Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)
Page 1
For Love of Authority
Demons Within
Allen Heras just landed his dream job, and he’s determined to make the most of this chance for a new life. Only there’s a problem: he can’t seem to stop lusting after his bosses. After suppressing his bisexuality his whole life, he can’t afford to let his hormones ruin his chances for success. Now, if he could just get his big head to convince the little one of that, he’d be just fine.
Sidri McKenna and Tatum McAlister have always known there was something missing between them: another man, one who could bear the love of two Doms. And they’ve chosen Allen to be that man. They’d always known it would be an uphill battle, convincing Allen that three people could make it in a long-term triad. But when the demons from Allen’s horrible past threaten their relationship, they realize that the real battle isn’t convincing Allen to love them---it’s convincing him he’s worth loving in the first place.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 103,257 words
DEMONS WITHIN
For Love of Authority
Rhiannon Ayers
MENAGE AND MORE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage and More
DEMONS WITHIN
Copyright © 2014 by Rhiannon Ayers
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-807-2
First E-book Publication: May 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 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
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DEDICATION
To my husband, for putting up with me and all the other people living in my head.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
About the Author
DEMONS WITHIN
For Love of Authority
RHIANNON AYERS
Copyright © 2014
Chapter 1
Allen Heras sat in his brand-new office and wondered, not for the first time, if this blend of feeling thunderstruck, elated, and terrified all at the same time was going to give him a stroke.
In a dazed stupor, he sat behind his brand new solid frickin’ mahogany desk, and wondered how the hell he’d ended up here. His eyes pinged off the custom-built, triple-monitor, state-of-the-art computer system that hummed quietly in front of him, not yet daring to focus on it lest it disappear. The office was huge, a good eight-hundred square feet, complete with a comfortable navy-blue couch, two stylish white wing-backed chairs, a coffee table, and a small conference table with no less than six chairs around it. The rich, cream-colored carpeting perfectly complemented the eggshell walls, which were still bare, waiting for him to hang his best photos. Though it wasn’t a corner suite, it still had a ginormous picture window that stretched all across the wall directly behind his desk. All he had to do to look outside was turn around.
Wasn’t that a change from the cube farm he’d sat in less than an hour ago.
Allen gleefully swiveled his brand-new office chair—which, he’d mildly been informed, had been custom made for him from the driver’s seat of a vintage ’64 Shelby Cobra, for Christ’s sake!—and looked out over a glorious view of the downtown Houston skyline. The offices of McKenna, McKinney & McAlister were located in Williams Tower, the only skyscraper in the city of Houston that wasn’t amidst the tight, hectic streets of Downtown. Had they been, his view would have been of dreary office windows, obnoxious street lights, and garish restaurant signs. Instead, he had a clear view for miles around, with gorgeous green parks, peaceful bayous, and neat little neighborhoods situated on winding cul-de-sacs. From way up here on the eighteenth floor, he could look out over the peaceful city and pretend, just for a little while, that nothing bad ever happened to the people who lived there, that no nightmares haunted any of their blissful dreams.
He caught sight of a dog gleefully chasing a Frisbee thrown by a grinning six-year-old boy, and had an absurd urge to frolic with them.
Grinning foolishly, tickled by his own wayward imagination, he swiveled back and faced his new office again. It still didn’t seem real. Couldn’t be real. Any moment, he was going to wake up in his drearily empty bed in his drearily empty townhouse and curse himself for having this stupid dream yet again. Because it had
been his dream, for as long as he could remember.
He just couldn’t believe he’d finally made it.
Less than two years ago, he’d made a brash, reckless move that had somehow landed him here, in this stunning office with the stunning view and a shiny new title card sitting on his desk.
Allen Heras, Director of Photography.
His head spun just thinking about it. MM&M was the biggest, priciest, and very best advertising firm in the city of Houston. Hell, in the whole damn country. Most people assumed the best ones were in New York or LA, but he knew better. MM&M had a global reach, their influence over consumer spending habits phenomenal and all but unnoticed. They were a true powerhouse in the advertising world, with more awards for their creative work than any ten other agencies combined. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. They were the best of the best of the best. And two years ago, they’d put out a want ad on Monster, saying they were looking for “Bright-eyed, intelligent, creative individuals looking to learn the ins and outs of the ad industry by starting at the bottom and working their way up the ladder.”
* * * *
Two Years Earlier
The ad was for an internship, a nothing job. Yet somehow Allen had read a promise of so much more between those carefully worded lines. Yes, the job would start at the bottom rung of that proverbial ladder. But the right person could and would move up it quickly.
No way was Allen that right person. Not with his total lack of formal education, his fucked-up childhood, and the numerous black spots on his juvenile record. There was no way a hugely successful firm like MM&M would even give him the time of day, let alone a real job. Yet he’d sent in his resume anyway, pathetic as it was, and laughed at himself for being a complete moron with dreams of grandeur.
Two hours later, he wasn’t laughing anymore. Because they’d called him. Two freaking hours after he sent in his single-page, double-spaced resume, a booming, gritty male voice over the phone had told him, “You’ve got balls, kid. We like that here at MM&M. You get your ass here bright and early Monday morning, and we’ll see if you’ve got any steel to back up that brass. My name’s Tatum, by the way. Ask for me at the front desk when you show up at 9:00 a.m., and don’t you dare disappoint me by being late. I’ve got too much to do and too little time to get it done, and I don’t need to be wasting my time with slackers and layabouts. Congrats, you’re hired. See you Monday.”
And he hung up.
Allen sat there, staring at his phone like it might grow fangs and bite him. He was a construction worker, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t even have a GED, much less a high-school diploma, and college was a dream he’d given up when he was ten years old. He had zero experience in the ad world—though, he admitted, he’d had aspirations toward attending art school back when he was still foolish enough to believe dreams came true. Okay, yeah, he carried his camera with him everywhere he went, just on the off chance he could snap a few awesome photos, but that was as far as his experience went. He’d sent in his resume assuming they’d laugh him off and never contact him, simply proud of himself for having enough guts to send it in the first place.
He’d never dreamed they’d actually call him, much less hire him.
Holy Christ on a pogo stick, what am I supposed to do?
He hadn’t known what he should do, but he did know what he would do—show up bright and early Monday morning, ready and willing to bust his ass if need be. Though he was scared out of his mind, he wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by.
He rolled into the William’s Tower parking garage at 8:08 a.m. that Monday morning, finding a spot for his beat up ’92 Mustang near the elevators on the third level. Then he sat in his car for the better part of the remaining hour, desperately willing his heart to crawl back up from his knees. He could do this. He would do this. This was his dream job. The opportunity of a lifetime.
If only he could make his shaky legs work and get out of the damn car.
Strapping some steel to his spine just as the brash Tatum had suggested, he finally managed it. The ride up the express elevator was excruciating, his palms damp with nerves, his toes curling in his brand-new wingtips. He hadn’t been told how he should dress, so he opted on the side of caution—better to be too dressed up on his first day than to come in looking like a slob in jeans and T-shirt. His black slacks were neatly creased down the front, his deep-blue button-up shirt freshly starched at cuffs and collar. He’d debated long and hard over the tie, wondering if it would be too much, but in the end he’d decided to go with it. The rich blue of the shirt and gentle green of the tie set off his chocolate-brown eyes nicely, after all. He wanted to make a good impression, and looking his best would go a long way toward doing half his work for him.
He hoped.
Swallowing sudden nerves, he studied his reflection in the polished wall of the elevator. His coffee-with-cream skin, a gift of his Columbian heritage, glowed in the harsh tungsten lighting. His hair was so darkly black it had blue highlights in the sun, and he thought his new haircut—shaved close at the nape, tapering up his temples to a wealth of stylishly messy spikes—looked damned good. He studied his high cheekbones, straight nose, and firm lips with a grimace, knowing—and hating—what people always said about him.
He was beautiful. Far, far too perfect to be called merely handsome. His wide eyes and guileless looks had won—and broken—many a heart over the years, simply because his angelic beauty led people to believe he was as perfect on the inside as he was on the outside.
And didn’t it always send them screaming for the hills when they found out how truly fucked up he was.
Pain creased his brow as memories tried to crush him, but he succeeded in stamping them back down into their dark cage—where they would remain, damn it. He would not have a breakdown on his very first day of his new life. This was his new beginning, the chance to reinvent himself and leave all that bullshit behind. He was not going to let anything stand in his way of realizing his dream. Determined now, he squared his shoulders and watched the elevator numbers glide ever closer to the eighteenth floor, where his destiny awaited.
And almost jumped out of his skin when the quiet ding announced he’d arrived.
Laughing at himself, he stepped from the elevator into a whole other freaking universe.
He’d assumed he’d have to wander down a couple of hallways, searching for the suite marked MM&M, since no suite number was listed on their website. Allen was totally flabbergasted to realize that the reason for the omission wasn’t a clerical error—the whole freaking floor belonged to MM&M.
He stepped out of the elevator into a stylishly decorated lobby guarded by a long reception desk. The waiting area was furnished with several groups of extremely comfortable-looking white chairs surrounded by little end tables scattered with magazines. The parquet floors glistened from a recent waxing, the warm honey color reflecting on the eggshell walls. That intimidating desk seated no less than four receptionists, all of whom were staring at him in stunned, open-mouthed silence.
Allen sighed. Unfortunately, he was used to that. He squared his shoulders and quietly cleared his throat as he approached them, keeping his smile neutral and his expression blank. As he hoped, they all snapped out of it and back into professional mode instantly, seemingly embarrassed by their lack of manners. The thought gave him hope. Maybe this place would be different.
He quietly introduced himself, explaining that a man named Tatum had called and asked him to meet that morning at nine. One of the young women, a brunette with an unfortunate overbite who was nonetheless still kind of cute, immediately hopped to her feet and gestured for him to follow her. She said her name was Tandy, then faltered and fell into a blushing silence. Allen hid a sigh.
Not so different after all.
Women seemed to be of two minds about him. The first group assumed that he couldn’t possibly be single, that a man that gorgeous would never be interested in them since they were obviously too short, tall, fat, thin, old,
young, pale, dark, or whatever else they thought was wrong with themselves. The other group assumed that he couldn’t possibly be monogamous, that a man that gorgeous was obviously going to be a selfish womanizer who jumped from bed to bed and treated women like tissues. With his face and body, he could have any woman he wanted, so why would he have any interest in choosing just one? In either case, women of both mindsets always decided to simply steer clear of him, either assuming he’d automatically reject them or assuming he’d fuck them and leave them.
What those petty women didn’t seem capable of believing was that he appreciated all women, no matter what flaws they saw in themselves, and he’d slept with exactly four people his entire life. He was no bed-hopper, no womanizer. He didn’t go out to clubs or pick up women at bars. He’d never had a one-night stand in his life, for Christ’s sake. But the women who fell into those shallow mindsets stuck to their guns, so that if he showed interest in the former, they typically fell into blushing silence and refused to speak with him, and if the latter showed interest in him, he felt revolted.
The result of all this being he lived like a celibate monk.
C’est la vie.
The young woman led him through a maze of corridors, through a couple of huge rooms lined with cubicles, and finally to a magnificent hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling glass walls. This place was guarded by yet another reception desk, this one manned by eight—eight!—middle-aged women, all of whom stared at him just as boldly as the younger ones at the front desk had. Fortunately, their reaction to his looks didn’t last as long. One of the women, a gray-haired matron old enough to be his mother, stopped Tandy’s stuttering explanation of who he was with a broad smile.