Page 47

“Cock.”

Yasmin giggled. “Like ‘cock-a-doodle-do’?” She cleared her throat. “You are very large. Bigger than my toy.”

Giles, who never smiled, was grinning, crinkles spreading from his eyes. “Toy?”

Yasmin felt herself turn red.

“Lord, I am so grateful you’re experienced.”

Yasmin felt a twinge of embarrassment. Just how many men did he think she had slept with? But her attention was caught by something more important. His popol was huge. Enormous, rigid, shoving deep inside her, filling her. She literally didn’t have words to describe it.

Giles groaned, the sound escaping from somewhere deep in his chest.

Thankfully, it didn’t hurt. But it was vaguely disgusting. She raised her head and looked down. Her heart sank. It wasn’t a surprise because she’d suspected the truth long ago. She wasn’t a woman who was going to enjoy intimacies.

Hippolyte and she had made love under the covers. In later years, without the rosy glow of love, she had realized he was a lackluster and selfish lover.

Giles withdrew with a sucking sound. She glanced down again and had to suppress a shudder. The condom had bunched up and was falling down his . . . his tool. It looked like chicken skin.

Giles let out a low curse, reared back, and pulled away. She came up on her elbows and watched as he pulled the condom up and tied the ribbon so tight that he must be at risk of cutting it in half.

“A messy business, this,” he said with a rueful smile.

The words that came to Yasmin’s mind were less pleasant than “messy.” But she didn’t feel like discussing it, any more than she did other intimate bodily functions, those that took place on a commode, in private.

He pushed himself back inside her, and Yasmin had to clench her teeth to stop herself from ordering him away. She shut her eyes, wondering how long it would take. His mouth brushed hers. “Would you like to stop?”

“No, no,” she said. “Do continue.” As if she was inviting him to keep dancing.

He didn’t move; instead, he began kissing her carefully, slowly. Despite herself, her body relaxed into languid acceptance. Little prickles of desire flickered in her legs. Yet he was far too large. There was a noise that she did not like, a rubbing of that condom against her inner parts.

“I am going to withdraw, because I do not think you are enjoying this.”

Yasmin nodded because frankly, this was the most uncomfortable experience of her life. The only thing she wanted was for it to be over.

He withdrew with that disgusting noise again. She squeezed her eyes shut because the last thing she wanted to see was that thing.

“Damnation,” he swore.

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

“The infernal condom split.” Sure enough, she could see the head of his tool, glistening and angry looking. And far too large. No wonder that sock-like thing split open.

Yasmin shuddered, then shifted and curled her legs to the side. “I see.”

“Did I cause you discomfort? I know I am larger than some men.”

That explained why his parts didn’t match her memory or, for that matter, the illustrations in the cunning book she’d bought in Paris.

“Yes,” Yasmin said baldly. “I noticed your size.” She grabbed her skirts and pulled them down so she didn’t feel so exposed. Her inner lips were wet. There was a strange empty feeling inside her that she didn’t like either.

“Of course,” Giles said. He took out a handkerchief and offered it to her. “Grateful though I am that you were prepared for such an encounter, Yasmin, I cannot celebrate the quality of your French condom. I would have thought that the French were experts, but it seems the English are better in that respect.”

It was not her condom. Presumably, it was English.

She felt a hideous wave of embarrassment. Her inner thigh was wet. She needed a bath, and how was she going to explain her ripped smalls to her maid?

He was doing up his breeches, thankfully. Yasmin swung her legs off the daybed and stood.