The Silk Tie (Erotic Threesome Romance)
Read The Silk Tie (Erotic Threesome Romance) Online
Authors: Lily Harlem
THE SILK TIE
BY LILY HARLEM
The Silk Tie
Text copyright © Lily Harlem 2014
All Rights Reserved
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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
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!
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?
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.”