by Lily Harlem
THE SILK TIE
BY LILY HARLEM
The Silk Tie
Text copyright © Lily Harlem 2014
All Rights Reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Lily Harlem.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Cover Art by Posh Gosh
Dedication
The Silk Tie is dedicated to Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium who are so deliciously good at what they do. With many thanks for all the research assistance and, of course, for the pink fizz and cupcakes!
Back Cover Information
Professional life in the City of London is tough going which is why my husband Gabe and I live by the motto work hard and play hard. So when something, or rather someone, comes along that changes how he wants to play I’m intrigued by our sexy new game.
But there's always private sides to the ones you love, and in this case new thoughts and desires are stealing Gabe’s dreams. It’s not until I meet Brent—gorgeous and sophisticated yet soul-achingly alone—that I begin to understand the complex layers of Gabe’s needs and exactly what I have to do.
But I’m not afraid; in fact the idea of two men turns me the hell on. In a whirlwind of romance, fear, desire and a new cresting wave of passion we open up to each other, testing the water for one weekend only. Or is it? Will we ever be the same again? Can Gabe and I survive our decision to let a third into our bed? Can Brent just walk away and, more importantly, will we let him?
Table of Contents
Dedication
Back Cover Information
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
About the Author
The Glass Knot – bonus chapters
Prologue
Gabe
“Meet for drinks at seven?” I asked down the line to Hayley. “The Golden Goose?”
“Perfect, I should be finished in court by then.” There was a breathless quality to her words and the tap of her stilettoes in one of London’s old courthouse corridors told me she was walking.
I glanced at the clock and drummed my pen on the black leather mat that sat on my desk. “Me too. I’ve only got one more appointment and a closing to write.”
“It’s a date then.”
I smiled. “Hopefully a hot one.”
I ended the call then slipped my phone into my breast pocket. A sudden steamy memory of Hayley dressed in the sexy red underwear she’d bought the week before came back to me. She’d been waiting behind the living room door when I’d arrived home from the office at some ungodly hour, pounced on me and told me to close my eyes. She’d then tugged my silk tie loose before she’d slipped it from my neck and wrapped it around my head, covering my eyes.
“I’ve bought you an anniversary present,” she’d whispered into my ear—her warm, sweet breath had made me shiver with desire. “Use your hands to decide if you want to open it.”
I’d set about exploring my wife’s body, delighting in the delicate lace of the underwear and every curve of her breasts, hips and waist.
Knock. Knock.
I was brought back to the reality of my office by a couple of raps on the door.
Drawn from my reminiscences, I shifted on my seat and hoped my semi wouldn’t turn into a full-blown hard-on. That wouldn’t be good, not at work. Surely I had a bit more control than that? I was a big boy—a senior partner at Gosford and Bingley Law, for goodness sake.
“Come in,” I called, knotting my fingers on the desk.
My secretary, Ethel, peeked in. “Your four o’clock is here, Mr. Stone.”
“Okay, give me a minute to finish this paperwork.”
“Of course.” She nodded and her graying bun wobbled on the top of her head as she shut the door.
Hayley’s image still hung before me. The tie had only stayed over my eyes for thirty seconds or so, then that and the new underwear had been discarded, as had my suit trousers and boxers. I could picture her now, spread-eagled on the couch, panting, flushed, arms outstretched. I’d kept my shirt on, and my suit jacket for that matter. Time had been of the essence by that stage and besides, she seemed to like it when I fucked her wearing half of my suit. It was as if the sensible lawyer persona I’d carried all day had been peeled back to reveal the beast beneath and only she got to see it—or so she’d once told me.
“Enough, Gabe,” I muttered, having to actually press on my groin to prevent my cock from hardening further.
Think of something else. Something that won’t turn you on.
My four o’clock client was a divorcee, his wife of eight years trying to take him for every penny. I felt sorry for him. He’d been a good husband from what I could gather, provided well for her and allowed her to give up work to pursue an expensive hobby in horse breeding.
She’d had an affair, though had denied it until a private detective produced photographic evidence. But she was claiming all kinds of emotional abuse and infidelity on his behalf in an attempt to keep the house, the stables, horses and a large portion of his company and pensions.
Personally, I couldn’t see why she’d needed to go elsewhere in the first place. She’d been living in the lap of luxury. Plus, Brent Dawson, her now-estranged husband, was a great-looking bloke, and if I were honest, out of her league. She had an overly fussy style; stiff hair, too much makeup, tight clothes, and nails like talons. Plus, from what I’d seen of her she never seemed to smile. Not like Hayley, who could smile even when she was exhausted and under pressure. Hayley always had a lightness to her face, a sparkle in her eyes and a tilt to her lips.
God, I loved her.
I wondered if she’d be totally bad again on our “date” later. The Golden Goose was notoriously crowded early evening. Set in Tudor Street, it attracted journalist types and the law crowd. When we’d met there last, she’d kissed me hello then set about texting. I’d been put out that I didn’t have her undivided attention until my phone beeped and a message from her read: I’m not wearing knickers.
I’d swept my gaze over her smart, navy work suit. Her tight pencil skirt had indeed appeared incredibly smooth, but then it always did. We’d found a corner seat, and while sipping our drinks, under the cover of the table she’d slid my hand up her skirt to her bare pussy and let me feel how wet she was for me. She told me that she’d been thinking of our last holiday at Christmas to Switzerland and couldn’t get the longing for another bondage session out of
her mind.
Damn it. Now I did have a hard-on. Fuck.
I glanced at the clock again. I couldn’t keep Brent Dawson waiting. And certainly not with the excuse I had an erection because I couldn’t stop thinking about tying up my wife later. Certainly not when he didn’t have a wife to go home to and fuck anymore.
Poor bugger. He was having a really shit time of it. We’d become friends. A few times he’d stayed over his consultation time and we’d shared a Scotch and talked things through. I hadn’t added it to his bill, I was happy to do it. He’d lost his mother when the whole thing had blown up, so he was also sorting out estate matters and grieving. Not fun in any situation—worse when your wife had pulled the wool over your eyes for months.
I stood, walked stiffly to my cabinet then poured a glass of water. I took a long drink and concentrated on Brent’s case rather than the man himself. It was complex, his assets were numerous, and although mainly protected I had to play it clever to ensure he came out with what was rightfully his. Though if I had time there was one delicate matter that I needed to air with him. I couldn’t put it off any longer. And I had to admit, since I’d found out about the accusation, I was also pretty intrigued. It had played on my mind at night—Brent doing that; being a man who enjoyed that.
Why, though? I was married, to a beautiful, sexy woman. Why did these new thoughts about him keep swirling in my head?
I should be thinking of only Hayley.
Another rush of heat went to my cock.
No, don’t think of her. Not for an hour at least.
Again there was a knock on my office door.
I sat and placed my water on my desk, atop a coaster with a picture of a gold crown. “Come in.”
The door opened and Brent Dawson strode into the office. He wore a black suit of an exquisite cut—no doubt Savile Row—and a deep purple tie over a white shirt that had thin, black vertical lines. He was tall, his shoulders broad, and his dark hair had a few flecks of gray at the temples. He sported facial hair, not loads, just a neat, trimmed beard that was only just longer than stubble.
“Mr. Dawson,” I said, standing and extending my hand. I struggled not to grimace as my cock nudged up against my zipper.
“Please, call me Brent, I told you that last time and the time before that.” Brent took my hand, wrapped his warm, strong fingers around mine, and smiled.
“Of course, I’m sorry, and please, like I said, most people around here call me Gabe.” That wasn’t true, it was always Mr. Stone or sir, but there was something about Brent that made me want to be on a first-name basis with him. Maybe it was his sincere eyes that shone with quick wit and a sense of fun despite the hell he was going through with his divorce.
If Hayley did that to me I wouldn’t be able to go on living. But she never would. We’d made our solemn vows ten years ago and hadn’t wavered in our promises since. Our feelings had only grown. Hard to believe when we’d thought ourselves so in love back then that the emotions could have intensified one hundredfold.
“So, Gabe,” Brent said, taking a seat in front of my desk and crossing his legs. “What have you got for me today?”
I sat then reached for his file. “We have plenty to get through, but it should be fairly straight forward. Your financial consultant sent me all the information I needed and I’ve examined it carefully. As I’ve said before, there’s a lot we can do to protect what’s yours. I don’t think a judge in the land will give Mrs. Dawson what she is demanding.”
He ran his finger around his collar. “Well, that’s a relief to hear you say.”
I went to cross my legs but stopped when my still swollen cock complained. Brent wore a delicious aftershave and it had filtered toward me. It was a combination of pine forest and spiced apple and it laced my tongue in the way a yearned for flavor did. He always smelled nice; I’d noticed that about him.
“It’s my job,” I said. “To make sure you get what you deserve and are satisfied with the outcome.”
“Again, that’s good to hear.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving a damp sheen.
I opened his folder. I didn’t usually study other men, that wasn’t how I was, but Brent Dawson, well, there was just something thickly masculine about him yet also congenial. It pressed buttons I didn’t know I had. Buttons I had yet to admit to having, even to myself, although the more I saw him the tougher it was to deny their existence. I liked him in a way that was totally new to me.
“We should probably just confirm the contributions and totals for the pensions, so you know how it stands,” I said.
“Sure.” He leaned forward and set his elbows on the table with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The sleeves on his suit jacket slipped, exposing dark hairs peeking from his shirt cuffs, engraved silver links and a heavy watch, the face hidden on the underside of his wrist. He wore it back to front. “Take it away, Gabe.”
I set about showing him the figures, confirming it was as he’d expected then outlining the reasons why I felt he would get to keep the majority of his funds.
He sighed heavily a couple of times and blew out several low breaths as if relieved by what I was saying.
Eventually he sat back in the chair and gripped the armrests. “I think you’ve done a great job. If it goes as you say when we reach court, that is. I really don’t want to give up what I’ve worked hard for to someone who has lied and cheated.”
“And why should you?” I adjusted my tie. It felt a little tight. I’d be glad to take it off soon. The office was warm and the air heavy. “She’s committed adultery and that’s grounds for divorce.”
He glanced at his watch, having to turn his palm up to see the face. “I never thought it would happen to us.”
“Divorce?”
“Yeah.” He set his gaze on mine. “You told me before, last time we chatted, that you’ve been married for ten years.”
“Yes, very happily.”
“I’m pleased for you, genuinely. Because it’s wonderful to share your life with someone you love…” He agitated the knot of his tie, the way I had. “I thought I had that with Nadia, or at least I kidded myself that I did. But looking back, she always had a roving eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was a flirt. Even on our wedding day she danced in an overly suggestive way with one of the ushers to some rock song at the end of the evening. I just put it down to her being drunk by that point, but really, I should have seen the signs back then.”
“Overly suggestive?”
“Yeah, riding his thigh with her wedding dress hoisted up, gyrating and bucking, shouting yeehaa.” He pulled his lips down, as though the memory made him want to shudder.
“Were there other signs?”
He stood, pointed at the decanters and crystal glasses that sat on the cabinet. “May I?”
“Help yourself.”
He moved across my office, and I found myself again admiring the cut of his suit. The jacket stopped just below his buttocks and hung in a perfectly straight line. His legs were long and lean—he’d told me before that he played tennis and liked to cycle, that would explain his athletic physique.
He poured water, the chink of a single melting ice cube on glass rattling around the quiet office, then turned and took a sip.
After he’d swallowed he spoke again. “Yes, there were signs. She insisted on having passwords for her mobile phone and personal computer, ones she wouldn’t tell me. She used to tap her nose and say a lady needed some secrets. I just presumed she was shopping online and didn’t want me to see the cost of some of the things she bought for the damn horses, or that she and her friends sent silly, maybe naughty texts to each other that she preferred to keep private.”
He gave a resigned huff. “Once, I overheard her telling a girlfriend that she and I had enjoyed a great night together, you know, in bed, and she’d text her the details later. I suppose I was flattered that she was talking about my sexual prowess, and that her friend was interested.�
�� He shook his head. “Trouble is, for the last eighteen months of our marriage, she was texting him, talking to him about their sex. Planning on meeting up so they could have more sex. If only I hadn’t been so damn naïve.”
“How were you to know? She’s a skillful liar and devious too.”
“Hindsight and all that.” Brent finished his water and set the glass aside. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. The base of his jacket hooked behind his forearms and I couldn’t help but study the way the triangular point of his tie stroked the silver buckle on his belt. There was a bulge beneath—not an erection, just the hint of a weighty cock. I would hazard a guess that he hung to the left.
What the hell am I doing?
I forced myself to turn away, spread my fingers on the desk and stared down at his file. Fuck, my cock was bloating again, and a tingle in my balls was spreading up from the base of my spine to my neck and over my scalp.
“There’s one more thing,” I said. “Another spanner she’s thrown into the works, just this week.”
“Oh?” Brent sat before me again and his brow creased. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
I cleared my throat, the words stalling.
“Gabe?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve become privy to some information.”
“What, for heaven’s sake?”
“She’s threatening to accuse you of adultery too.”
“What?” He leaped to his feet with his fists clenched at his sides.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at him.
Hurt and confusion swept over his handsome features.
“But it gets worse,” I went on.
“How the bloody hell can it get worse than a blatant lie? She has no proof because it’s not true, she has no grounds. How can this stand in court?”
“It won’t, I hope.”
“You hope?”
I shut the file then placed my hand over the top, wishing I could keep the information in and save hurting Brent. He was the type of man who wouldn’t take having his masculinity or his sexuality questioned. He oozed testosterone, a potent maleness that couldn’t be ignored. Not that there would be anything wrong with being gay, I just didn’t think he was.
