The Silk Tie (Erotic Threesome Romance)

by Lily Harlem

  He shoved into me harder and rattled my arms, like he wanted to shake an answer from me.

  “I don’t know, I just…” I said.

  “You just what? Thought I’d like a little imagery of being fucked by a bloke?”

  “Well…” Why was he so mad? He’d liked it. He’d come so hard. He couldn’t deny that, I’d felt it for myself. But I didn’t know what to say. The confusion in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw, it rocked my confidence in what I knew, or what I thought I knew. “I don’t know,” I said, my voice quiet.

  “Fucking hell. I’m not gay.”

  “I know that.”

  He shook his head. “One arse fuck with a dildo does not mean I want to shag every man I meet.”

  “I never said that, Gabe.” I tugged my wrists but he didn’t release them. “It was just words, just a bit of fun.”

  ‘Words can be dangerous, Hayley. You’re a goddamn lawyer, you know that.”

  “They can also be powerful,” I said, tilting my chin.

  He pressed his lips together, pulled back, and his gaze dropped down my naked body. Releasing my wrists, he set his hands over my breasts and squeezed. “I’m into women,” he said, “specifically you. Don’t forget that.”

  “No…” I shook my head. “No, I won’t...ever.”

  “And I’ll prove it, right now.” He sank to the floor, so he was kneeling in front of me. He set one hand on my right hip and pinned me harder against the wall. He grabbed my left leg and shoved it over his shoulder.

  “Gabe?” I gasped.

  “Hold on,” he said, looking up at me with a determined expression. “You’re going to need to.”

  I parted my mouth and gripped his hair. Excitement was coursing through me—my pussy, while damp from the shower, was also damp with arousal. I was so exposed before him; my lower lips had peeled apart as he’d spread my legs and the lights in here were dazzlingly bright.

  He tipped forward and quickly buried his face between my thighs. His tongue caught my clit and he sent his fingers on a fast ride into my pussy.

  I groaned and tightened around him. God, this was what I’d needed when I’d used the shower hose on myself. A man. Gabe, working his magic, filling me and stimulating my clit.

  “Oh, God, yeah…” I said, tipping my head back and shutting my eyes. “Like that, Gabe…more…”

  He upped the pressure and the enthusiasm. Shunting in and out of me and his tongue rotating fast and stiff.

  I dug my heel into his back and went onto my tiptoes on the shower floor.

  “Ah…ah…ah…” I panted. I was folding in on myself. The luscious building of pressure in my pelvis, in my clit, was stealing all thoughts, all other sensations. He was so good at giving oral, I didn’t stand a chance at holding off an orgasm.

  But I didn’t want to. I needed this. I needed to come, flood him with my release.

  I held my breath and became lost in the final, intense moments of my climb to orgasm.

  “Yes…yes…” I hissed, doubling forward as my pussy spasmed.

  My clit released darts of pleasure that shot over my body, sending bliss spiking every small hair and making my heart skitter crazily. I ground my pussy into Gabe’s face, smearing my lips over him and butting up against the flat of his tongue.

  He kept on going, fucking me with his fingers and laving at my clit.

  It all got too much and I pushed and writhed, sensation overload weakening my body. The water splashing down on me was disorientating. Lights flashed behind my closed eyes.

  “Gabe,” I moaned, pulling at his hair and staring down at him. “Please.”

  He lifted his face and looked up at me but he continued to work my pulpy insides with his fingers.

  I clamped around him; wave after wave of aftershocks rattled through me. “That’s so…”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, good,” I managed.

  “And what did you think of?”

  “You, Gabe, you…doing that.” I dropped my leg from his shoulder and released his hair.

  He rose, standing tall in front of me. He cupped my chin with his free hand while slowly working my insides. “You didn’t think of some woman you know?”

  “No. Of course not. Only you.” I frowned and gripped his shoulders. He was so damn solid, like slabs of wet concrete. “Only you.”

  He pressed his lips to mine and shoved his tongue into my mouth.

  There was a wildness about him, a desperation. It was new and I wanted more of it. I needed to learn about how he was feeling. So I greedily kissed him back, pulling in his flavor that was laced with mine and trying to show him that I only ever thought of him, there was only Gabe.

  He slid his fingers from my pussy and broke the kiss.

  I clamped my legs together and sucked in great lungfuls of steamy air.

  “I’m not gay,” he said, his gaze set on mine.

  “I never said you were. It was just the champagne and the sun and what you told me about Brent, it got my silly mind whirring. And then with what we did the other night too, I keep…”

  “Go on…” He still had hold of my face.

  I hesitated.

  “Hayley,” he said sternly, wiping water from his face. “You keep what?”

  I bit my bottom lip, then, “It made me think about men together.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” He frowned.

  “Fucking. Men fucking, I’d never really thought about it but, if two hot guys, into each other I…” I paused, unable to put my recent thoughts, fantasies into words.

  “What? Damn it, Hayley, stop messing with me.”

  “It’s sexy. Hot, okay, it turns me on to think about it.”

  “What, two men shagging?” He looked incredulous.

  “Yes.” I tried to turn away but his fingers pinched into my cheek and kept me facing him.

  “You’ve fantasized about men, screwing each other?”

  I nodded. There was no hiding my new thoughts now. “Yes, watching, being with them, seeing how they do it.” I ran my hands over his wide shoulders. “I don’t know what sparked it and I’m sorry if it’s upset you.”

  “It hasn’t upset me and don’t be sorry.” He shook his head and licked his lips, his hold on my face relaxing.

  “You’re not mad?”

  He huffed. “Of course I’m not mad, we all have erotic fantasies, dreams, and they’re not always under our control.”

  I thought of how I’d used Brent’s name to create an image for Gabe to get off on, just minutes ago. “But Brent—”

  “No.” He interrupted. “Don’t say his name. Not now.” He flicked off the water and stepped away. “You just have to remember, Hayley, not all fantasies can be realized.

  I watched him grab a towel, rub it over his hair then wrap it around his waist.

  He walked from the bathroom.

  A shiver snaked up my spine and slithered over my wet skin.

  What the hell had that all been about?

  If I was confused before about what Gabe wanted I was even more bewildered now.

  His physical reaction just didn’t match his words.

  And like he’d said, words could be powerful and dangerous, but they could also be deceptive, not just to the listener but also the speaker. Say something enough times and you could start to believe it yourself.

  I quickly dried, brushed my teeth and applied a tiny bit of makeup. By the time I’d exited the ensuite, Gabe was dressed in navy slacks and a red-and-white-checked Tommy Hilfiger shirt.

  He was staring out of the window with his back to me.

  “You okay?” I asked, dropping the towel I’d had around my body.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  I frowned. Wondered about pressing further but decided against it. Whatever Gabe was battling in his head, he didn’t seem to want me, an ally, wielding a sword with him.

  I plucked some fresh underwear from my overnight bag and pulled on a flowery summer dress. After brushing my hair,
adding a spritz of perfume and earrings I slid my hand into his.

  He turned to me, his expression soft again. Gabe was back.

  “I do love you, you know,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  “I know.” He smiled, just a little. “And I love you too. We’ll be together forever, won’t we?”

  “Of course. Soul mates.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Come on. Brent will be waiting for us.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brent was in the kitchen. Changed and showered from the tennis, he’d laid out a plate of anti-pasta and three ice-and fruit-filled drinks. They were set on the large granite island that held a bunch of yellow roses in the center.

  “Sit, sit,” he said when we wandered in holding hands. “Help yourselves to Pimms and nibbles. I just need to get the topping on the chicken.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” I asked.

  “No, it’s fine.” He paused, holding a bunch of herbs, and smiled at me. His gaze flicked over my outfit. “Just look pretty and that will keep us gentlemen very happy.”

  Gabe laughed and put his hand around my waist. “Indeed,” he said, touching his lips to my temple. “And she’s very good at that.”

  My heart swelled. I loved Gabe so much, but to have Brent compliment me and give me an admiring look, well, that was the icing on the cake. Especially when I’d only thrown the Karen Millen dress on without ironing it and had the barest smudge of makeup applied.

  “Why thank you,” I said with a smile and took one of the black leather bar stools around the island. I popped a cherry tomato into my mouth.

  He watched me eat.

  “So tell me, Hayley,” Brent said, turning away and refastening the blue-and-white-striped apron he was wearing. “What’s it like working for Freight, Lyle and Partners?”

  “Not bad at all,” I said. “I’ve worked my way up to partner level anyway.”

  “Did you join them straight from university?” He looked at me again.

  “Yes, I, we, hadn’t planned on staying at our first firms for so long.” I glanced at Gabe, who was sipping on Pimms and had a long mint leaf tickling his lip. “We met in the last year of law school, intended to move to London, get some experience and then move on, maybe set up our own firm, Stone and Stone.”

  “But we soon got settled, got our feet under the table,” Gabe said.

  “And by the time we started to climb our way up the ladder,” I went on, “in our respective firms, there seemed little point moving jobs for the sake of moving. Not when we were both doing well.”

  “So here we are,” Gabe said. “Twelve years on, still in our first jobs, but now running the firms for all intents and purpose, with our partners, of course.”

  Brent nodded. “I admire you both. Nothing easy about being a lawyer.” He poured oil over the chicken breasts then ripped the herbs over the top of them. “Anything dealing with people is hard.”

  “I agree,” I said, sipping my drink.

  “Too complex,” Brent said, washing his hands then drying them on a red tea towel. “With so many variations from the norm.”

  “And what is right for one person is wrong for another,” Gabe added.

  “Exactly,” Brent said. “In fact, the older I get, the more I wonder what normal is? We’re taught one thing growing up but it doesn’t marry with reality.”

  “I’m dealing with a complex pre-nup case,” I said. “Any logical person can see it makes sense, but throw in the emotion of love and it’s created a volcano of responses from the groom and his family.”

  Brent nodded, sat and reached for his drink. “Love is the singular most worthwhile thing in life, but yes, it can make everything else really complicated at times.”

  He glanced out of the window. The sun was losing its strength and long shadows were stretching over the lawn.

  I picked up my straw and stabbed at a chunk of lemon in my drink. Part of me felt bad for Brent. Gabe and I had been upstairs, enjoying each other’s bodies while he’d been alone. I guessed it wasn’t that long ago he’d had a wife, Nadia, yet suddenly life had changed.

  I couldn’t imagine not having Gabe.

  There was no way I’d be able to carry on.

  “Try these,” Brent said, holding a plate of canapés towards Gabe. “Chorizo with almonds, delicious.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Gabe said, taking one then popping it in his mouth. “Mmm, lovely.”

  Brent grinned and took one for himself.

  “Do you have a bin?” Gabe asked, holding up a mint leaf that had a long stalk on it. The one that had been tickling his lip.

  “Oh, sorry. I just grabbed that mint from the herb garden,” Brent said, rolling his eyes. “Yes, it’s over there.” He pointed to the far end of the kitchen.

  Gabe got off the stool then walked to the bin.

  I looked at his ass—habit. The trousers he had on fitted him perfectly and I’d picked them up a few weeks ago from John Lewis.

  Reaching for my drink, my attention was caught by the expression on Brent’s face. He too was staring at my husband’s ass, and not in a casual, his-gaze-had-just-happened-to-rest-that-way either. It was a look of interest, appreciation, it was a look of longing.

  My heart did a little flip as thoughts whizzed through my mind.

  Brent licked his lips then nibbled on his bottom one and it wasn’t until Gabe had put the mint in the bin that he turned toward me.

  In an instant I knew that he’d been thinking something improper about Gabe’s ass—about Gabe in general.

  A hint of color swept his cheeks and he quickly averted his gaze from me. He rubbed his palm over his jaw, stroking the dense black stubble.

  A thrilling flutter of comprehension rolled over me.

  Brent was into Gabe.

  Damn. Really?

  I didn’t tear my attention from him. I was utterly fascinated. Here was me thinking I’d gone mad these last few days, dreaming about Gabe with a bloke, and here was a man, Brent, who fancied him.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I’d seen, what I could see.

  Nor was I the sort to rush in once I’d figured something out. The lawyer in me usually took her time, assessed the lay of the land and decided the best course of action. Though, of course, as we’d already discussed, when love was involved, it could get pretty complicated.

  Brent stirred a pan of rice that was bubbling on the hob; the stream swirled upwards and was sucked into a silent extractor fan.

  Oblivious to it all, Gabe started talking about Brent’s business interests. He was into buying and selling central city office blocks and car parks, as well as playing on the stock exchange.

  I half listened and sipped on my fruity drink.

  Was Gabe into Brent in that way too? In a stare-at-his-ass way?

  The memory of Gabe on the phone in our garden, relaxed, laughing and chatting came back to me. I remembered his body language when I’d seen them having lunch together—close, cozy, as if they were the only people in London that day.

  I looked at Gabe now. He was animated and enthusiastic about a conversation that had turned to fishing. When had Gabe last chatted about fishing, or even expressed any interest in it?

  Yet talking to Brent, it was like he’d come to life.

  Brent directed his conversation at Gabe for a while. I wondered if he was composing himself after I’d caught him ogling Gabe’s ass.

  Finally he turned back to me, the Pimm’s jug in his hand. He hovered it over my now empty glass.

  “Thanks,” I said. “It’s delicious.”

  “Anything for you,” Brent said, catching my eye for the first time in several minutes.

  Why didn’t I feel jealous that Gabe and Brent clearly liked each other? If Brent had been a woman I’d want to scratch her eyes out; hell, I probably would, sod the consequences.

  I looked into Brent’s eyes and the answer came to me. It was because I liked him. A lot. He was a nice bloke, handsome too, and having a
crap time.

  Brent in our lives wasn’t a bad thing.

  Or at least I hoped it wasn’t.

  I started on my fresh drink. It was stronger, the alcohol must have settled at the base of the jug.

  The timer on the oven bleeped.

  “Oh, that will be it ready,” Brent said. “Shall we eat here or the dining room?”

  “I’m good here,” I said. I realized how tired I was. My legs felt soft and my shoulders sagged a little.

  “Yes, this is perfect,” Gabe said, “and the view from the kitchen window is lovely.”

  “Yes, it was Mother’s favorite place to sit,” Brent said. “In the window seat there.” He began to serve the chicken and rice.

  “What was she like?” I asked. “Your mother?”

  “Fearless,” he said. “She had her standards and ways she liked things done, but beneath all of that she had her own set of rules and be damned if you didn’t like them.” He laughed as though remembering something. “She always told me to be who I wanted to be. That I was perfect when I was happy so I should always strive for that. The only person I should try and be better than, she used to say, was the person I was the day before.”

  “She sounds very wise,” I said.

  “She was.” Brent set plates of food down in front of me and Gabe. “And beautiful.”

  “Well, here’s to your mother,” Gabe said, holding up his drink.

  Brent sat next to Gabe and did the same. “Yes, to Mother. And this is her recipe.”

  “It looks amazing,” I said.

  “Mmm, tuck in,” Brent said and picked up his knife and fork. “She’d enjoy seeing me have friends round like this, for a casual supper on a sunny weekend. It was her favorite sort of get together, although she did do formal dinner parties that were talked about for weeks afterwards because of their elegance.”

  I started eating and imagined Brent’s mother in the kitchen, cooking while wearing pearls and heels, her hair gray yet fashionable and her lipstick perfect. I’d have liked to have met her.

  The meal passed quietly; we were all hungry and the food was perfectly cooked.

  As Brent tidied away the plates I couldn’t suppress a yawn. Too much sun, several drinks and a good orgasm and I was ready for my bed.