Knots

by Chanse Lowell

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Afterword

  More works

  Author Bio

  KNOTS

  Chanse Lowell

  Mayhem Erotica Publishing

  Copyright © October 2013 by Chanse Lowell

  All rights reserved.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CONTENT WARNING — This story contains scenes of an explicit, erotic nature and is intended for adults, 18+. Story includes anal sex, crude language, and a Dom/sub arrangement involving consensual sex. Characters portrayed are 18 or older and of a sound mind.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are created solely from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, locations and businesses, along with events, are entirely coincidental.

  Published by Mayhem Erotica Publishing

  Cover illustration by Mayhem Cover Creations © 2013

  This book can only be dedicate to the two people who inspired these characters and so many others I write:

  To Sir and his girl

  You have opened my eyes.

  May they never be closed again…

  Acknowledgments

  Edited by: Linda Kimpel, Marti Lynch, Shenani Whatagans

  Prereaders: Angela Bohr, H29Ank, Karen Thill, K.M. Tok, Robin Parrish, Tricia Lockwood-Smith, Sir and his subbie

  Advisors: Bernadette Lentini-Jones, M M, Emmie Selwood

  Chapter 1

  Summer . . .

  “I can’t do this,” Jeanie said, sitting in her car.

  She slumped over the wheel.

  There were people passing by all around outside her vehicle.

  She had to move—had to get out. They were all waiting for her, expecting her to . . . what?

  Have some words of comfort or sympathy?

  After several deep sighs and her hideous, dry eyes barely blinking, she stepped out of the car. There was no point in locking up, so she left it as it was and dragged her way to the entrance.

  The cool California breeze reminded her of what would never be.

  As she trudged her way up to the church doors, his sister assaulted her.

  “Oh God! Jeanie,” Marly cried, wrapping her arms around her.

  Jeanie’s numb heart thumped for the first time today, but only enough to get her to drape her arms over the teenager.

  “I . . . Are they already inside?” Jeanie managed to whisper.

  Marly nodded, and Jeanie patted her back, then maneuvered out of her sister-in-law’s hold and opened the door.

  They stepped in together, Marly wiping away the tears, and Jeanie most likely looking half-dead.

  She kept her head down and wandered toward the chapel. Marly mumbled a few things about where they were sitting.

  Once inside the main doors, the somber music had Jeanie’s jaw tightening.

  The room was filled with aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, work colleagues and whoever else Kapono knew, or Pono as his friends and family called him.

  He was well-liked, and this room, bursting at capacity, was a testament to that fact.

  She hunched over and shuffled over to Pono’s mother, who was waving her forward.

  The second she was within reach, she was yanked down to sitting.

  “How’re you doing?” his mother, Toloa, asked with her thick Tongan accent.

  “I’m . . . Well, I’m ready to do this.” Jeanie shrugged.

  She already felt out of place when she realized the women from his culture were dressed in white and wore ta’ovalas, while some also had over their mats a fakaaveave—those beautiful green skirts made of pandanus strips.

  Stupid, Jeannie. You knew this—and you showed up in black without your large wrap mat around your waist! You disrespect them!

  She blinked when she realized all the women related to him had chopped their hair off as well. But not Jeanie.

  Oh God. She was already failing. Her entire back tensed up. She sniffed and kept her chin tucked to her chest, ignoring the pile of small gifts that would later be presented to the widow.

  A chill ran down Jeanie’s spine, and her fingers flexed.

  “Oh my!” Toloa gasped when she turned her head toward the door.

  “Get over here!” her father-in-law, Kueili, said in a loud, chipper voice and greeted a tall man dressed completely in black like the rest of the men. He had an olive complexion and was standing in the doorway she’d just entered through, greeting Kueili with a warm smile.

  Jeanie’s insides were tied in knots the second she saw him. He always seemed to have that effect on her.

  “I’m so glad you invited him.” Toloa leaned into Jeanie’s side.

  She had to love her husband’s family—they were always affectionate, and personal space didn’t mean much to them.

  Why they ever put up with her, she’d never know.

  “Stop that horrid music,” Kueili said as he passed by his brother, playing the organ. “Play something happy.”

  The music changed right away, and Jeanie couldn’t help but smile.

  She remembered what Pono told her about Tongans—everything’s a party, and every party has happy music and food.

  “Issshh,” her mother-in-law hissed. “Kueili—sit down. We need to start soon.”

  The woman’s husband smiled and patted the back of the man he was welcoming. “C’mon. We’re getting in trouble already,” he told the man standing next to him.

  Kueili’s devilish smile made the wrinkles around his eyes so thick it was hard to see his irises at all.

  He led the incredibly good-looking, broad-shouldered man over to Toloa. “Mark, you know you can’t get away with not saying hi to my wife. She’ll kill me if I don’t bring you over here to her at once. She’d probably poison my food.” Kueili stuck out his tongue and pretended to grimace.

  Toloa stood up and crushed Mark into a hug.

  Mark laughed and hugged her back. “Of course not. I’d never ignore you. The most distinguished lady in the room must be recognized.” He patted her back.

  Toloa broke into tears. “It’s so good he had you to look after him for so long . . . So happy you’re here.”

  Jeanie stared at them with a blank expression. What must it be like to be so honest about everything?

  What must it be like to be so comfortable in her skin to hug people at will like that and actually enjoy it?

  Jeanie craved affection, but not with just anyone. One. That was all she needed—just one person to have a deep, personal connection with.

  Pono was affectionate and cuddly, but she was moody about it. She had to be in the right frame of mind to deal with it.

  “Mark, sit here!” Marly said, scooting over and patting the bench’s seat between herself and Jeanie.

  Jeanie’s breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced—her fingers and toes wanted
to curl.

  He always did this to her. The few times they’d been around him . . . It never went away.

  She leaned away from him, hoping it was subtle enough it wouldn’t attract anyone’s attention.

  God, please, say no. Sit somewhere else . . .

  Jeanie looked away. He was smiling at her with understanding, and she could not handle that. Not right now.

  “Thanks, Marly, I appreciate it,” Mark said and took a seat rather close to Jeanie.

  She shifted away from him as much as she could, but there was nowhere to go.

  The leader of the church got up, and the service started.

  Jeanie finally braved breathing again, and right away Mark’s incredible scent hit her—it was a clean, slightly citrus and musky smell with a hint of woodsiness. Reminded her of the crispness of the ocean here in California.

  She’d visit the beach as soon as she was done. Waves always soothed her.

  There was no doubt she’d need its calming influence.

  Five minutes of that white noise, and she’d be ready to face the rest of this day.

  Mark leaned toward her and whispered, “When’d you get in?”

  “Uh . . . An hour ago?” Jeanie shrugged once more. It seemed to be all she was capable of.

  “God, you didn’t even have time to settle in. Where are you staying?” he asked, his tone sympathetic.

  She paused and cleared her throat as quietly as she could. “Haven’t decided yet.” Over the last few days she couldn’t even face trying to figure out her sleeping arrangements for her stay here. She’d ignored messages from Pono’s family on this very subject. Her thought was she’d simply find some cheap hotel somewhere to crash for the night.

  “You’re staying with me.” He wore a look of resolve.

  She began to protest, but Toloa patted her thigh to shush her.

  Mark leaned a little closer—if that was even possible. “You remember I have a split floor plan, and the second bedroom’s currently vacant. Stay. You won’t even have to see me if you don’t want to.”

  She nodded and glanced at him through the corner of her eye.

  His smile went from sympathetic to overjoyed.

  Her heart raced like she’d just been sprinting around the building.

  What was she thinking, accepting this invitation?

  Well, she’d tell him after this was over that she’d changed her mind.

  “All who knew Kapono Finau were happier because he was the sunshine in a sad day, and that’s saying a lot since he’d chosen to live in the land of the sun,” the minister said.

  The crowd chuckled.

  Jeanie shifted in her seat. Her palms were sweating, and her insides squirmed.

  Why was she left out? Why didn’t these words comfort her and make her laugh? What was wrong with her?

  She glanced down the row, and everyone else had similar reactions—smiling through their tears.

  “This young man was bright and always serving others.” The minister smiled at Pono’s parents. “How many male nurses do you find that are over six-foot-four?”

  More laughter.

  And again, Jeanie was the only one unaffected.

  Well, she and Mark. He smiled good-naturedly, but he wasn’t laughing either, and his eyes were as dry as hers were.

  “I’m one of his few friends that he didn’t dwarf,” Mark said quietly in her ear. His fingers brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder and sparks flew down her arm.

  Her shoulder rounded up to her ear protectively.

  “He used to say white boys weren’t supposed to be this tall—he said I was a freaky giant escaped from Hogwarts,” Mark said low and soft, still leaning toward her.

  A laugh broke out of her, and it was well-timed, landing at the same moment as the crowd, hooting once more at the memories the minister was sharing.

  Without thinking, Jeanie’s hand flew out and landed on Mark’s thigh. She squeezed and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  It helped. She was laughing along with the crowd—not about the same things—but they didn’t need to know that.

  Had he planned that?

  She sighed and settled into the back of her seat.

  Mark’s hand drifted over the top of hers, and the heat was oddly electrifying.

  What was her problem—getting chills at her own husband’s funeral?

  “And who could forget his appetite?” the minister continued. “This boy could pack away more burgers than anyone I’ve ever seen.” He wiped away a happy tear. “But then he’d run it off and go play football, mowing everyone down.” His Tongan accent went thicker for a moment as his tears choked him up. “My son told me he would always run the other way when Kapono got on the field—that tank of a boy didn’t care who he took down. And since my boy wanted to be walking the next day, he knew to clear out. Smart boy.”

  The laughter continued, and somehow it was less grating with Mark’s hand trapping hers.

  After another story was shared, a few of the family members got up and spoke, including Pono’s parents.

  Jeanie had refused the invitation to say anything.

  How could she? They wouldn’t want to hear the truth.

  When Toloa burst into tears and mentioned how happy her son had been married to their favorite haole, and how this white girl could pack it away and eat with the best of them, a lone tear finally leaked out of Jeanie’s left eye. Of course it was the eye closest to Mark.

  God, her stomach tightened at the thought of what this man next to her must be thinking about her with how she was sitting here so stoic and empty.

  “It’s my fault he’s dead,” Jeanie whispered to Mark, sounding hollow. The tension was gripping her from the inside out.

  Mark squeezed her hand, and then cupped it between both of his palms. “No, it’s not.”

  Jeanie’s head turned enough so that she could see him clearly. “You don’t know—I’m the one that was feeding him incessantly because it made him happy, and then I didn’t feel like such an awful wife,” she hissed as quietly as she could.

  “That’s not what happened, and you know it. He loved you—he was happy. You can’t blame yourself for what he chose to do to his body.”

  She blinked and then angled her head back to her mother-in-law, speaking at the pulpit.

  “My fault,” Jeanie muttered, and Mark pinched her side that was almost tucked into his.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and let that stupid tear roll down the side of her face.

  “Shush,” Mark told her when Jeanie opened her mouth to share more self-deprecating words. “I don’t want you even thinking that. We can talk about it later. But not here—not now.”

  She sucked in some air, and it felt like a fist was shoving it down her windpipe.

  If not here, then what did that say about her—a wife with no regrets?

  The funeral service wrapped up with a song performed by some angelic choir consisting of Pono’s family members.

  This was it. Jeanie would be alone again—no family, no place to feel welcome.

  Sure, she still carried their last name of Finau, but what did that mean without Pono at her side?

  “Where’s your car parked?” Mark asked her as people began to exit the chapel.

  “Around the south side,” she answered.

  “Leave it here. I’ll drive you to the burial. We’ll come back and get it afterward,” he said.

  “But what about Tia?” She released his hand and crossed her arms over her stomach. The pit inside was eating away at her.

  “She knows I’m here for you today.” His jaw flexed. “C’mon. I’m sure you’re in no condition to drive.”

  Her mouth watered as she inhaled his rich, fragrant, masculine scent. Why couldn’t her husband have smelled this good?

  Out of nowhere, visions assaulted her of Pono rolling into bed, stinking, sweating and messy after work. She cringed.

  “Please, Jeanine,” Mark said, breaking her out of her thou
ghts.

  “Okay,” she answered softly.

  He placed his palm at the center of her back and steered her out to his very expensive, very pristine, sleek black car.

  She snorted.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Black. Definitely a California boy. You’d never want to have a black car in Phoenix—you’d fry your hand in the summer if you touched this thing,” she answered.

  “Yeah, I remember from my college days.” He wore a lazy, amused grin.

  She huffed for a second. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about.

  “I . . . I wanted to make a short pit-stop on the way to the burial site,” she said, turning to him.

  They stopped walking a few feet from his car.

  “Whatever you need—I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

  Her eyes dried out as she stood there unblinking with her mouth gaping a little. “Why?”

  “Why question it? You need me right now, and I’m happy to help.” His smile shifted, and it looked like he was hiding something.

  “O-kay.” She took her time walking toward his car once more.

  He helped her in and asked where she wanted to go.

  “Oceanside beach, please,” she answered.

  He sighed, and his knuckles popped when he shifted the gear on his car. They were driving in the opposite direction of everyone else.

  “I know this is . . . Well, I realize how this’ll look to them—me showing up late to the burial, missing the procession—but I have to do this,” she said, eyes pleading with him.

  “I’m not one to question what a woman wants . . .”

  She squirmed. What was that supposed to mean? And why did it sound so dark and alluring when he said it?

  Oh no, no, no, no!

  Her thoughts drifted to a conversation she’d had with Tia not that long ago.

  Dark and alluring was what Tia called Mark behind his back.

  Jeanie never shared her own title she’d made for this man—piercing and biting. His looks and everything he said lanced right through her heart.

  Dangerous? Oh, was he ever.

  She avoided him for those reasons.