yet,” he
muttered.
He wasn’t some
pointless goon. He was a highly trained, highly useful sexual
submissive and house servant. Soon he would find a place with
whomever the fuck the asshole prick that never made love to him
anyway, dickhead, had sold his papers to, and then this mouth
breather would do what Kerr said.
The goon opened the
back door and just stood there, watching him putting his things in.
“You’re riding back there, too.”
“Thank you so
much.” He rolled his eyes, pushed his hair behind his ears, and
climbed in, telling himself that he wasn’t hurt, that he was
nothing but property, that he shouldn’t cry. One day, that might
even work.
The door closed with
a loud clang, leaving him in the dark, the engine starting up moments
later. The truck lurched forward, sending him falling onto his ass.
He did cry then,
silently, heartbroken. He’d lost his home, his job, his master, and
no one had so much as warned him. Someone had written up that
paperwork, someone had made the arrangements, and someone had thrown
him away.
He couldn’t
believe Horatio had done this to him, and without any warning at all,
not a word to him.
The truck stopped
abruptly, the brakes squeaking loudly. The door opened again, the
dull grey sky seeming bright after the darkness of the truck.
Two little slaves
popped up into the back and began grabbing his stuff.
He lifted his chin
and firmed his lips. He was well-trained, valuable. Special in his
own right. Men begged to be wealthy enough to own him.
“Come, come,”
murmured one boy, motioning for him to get down from the truck and
follow. He couldn’t see the two goons. “You’re going to be in
the salle, honored one. Your groom is Ceris, and he is the Salle
Master.”
Finally, someone
realized how important he was, what his stature was, even if he was a
slave.
About
the Author:
Best-selling
author Sean Michael is a maple leaf–loving Canadian who spends
hours hiding out in used bookstores. With far more ideas than time,
Sean keeps several documents open at all times. From romance to
fantasy, paranormal and sci-fi, Sean is limited only by the need for
sleep—and the periodic Beaver Tail.
Sean
fantasizes about one day retiring on a secluded island populated
entirely by horseshoe crabs after inventing a brain-to-computer
dictation system. Until then, Sean will continue to write the
old-fashioned way.
For
more information on other books by Sean, visit
www.seanmichaelwrites.com
***
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