The Glass Knot-mmf
THE GLASS
KNOT
BY LILY
HARLEM
The Glass
Knot
Text
copyright © Lily Harlem 2012
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.
Warning:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the
Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written
permission.
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 Emmy Ellis (Posh Gosh) © 2012
This one is for my fabulous friend Liz. We live on
opposite sides of the globe, have never met face to face, but chat every day. Go
ahead, lovely lady, pick any one (or two) of my heroes to play with — as
long as I can have one of yours of course!
Josh
“Here’s
to us.” Nick clinked his glass against mine and gave a seductive smile, one
that promised a night of sex hotter than the Costa Del Sol’s midday sun.
“To
us,” I said, tapping the rim of my champagne flute against his, “and surviving
against the odds.” I leaned forward over a plate of delicate canapés and kissed
him. My stubble scratched his smooth chin, and I berated myself for not finding
the time to shave before our romantic moonlit meal. All I’d done today was
lounge on the beach listening to the lapping waves and losing myself in my
Kindle. I’d had a beer and some watermelon at lunchtime and hadn’t even noticed
Nick step away to book the best table at The Pier restaurant; the one right at
the very end, set slightly apart and partially screened from other diners by a
row of potted pink Acacia plants.
“Ten
years since tying the knot,” Nick said, knocking back a slug of champagne. “And
man, it’s been pretty up and down.”
I
glanced out at the endless stretch of black water. A single strip of silvery
light from the moon shone down, creating a magical sparkling path that tapered
into the horizon. I popped a spicy battered prawn into my mouth and savored the
sweet chili, so different to the rank, prejudiced flavor I’d had constantly in
my mouth as we’d battled my father’s revulsion of our gay union.
Nick
tipped his head and studied me. “I know I told you already but I’m so enjoying
having this time with you here. Marbella has always been somewhere I wanted to
bring you.”
I
smiled. “It’s great, the perfect anniversary destination.”
Nick
pressed back in his chair as a suited waiter set a whole sea bass before him.
The crispy skin was blackened and sprinkled with crystals of salt. A vivid
green salad tossed with olives and walnuts accompanied it.
“Thanks,”
I said as my fillet steak, coated with creamy stilton sauce, arrived. Fat chips
over-spilling a white bowl were set alongside yet more salad
The
waiter topped up our glasses, and Nick nodded for another bottle of champagne
to be brought out. I adored him when he was in this spoiling-me mood. Just
occasionally, when he was feeling romantic he really splashed out. Not that he
wasn’t always considerate, he was, but away from his office and in this
luscious relaxed holiday state, I really got to enjoy him, all of him. Every
last bit of him.
We
dug into our sumptuous main courses, chatting about our Cotswold cottage and
whether or not the new thatch would be complete by the time we arrived home. We
also had a decorator in, freshening up the living room and scrubbing out the
inglenook which had blackened over several winters of blazing log fires. Log
fires that we’d thoroughly enjoyed sprawling in front of naked and sweaty,
adoring each other’s bodies, from early evening until the small hours of the
morning. The hearth rug had been replaced, twice, each one bigger and more
luxurious than the last.
An
elegant yacht broke through the shimmering path of moonlight at our side. We
paused to admire the sails and speculate which celebrity might be cruising by.
What decadent millionaire was holding a lavish party for a select few, and guessing
the food and drink that would be served, what music would be played. Perhaps he
even had a live performer, someone fabulous and talented, internationally
famous entertaining his guests.
By
the time my pineapple sorbet and Nick’s chocolate torte arrived I was feeling
as mellow as I ever could. My sun-kissed limbs were relaxed and my mood
chilled. A holiday with Nick, eating a beautiful meal on our tenth anniversary was
about as perfect a moment as I could imagine.
“Mmm,
try this,” Nick said, offering forward a dollop of his torte.
I
opened my mouth willingly, as I always did for him, no matter what he offered.
“Yum,” I said, licking my lips and letting the heavy truffle dissolve on my
tongue. “That’s fabulous.”
“Do
you still think of Her?” he asked suddenly. His dark gaze captured mine, and
his expression fell serious.
“Her?”
I knew full well who he was talking about. Her, She, was fictitious, and
stemmed from a drunken conversation we’d had several years ago.
“I’m
sorry, Josh.” He covered my hand with his. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No,
it’s fine.”
He
rubbed his thumb over my knuckles and stared, unblinking at his caressing
movements. “Seriously, forget it.”
I
sucked in a deep breath. I couldn’t ignore the question, not now he’d asked it.
Because the truth was I did still think of Her. In quiet moments She was
conspicuous by her absence. I’d suspected I was gay in my mid-teens, but it
wasn’t until I’d met Nick and fallen for him that I’d handed my body over to
another person—Nick was still my one and only lover. “You know you’re the
most important thing in the world to me, Nick, the pivotal focus of my every
waking moment,” I said and then paused, my tongue stalling with words that
might hurt. “But yes, I do sometimes still think of being with a woman.”
Nick
pulled his eyebrows low and studied my face.
“It’s
different for you,” I went on. “You had Cheryl before we met, Cheryl and others.
For me there has only ever been you.”
Gnawing
on his bottom lip, Nick shook his head. “The past is the past, but because of
circumstances and our age difference, I would hate to stop you experiencing
something you feel you should—“
“No,
it’s not like that, it’s not because I feel I should, it’s just…” I struggled
to put my feelings into words even though these were not new thoughts and
emotions. In fact I’d discussed it recently with one of our friends who’d known
he was into guys from a very early age. He’d said the idea of sex with a woman
repulsed him and he would rather burn in hell.
Trouble
was I didn’t feel like that, there had been girls, women over the years who’d
caught my eye and I’d found myself physically attracted to them. Not that I’d
done anything about it but the thought of sex with a woman appealed to me, even
though I loved Nick and loved having sex with him, I often imagined being
inside a soft, sweet feminine body. And, like a small crack above a door frame,
over the years of that door opening and shutting—each time I fantasized
about being with a woman—it just got bigger. Now it was so big, that
crack, it was starting to spit little chunks of plaster onto the foundations of
our relationship. Nick had been right to bring it up—it was time to face
facts. I wasn’t as gay as I thought I was.
“It’s
an urge isn’t it?” Nick said, with an understanding frown.
I
nodded gratefully. “Yes, an urge, but I can control it. If you hadn’t mentioned
it I probably wouldn’t have thought of it for days.”
“Days…?”
His lips stayed parted as if about to say more.
“Yes,
days.” I knew I’d surprised him with the frequency of my yearning, but it had
to be said and it was, after all, him who’d brought Her up. He deserved the
truth.
“Josh,
I had no idea.”
I
shrugged, withdrew my hand from his and scooped in a mouthful of my sorbet. I’d
come to the conclusion there must be different levels of gayness. Much as some
gay blokes were repulsed by women’s bodies, there was an opposite end to the
spectrum, which I guessed was where I sat. And so did Nick. He’d been married
to Cheryl, lived a straight life and had a whole pile of hetro sex that, he’d
told me, he’d enjoyed—he just hadn’t loved Cheryl enough to spend his
life with her.
“Well,
that just proves something needs to be done,” Nick said in a steely tone. “If
these are thoughts you’re having on a daily basis.”
“Not
every day.”
“Just
most.” He placed down his spoon, leaving a big chunk of his torte.
I
reached over and cupped his cheek, stared at his long face, handsome and strong
and strewn with shadows. He usually sported a dark layer of neatly trimmed
facial hair but he’d shaved it off saying he didn’t want an uneven tan. “I
don’t want to risk anything or anyone coming between us,” I said. Rocking our
peaceful existence terrified me considerably more than suppressing an
urge—urges I could cope with, urges I had control over.
“But
where is the risk?” Nick covered my hand with his palm and tipped his head so
his cheek pressed more firmly against me. “What we have is so strong, so solid,
how can you experiencing one night with a woman possibly break it?”
I
thought for a moment then sighed. “I don’t think it would break it. I’m just
scared about throwing a spanner in the works. We’re so happy and we have been
for so long as tonight, ten years married, proves.”
“So
what better time to do this, Josh, while we’re secure and strong?” He set his
jaw in the determined way he did when sure of something. I felt it tense
beneath my palm.
“I
suppose you’re right.” I paused, my mind flooding with thrilling possibilities
as well as hurdles. “But I couldn’t just have sex with anyone. That wouldn’t
work for me I would have to…” I hesitated.
“Go
on.”
“She
would have to have that certain something, make me feel comfortable and excited
both mentally and physically. You couldn’t just hire me a prostitute and think
that would work.”
He
sat back, forcing me to drop my hand from his face. He folded his arms over his
chest and tightened his fingers into his biceps creating little dents in his
tanned flesh. “Of course I wouldn’t hire you a prostitute, what do you take me
for?”
I
smiled, scooped up a chunk of my sorbet and offered it forward. “Here, try
this, you’ll love it.”
He
narrowed his eyes, but a sparkle deep within them told me he’d been quickly placated.
Yes, holidays definitely suited Nick’s moods. They were much less fractious.
“That’s
fabulous,” he said, after taking the icy sweet treat.
“Yeah,
it is.”