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.
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Kerr stared at the paper that the incredibly well-dressed goons at the door handed 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?
“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