“Now, you know the rules.” She tut-tutted. “Bathing rights include hands only. You may touch but nothing else, naughty boy.”
“But I’m ’ard as a bloody rock,” Farwell grumbled. “’Ow am I supposed to walk out with my prick in this state, eh?”
“You can’t finish in me, but that doesn’t mean you can’t finish, eh?” Christabel’s tone turned suggestive. “Frig yourself, big fellow, and show me what I’m missing.”
As the lewd exchange continued, Wei anchored himself in reason. What he’d felt had been a mere physical reaction. What any man might feel when observing depravity in close confines with an attractive young female. Especially when said man had practiced celibacy for the last thirteen years.
Thus, he would ignore what amounted to naught more than a meaningless bodily reflex and concentrate on extricating Lady Glory from this mess. Beneath his palms, her cheeks were more than warm now—they were blazing hot. With maidenly mortification, undoubtedly.
Protectiveness surged over Wei. While his charge had a brazen streak, she was pure of heart. The poor girl’s sensibilities must be offended beyond repair. He had to get her out of here as soon as possible and salvage what he could of her innocence.
Glory was having rather strange feelings.
During her adventures as an Angel, she’d been exposed to a variety of improper situations, although never as up close and personal as the present one. She had an intellectual understanding of what was going on between Christabel and Farwell. Yet nothing in her experience prepared her for the way she was feeling right now. Breathless and hot…which made sense since she was trapped in a stifling wardrobe. The thing was, she wasn’t hot from the outside. The heat felt like it was coming from within. A fever seemed to have started in her belly, spreading outward in sweltering waves.
She burned hottest where Mr. Chen was touching her. Even though the contact was light, the rasp of his callused palms made blood pulse in her cheeks and…well, elsewhere. The tips of her breasts had stiffened, tingling against their cloth binding. That feeling of heightened sensitivity swirled over her skin. She was twitchy and uncomfortable, overwhelmed by an urge to move.
“Stop wriggling.”
The master’s quiet command warmed her ear and somehow made matters worse. She became acutely aware of him behind her, the coiled tension in his powerful frame. Without the usual obstacle of fluffy skirts, she was standing closer to him than she had any man, her trouser-clad posterior mere inches away from his front.
Heat licked her insides at the scandalous thought. She clenched her thighs together, shocked to feel an odd smear of dampness there.
Dash it, what is happening to me?
“Christ’s blood, I’m about to unload my cannon,” Farwell panted.
With her sight blocked, Glory could only hear the suspect grunting and the slippery sounds he was making. Her heart thumped with wanton curiosity. What was Farwell doing, exactly?
As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Chen kept his hands over her eyes, drawing her against him. Her entire being shivered when their bodies made contact. She felt the unyielding edges of his strength. He was like a brick wall…but one that was warm and alive.
“You’ve a cock like a stallion,” Christabel breathed. “Rut that fist o’ yours.”
Zounds. Images bounced through Glory’s head.
“It will be over soon,” Mr. Chen murmured. “Try not to listen.”
Certainly. While I’m at it, I could also try not to breathe.
“I’m going to spend, dove,” Farwell said hoarsely. “Want to do it on your tits.”
“That’ll be five pounds extra, love.”
As guttural sounds emerged from Farwell, Glory gave in to the urge to squirm. She felt something hard and large wedged against her buttocks. Did Mr. Chen bring a weapon with him? An instant later, the master released her. When she twisted her head to look at him, he was adjusting his frock coat, his expression stern.
His lips formed a single word. Quiet.
She rolled her eyes in reply. As if she would be otherwise. The conversation beyond the wardrobe drew her back to the viewing slit.
“Farwell, you wicked fellow.” Christabel pouted as she held up her green sateen robe. “This were my favorite, and you got it dirty.”
“Just giving you somefin’ to remember me by.” Farwell smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for another.”
“A true gent you are, to be sure.” Christabel blew him a kiss. “Luckily, I ’ave a spare robe…”
Glory’s heart hammered as the brunette headed for the wardrobe.
A strong hand gripped hers; she shot a look at Mr. Chen as the door opened.
