Page 100 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“So we’re both bound to be miserable, I suppose,” she said.
“Seems so.”
“I’m happy I got a pie today.”
“Life really is better with a full belly.”
Tabby reached her arms around his waist and looked up at him, her eyes guileless and expression sad. “So you won’t do it? I might be less unhappy as a courtesan.”
Edward sighed. He’d fucked countless women in the past without a care. Why was he acting like a ninny about ridding his closest friend of her maidenhead? She wasn’t wrong; a cruel man could make the first time such a harrowing experience that she might never enjoy the act again.
Her cheek pressed against the part of him hurting most. He still needed to see that physician about a physic for his guts. At this rate, he’d die before his cursed father.
Extricating himself from her arms, he went to the cupboard containing his few belongings and withdrew a package. From inside, he fished something out — a curious sort of wiggly thing.
“What’s that? Does it taste good?” she asked.
He laughed despite his misgivings about the whole affair. “French letter,” he said, holding the pliable but dry sheath up. “Made of sheep’s intestine, so it might taste good, but you’d be better off spending your coin on proper food because these are dear.”
He poured some water from the pitcher into the basin and dropped the letter in.
“Then why are you ruining it!”
“Needs to get wet,” he said. “Which gives you time to prepare yourself.”
“Prepare…”
“If you don’t want…the act to hurt, you need to get your bits properly wet,” he said.
Her eyes darted to the pitcher.
“Your body will make itself slick,” he said. “If you’re excited by…the act. Or something. If you want…something.”
Tabby’s eyes moved from side to side, trying to understand what he was imparting.
“You need to rub your fucking cunny!” he fairly exploded when she didn’t comprehend a damn thing he was trying to say.
“Oh!”
“And you need to attend to this yourself. Clients might be thoughtful, but some of them will have not a thought for your safety or pleasure. Most of them. You must get your bits…”
“Wet,” she said, the word never sounding so enticing.
He nodded yes and waited.
“I suppose I must, um…” she said, untucking the strip of fabric that had covered her breasts. She unwound it, her disguise unraveling faster than his sanity.
Finally, her small breasts were free, but Edward studied the floor after realizing that her nipples were visible.
“I’ll need these off, I guess,” she muttered, pushing her smalls to the floor.
Edward — never a coward in the bedroom — scurried behind the battered screen that had come with the place.
“What do I do now? Why did you go?” she called.
Hell and damnation. He crouched behind the screen, wishing he could become impossibly tiny and run into every clock and pocket watch on the street to stop time and prevent this travesty from happening.
“I touched it, and I don’t think I’m wet,” she said.
