...Wendell followed Steadman from the hall where clusters of men chatted together into a larger room—another decadent fantasy land. He noted gaming tables, musicians playing at one end of the room, curtained alcoves, and open booths where men were openly kissing or embracing each other. When he glimpsed a man kneeling between another’s knees, head bobbing, he averted his eyes. Having one’s erotic fantasies brought to vivid, colorful life was both painfully arousing and utterly overwhelming. He shriveled with embarrassment and focused his gaze on the heels of his companion.

“I’ll introduce you to some others,” Steadman promised as he poured a glass of something and offered it. Wendell tossed back amber liquid, which seared his throat and settled like molten fire in his stomach.

Steadman poured again, and Wendell sipped more slowly this time. A flush of courage bloomed inside him. What was the worst that could happen? He’d stay a while, then leave. It wasn’t as if he would be forced to perform acts he wasn’t ready for. Oddly enough, the thought of being “forced” to perform lewd services made him hungrier than ever to indulge in them. If he were being honest with himself, that was a good part of why he’d come here tonight.

“Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” Someone bumped into him, knocking his arm and sloshing his drink on the carpet. “Where the hell is it?”

Wendell looked into eyes so brilliant and clear a green they appeared unreal. His stomach flipped and the dull ache of desire in his groin grew sharper. “What have you lost?” he croaked. He cleared his throat and repeated the question.

“My watch. I know I put it on tonight. I always wear it. Now it’s missing.” The black-haired man ran his palm over the front of his waistcoat from which an empty chain dangled. His dark brows knitted together over worried eyes.

Wendell looked around the carpet as if the thing would magically be lying in plain sight. But all he saw were numerous pairs of shoes and pants legs belonging to other club members.

“Perhaps if you made an announcement,” he suggested, wondering if this was the sort of place where items mysteriously “disappeared” on a regular basis. Certainly no one here could go to the police if one among them was light-fingered. They’d have to sort it out amongst themselves.

“I was in that booth,” the man pointed, “and I’ve sorted among the cushions but can’t find it. That new fellow, Tinker was with me. He flitted off somewhere. The scoundrel probably nicked it.”

“Now, Peter, don’t go blaming anyone till you’ve had a better look around,” Steadman cautioned. “Come. We’ll help you search for it.”

Wendell was actually glad to have a mission to accomplish. It gave him a purpose in this strange place to follow after Steadman and the dashing Peter.

“Evening, Peter. How are you?” Greetings came from all around as the man strode through the crowded room like a prince and people parted before him.

“Not happy. My pocket watch is missing,” he growled in response.

The reverberation of the growl ratcheted up the tension inside Wendell. He wanted to hear that snarl directed at him and wanted to be the one to appease it. A fantasy that involved kneeling and begging, a little slapping and having his head forced down shot through his mind in the blink of an eye. He quickly pushed the randy thought away but his body’s reaction was slower to recede. His cock had stiffened.

Wendell glimpsed gold on the floor very near the divan Peter had indicated and he swooped down on it. The metal disc was cool and heavy against his palm. He offered the watch to Peter with a flourish and unreasonable joy bubbled up inside him as those stormy eyes lightened.