Rook's Demon Read online

  Rook’s Demon

  Tattooist Robert “Rook” Michaels hasn't had much of a love life of late. That changes after a chance encounter in the local night spot when he meets the man of his dreams in the mysterious Damon.

  The pair finds themselves to be compatible in every way, especially in the bedroom, but Damon has a secret, a hell of a secret. He is an incubus, a centuries-old demon that feeds upon lust and sexual energy. When he meets Rook, though, for the first time in decades he has more on his mind than just sex. He wants a partner. Someone he can relax with and confide in. Someone who he can tell everything to without fear of rejection.

  The question is how will Rook react when Damon finally comes clean about his true nature?

  Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary, Fantasy

  Length: 20,761 words

  ROOK’S DEMON

  JC Holly

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  MANLOVE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

  ROOK’S DEMON

  Copyright © 2012 by JC Holly

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-246-4

  First E-book Publication: September 2012

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Rook’s Demon by JC Holly from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is JC Holly’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Holly’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  For my sweetheart.

  ROOK’S DEMON

  JC HOLLY

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  Damon regarded the man sucking his cock with calm indifference. Chris? Craig? Something like that. He was doing a fair job, true, but it was hardly stellar. The man—he decided on Chris—didn’t seem to realize he had a tongue in his mouth. It was all lips and throat. No finesse. Damon could put up with such things if the guy was willing to learn, but this Chris guy could not take direction. How the hell does one improve if one refuses to listen? Damon sighed and began to move his hips in time with the larger man’s strokes.

  “Faster,” he hissed.

  The man merely grunted and continued at the same speed, his hand on his own cock, jerking in time. Despite the crap technique, it was having the right effect, but Damon wanted it faster, damn it. They’d been going on at this pace for ten minutes now, and he had other things to do. Slow was for boyfriends, not quickies with strangers.

  “Look at me.”

  The man glanced up for an instant, but that was enough. He’d seen Damon’s stare. The man frowned, Damon’s cock still halfway down his damn throat.

  “Let’s try again,” Damon said, his gaze fixed on Chris’s. “Faster, or you don’t get yours afterward.”

  A wave of sexual energy peeled off the man, and Damon absorbed it like a sponge. Chris would have felt nothing, but the promise of something after the blow job served its purpose. He pulled back off Damon’s cock, almost to the tip, then shot back down the shaft, his pace feverish. At the same time he wrapped a hand around the base of Damon’s shaft and began jacking as he sucked.

  “This is more like it,” Damon muttered as he settled back in his office chair and let out a breath.

  The man kept the pace up, and Damon soon found an orgasm rapidly approaching. He clenched his muscles in an attempt to hold it off a little longer and gain extra sustenance from the pleasure then pushed Chris’s head back and off his cock.

  The man went to stand, but Damon kept him on his knees with one hand and jerked his cock with the other. He grunted as he came hard, squirting cum into the man’s face and mouth.

  The man sputtered in surprise and stood, his expression shifting from eagerness to anger.

  “What the hell? I didn’t say you could fucking do that!”

  Damon rolled his eyes and threw the man the towel he kept in his drawer for such occasions. “What’s the problem? I got mine, and now it’s your turn.”

  “I don’t fucking want my turn now.”

  The man threw the towel at Damon, who caught it in a motion faster than the eye could follow. The man gaped and staggered back toward the door. Damon stood.

  “Have a lovely evening, then.”

  The man shook his head for a moment then turned and left. “Asshole.”

  Damon relaxed back into his chair and flipped on the CCTV monitor he kept on the corner of his frosted glass desk. Chris was in the corridor, and Damon watched as he walked down the narrow hallway to the stairs at the end leading back down to the club. The bouncers would see to it that the guy didn’t get back up.

  He’d been good enough once Damon had promised sex, but without it he was a dud. Only good for one orgasm. Not that the guy would come back anyway. What kind of guy doesn’t like a face full of cum? Still, Damon had got what he needed from the man. The energy gained from the sexual encounter would keep a spring in his step for a day or so, provided he didn’t do anything fancy. Maybe now he could focus on the damn paperwork.

  He pulled a sheaf of papers from a drawer and dumped them onto the table. As much as he loved his nightclub, the running of it took a lot of the fun out. Wages, bills, ordering disputes, licensing...Maybe it was time he hired a manager. Someone trustworthy, with a good head on their shoulders. And a nice thick cock and tight ass. Damon adjusted his stiffening cock.

  “Maybe I should star
t interviewing.”

  He smirked at the thought of a long line of men outside his door, each desperate to work for him. Casting couch, eat your heart out.

  Wouldn’t work. Never did. They came, he hired, they worked for a time, and then one of two things occurred. He’d either fuck them, or they’d get suspicious about him. Either was grounds for firing. Office romances never worked, especially in such a small office. And as for the suspicion, it was inevitable. Damon may pass as a human ninety-nine percent of the time, but there was always that one percent.

  Often it was something he could explain away. Like when he occasionally muttered something in Otherworld. Easily explained away as German, Russian, or whatever language the person didn’t speak. If he was caught out, it was no problem either, since he could speak practically every language spoken, and more than a few dead languages, too. No, the problem was when he accidentally stubbed a toe on a desk and kicked the piece of furniture across the room. That was tricky to explain and generally meant he had to adjust the person’s memory.

  Unless he hired another nonhuman. He wouldn’t find another incubus willing to do the work, especially for him, but maybe something less powerful. But that would bring in other issues.

  He turned his attention back to the paperwork. Easier to just do it himself.

  Chapter Two

  Robert “Rook” Michaels leaned in closer to the guy’s bicep and wiped away the thin sheen of blood and excess ink so he could see what was left to be done. A tribal ring with the words pain is weakness leaving the body inside. Clichéd as hell, but bills had to be paid. Do they ever. Rook dipped the tip of his tattoo iron into a small pot of gray ink, wiped off the excess on the side of the pot, and then finished the highlights on the lettering.

  “Hey, that’s not how I spelled it,” the guy said, his head twisted so he could see.

  “No, it’s not.” Rook put down his machine and prodded the tattoo, making the man wince. “This is how it’s actually spelled.”

  “Oh, cool. So, we all done?”

  “Just need to clean you up and slap a bandage on it.”

  The man shrugged. “No need for that, man. I want people to see it.”

  Rook sighed and reached for a small bandage and some tape. “It’s a fresh tattoo, which means it’s an open wound. You want to get an infection?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Well, then.” He quickly cleaned the area, applied a bandage, and taped it in place. “Don’t take this off for at least a few hours. Keep the area dry and clean, and moisturize it a few times a day for at least a week.” The man paled, and Rook restrained the urge to slap the tattoo. “It’s that or come back in in a week’s time to get the thing redone.”

  The man nodded and headed off to the register to pay. Rook nodded to Carly behind the counter, who dealt with the money. As soon as the customer was gone, Rook flipped the door sign to closed, get lost and headed back to clean his equipment.

  “Hell of a day, eh?”

  Rook nodded, but didn’t turn to look at Carly. “Yeah. My back is screwed. Put the kettle on?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Yup.” Rook glanced back and winked at the smirking redhead. “Sure am.”

  He finished cleaning up his area and stood, stretching his complaining spine. No matter how many crunches he did in the morning, all the leaning over people during the day took its toll. He wandered after Carly into the little kitchenette at the back of the building. It was small, barely room for a sink, fridge, microwave, and kettle, but it saved running out to the corner store every five minutes.

  Carly gestured to a mug of coffee on the counter, and Rook snatched it up and drained half the contents before registering how damn hot it was. He coughed and rubbed at his watering eyes while Carly laughed.

  “What did you expect, Rook?” She gestured to the kettle and spoke slowly. “Kettle, hot. Water, hot.”

  “Shush, Carly.”

  “Or what?” She grinned. “You gonna shitcan me again?”

  He could see why people constantly mistook them for brother and sister. Always bickering, always firing little barbs at each other. Add in the matching red hair—though his was more of a reddish brown, as opposed to Carly’s flame-red—and similar facial features, and he wouldn’t be that surprised if his mother suddenly called with a startling revelation about her parentage.

  “No, no firing.” Rook put down his coffee. “But I might refuse to finish that sleeve tatt.”

  Carly pouted and held up her arm. “But it’s not complete yet.”

  Running from her shoulder, all the way down to the back of her hand, was the black outline of a series of thorny vines. Every few inches, a small flower bloomed from the main vine. Carly had wanted the whole outline done in one sitting, and Rook had obliged. They’d even managed to start the shading before Carly almost passed out. Something Rook took great pleasure in reminding her from time to time. She’d held out longer than nearly anyone else he’d worked on, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “True,” he said. “And I do hate unfinished work.”

  “That’s settled, then.” She winked. “I’ll continue to mock you, and you’ll take it like a man.”

  Rook grinned, despite himself. “All right, so I’m done for the night. You can get off, if you like.”

  Carly waggled her eyebrows. “That’s exactly what I had in mind. I’m off clubbing.”

  “Well, have a good time.”

  “I’m certain of it. You should come, too.”

  “Rain check?”

  “You say that every time, boss.”

  Rook sighed. “I do, don’t I.”

  Carly nodded. “I remember when you used to go to places other than the shop and your house.” She crossed her arms. “The club I’m going to has been open for a year. The last time you were out for the night, it still had for sale signs in the windows.”

  Rook rubbed at the back of his aching neck. “Fine, I’ll come out.” He rolled his eyes as Carly bounced on the spot. “After I take a shower and get changed.”

  “Deal!” She grinned. “Maybe you’ll even have fun.”

  Chapter Three

  Rook pulled on a third shirt, pale blue this time, and fussed with the collar in the mirror. It looked better than the first two, at least.

  “You decent yet?” Carly called from the hall outside the bedroom.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” he muttered as he messed with the shirt sleeves. “Come in.”

  Carly appeared in the doorway, flawless in her appearance as always. She stepped over to the side of the mirror and made a twirling motion with her finger. Rook obliged and Carly hmm-ed.

  “Yeah, that works. Keep the top button undone, but no more. Don’t want to give it away.”

  Rook smirked and did as he was told. “Says the woman with her tits practically hanging out.”

  “That’s different.” She pushed her arms against the sides of her top, pushing her cleavage in and up. “I’m a hussy.”

  “Good point. So, this new club...”

  “It’s only new to you, boss.”

  He sat to pull his socks on. “You know what I mean. Tell me about it.”

  “Weeell, it’s your typical dance club, really. Upmarket, though. Nice dance floor, good drinks, and bouncers that do their job. You never get any fights in there, and the drug dealers leave horizontally. The owner’s a bit of a hottie, too.”

  “Oh?” Rook looked up. “Your kind of hottie, or mine?”

  “Yours.” Carly winked. “Maybe you’ll meet him, and then he’ll meat you.”

  “Always classy, Carls.”

  She laughed. “I am what I am. I mean it, though. When was your last fuck?”

  Too friggin’ long. “A while, now, I guess.”

  In actual fact, it was more than a year. The breakup with Dave had been less than pleasant and had put him off men for a long time. By the time the urge returned, work had picked up and he hadn’t the time to
go out in search. Or I used that as an excuse, anyway.

  Maybe the night would do some good, despite the nerves. It had been all work lately, and as enjoyable as that was, some downtime couldn’t hurt.

  Carly headed back out the door. “I’ll wait downstairs. Don’t be all freakin’ night.”

  * * * *

  Damon paced the short distance between his desk and door, his shoes scuffing through the thick carpet. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t quite work out what it was. He stopped by the desk and drummed his fingers on the dark wood. Over the centuries he’d picked up a set of extra senses, and one of them was trying to get his attention.

  He closed his eyes and tried to home in on what the issue was, but the constant low-level thud of the music downstairs was all but drowning the feeling out. I need to get to somewhere quiet. He pointed to a corner of the room and a spark of his stored energy shot down his arm and through his fingers. A moment later, reality itself tore, leaving an impossibly black hole a little larger than a person. Damon sighed and stepped through.

  There was a moment of pure darkness and heat then only cool silence as he stepped into the study of his home, some five miles from the club. He dropped into his leather armchair and slapped his hands down onto the worn arms.

  “Let’s try that again.”

  He took a calming breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth in a steady stream then closed his eyes. Whatever the feeling was, it was long gone. A fleeting thing. Damn. He’d wasted energy on a portal for nothing and would have to waste even more to get back. He could hardly drive to the club and walk back to his office when as far as everyone knew he was still in it.