The Silk Tie (Erotic Threesome Romance)

by Lily Harlem

  “I love you both,” I said, feeling my eyes dampen behind my closed lids. “So much it hurts.”

  “And we love you,” Hayley said softly, pressing closer to me.

  “Forever,” Gabe added. “For as long as you want us.”

  “I will always want you.” I opened my eyes. “Nothing will ever change that.”

  About the Author

  Lily Harlem is an award-winning author of erotic romance and lives in the UK with her husband and several rescued pets. She is published on both sides of the Atlantic and has over thirty titles to her name and more waiting to hit the shelves. Since giving up an adrenaline-soaked career nursing in a busy London trauma unit, she has immersed herself in the wonderful, slower-paced world of writing steamy stories. Now with a desk overlooking rolling hills and lush farmland she lets her vivid imagination run riot and adores the journey it takes her on. Her characters are colorful, feisty and romantic and many come with a sprinkle of kink, so hang on for the ride, or rides as the case might be, because the bedroom door is left well and truly open in all of Lily's books!

  Find more details of Lily Harlem’s raunchy, romantic novels on her Amazon author page, her website and check out her blog for daily musings. Friend her on Facebook and then sign up for the Lily Harlem newsletter to keep up to date with free books, new releases and contests. Keep reading to find bonus chapters to whet your appetite. Enjoy!

  The Glass Knot by Lily Harlem – bonus chapters

  “If you enjoyed The Silk Tie you’ll LOVE The Glass Knot.”

  Prologue

  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.”

  There was a long, thought-filled pause.

  “But we don’t know anyone who would be suitable,” Nick said eventually with a sigh. “I work from home and you work with a bunch of burly guys. And let’s face it, even if we both worked with hordes of women, finding one who would be willing to go to bed with a gay man, just so he had the experience of fucking a woman, would be pretty slim.”

  I shrugged. “I know, in fact, it’s virtually impossible which make this whole conversation hypothetical.” It was time to get back to just being us and take Her out of our special evening. I dropped my gaze downwards, as if undressing him with my eyes and said in a lowered voice, “Besides, you keep me more than satisfied, in every department.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, draining the last of his champagne and giving me the lopsided grin I adored, the one that dimpled his left cheek, right in the center and made him look so damn sexy. “But just so we’re clear, and I’ve said this before, we may be committed to one another, but if the opportunity arises for you to lose your virginity in the conventional sense, then you have my blessing. It might be tomorrow, it might be years from now, but I’m there for you when it does, one hundred percent.”

  “Thank you, but the chance of Her existing are pretty remote.”

  “She could be in Marbella right now, you never know, Josh.”

  Once again I looked out at the inky expanse of ocean. Beyond the horizon lay Africa, with all of its exotic scents and sights, taste and delights. I’d experienced a small section of the vast continent as a tourist, though Nick, before we’d met, had traveled it extensively with Cheryl. They’d toured all over the West Coast, she’d been a doctor and he was an architect. They’d spent a couple of years helping set up hospitals in the poorest countries. And then he’d met me, one night in a bar in Notting Hill and acknowledged that he was gay. The marriage had come to an abrupt end.

  Occasionally I felt bad about it, but I knew it wasn’t my fault. Nick had made his own decisions, and ultimately Cheryl was a happier woman now. We met up occasionally, with Cheryl. Nick stayed in touch and liked to ensure she had everything she needed. Although why he worried I had no idea, being that she was now a professor and married to a world class ophthalmologist. She had everything she wanted and more, including three children. Nick meeting me had saved her from a life that revolved around a lie.

  “Anything else, sir?” a waiter asked, appearing at our side and directing the question at Nick.

  Nick glanced at me. “No, I think we’re done. Just the bill, please.”

  His foot touched my calf, just the tip of his summer shoe, and I knew he was thinking the same as me. After an evening of champagne and fine dining, and with a luxury suite awaiting us at The Peniche Hotel, there was only one thing left on the agenda.

  Sex.

  Nick paid the bill, and we wandered back down the pier, hand in hand.

  “I love walking with you like this,” Nick said, squeezing my fingers. “It’s so nice to be able to do it without wondering what people will be saying in the paper-shop five minutes later.”

  “I know.” I brought his hand to my mouth and brushed his knuckles over my lips. “I adore living in Little Mickleton, but it would be nice if people were a bit more open-minded.”

  “I think they’re pretty used to us by now.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  The stroll back to the hotel along the promenade was peppered with curiosities demanding our attention. A man dressed as a Roman Emperor and sprayed entirely in gold paint stood like a statue, moving only when children dropped cents into his urn. Another dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, posed for photographs, Nick couldn’t resist. We stood for ten minutes and admired an enormous and incredibly intricate sandcastle before dropping several Euros into the artist’s green plastic bucket.

  Keen as we were to get one another naked, the beauty of having been together so long was knowing that it would happen. The anticipation, the togetherness beforehand, was all part of the seduction.

  Finally we reached our room. It was spacious and minimal, the bed enormous and covered in a cream and gold eiderdown, the piping on the delicate brocade a vibrant red. A huge expanse of glass opened onto a balcony, and when Nick flung open the doors the distant roar of the waves rolled upwards and filled the room, bringing with it salty air and the shrill call of a gull.

  “I’m going to freshen up,” Nick said, toeing off his shoes and catching my eye in the mirror. “Make sure you’re naked when I get back.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I said giving a mock salute.

  He grinned and disappeared into the en-suite.

  After quickly checking my mobile for messages—none—I turned off my cell. I shucked off my beige shorts and checked shirt and tossed them onto the chair. I didn’t we
ar boxers or any other type of underwear. It was a habit I’d adopted years ago, not long after I met Nick and they kept getting ripped from my body; now I just went without.

  Sliding between the cool, Egyptian sheets, I sighed in contentment and waited for my lover. My dick was hard just thinking about his hot, granite body against mine, in mine. I locked my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling, resisted the temptation to start without him.

  Luckily I didn’t have to wait long. The en-suite door opened and Nick stepped out, gloriously naked and his beautiful cock bouncing upwards from his wiry bush of black pubic hair. My heart rate skipped up a notch as he flicked off the light, allowing the moonlight to filter over the bed in a ghostly glow.

  Throwing back the covers, I exposed my body, showing him my engorged need.

  “You want the final part of your anniversary present?” he asked in a low, husky voice, his gaze scanning me from my toes to my head.

  “Bring it on,” I said, fisting my shaft and sliding my thumb under the rim of my cock-head.

  He kneeled on the bed and carefully unpeeled my fingers from my erection. “Allow me.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and willed my hips not to jerk upwards as he tapped his tongue over my slit, scooping up a thick drip of pre-cum.

  “My, you are ready for it,” he whispered, working the tip of his tongue over my glans in a zigzag pattern.

  “Oh, yes, that’s it,” I moaned. I turned my head on the pillow and ran my fingers over his short hair. “Oh, Nick, you do it so good to me.”

  He didn’t answer. In response he sank low, taking me on a perfect deep-throated ride. His mouth was warm and soft and his tongue a deep, strong groove that hugged my shaft. When he bobbed so low my glans touched the back of his throat I groaned, drawn out and luxuriously, loving the way the sound mixed with the crashing of the sea; it was so erotic and at one with nature, a wave of wet sensations and needy emotions.