Mark would’ve found it funny, only he’d never seen this man look this fierce before. “Yes, sir. I’ll take the best care of her every day of my life. I love her more than anything.”
“I know that. And she feels the same about you. Make sure it never comes to the point where love isn’t enough. Be her best friend. Listen to her. Do what she says. Make her feel like a queen every day, and you’ll be the happiest man alive.” Kueili nodded toward Jeanie. “That’s what my daughter deserves.”
“I will—I promise. And you’re right—she deserves it more than anyone. I’ll make you proud.” He hugged his “father,” and tried really hard not to cry.
Kueili gave him a giant hug in return and patted his back.
He let go and radiated warmth and sunshine at Mark. “You’re a good boy. Always were.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shit—Mark was on the verge of tears. He sniffed. “I appreciate you saying that.”
“You met her family?” Kueili was watching Jeanie again, beaming the way only a loving father could at a daughter he cherished.
“I have. And it was as bad as she warned me. I didn’t even tell them we’re getting married, and I knew then I was going to propose, but it took me two months to work up the courage.”
“Wimp,” Kueili teased, patted his back and then he was off and hugging Jeanie, crying again.
She broke down and cried in his arms. Her father rocked her back and forth and whispered words of what could only be encouragement and praise into her ear like he’d done briefly for Mark.
She was so happy, she was almost levitating like an angel. And if he had wings, he’d be right behind her.
Maybe not an angel since he had an overwhelming urge to tie her to his bed, knot her to his bedpost and have his wicked way with her, but still . . . This was the closest to Heaven he’d probably ever get, and it was all because of her.
* * *
3 months later . . .
Mark’s feet stumbled as he roamed up to his spot.
He checked his bow tie again. Fuck—Jeanie was better at tying these damned things than he was.
His chest tightened as the same man that played the organ at Pono’s funeral sat in that same spot and played the “Wedding March.”
There was a sea of people, sitting, watching, waiting, and then . . .
“Jesus,” he hissed under his breath.
She was the most gorgeous woman to ever walk the earth. He was sure of it.
She looked like an absolute angel as she floated down the aisle toward him.
He barely noticed Ashlen throwing red rose petals down on the white path that led directly to him.
Jeanie stared right in his eyes, her veil behind her, not covering her face—exactly as he’d specified.
Nothing was going to fuck with his vision of seeing her—his bride, marching straight to her Master.
Her necklace had been shined to perfection along with his ring Jeanie had given him, and her engagement ring fit perfectly now. He was glowing from the inside out as he watched this perfect woman coming straight for him.
The pastor behind him chuckled. “You’ll pass out if you don’t start breathing.”
“Huuuuuhhhh,” Mark released a breath. She was so goddamn perfect, his chest ached just looking at her.
She stopped next to him, and Jay laughed at his side now as his best man. “Man, she’s dying to touch you. Grab her hand, you idiot.”
Mark’s eyes flung to Jeanie’s hands. They were shaking though they were clasped in front of her pubis.
At some point she’d already handed her bouquet to Marly, her maid of honor, standing behind her.
Rodney and Tia were right next to the best man and maid of honor. They understood that family came first. And, really, even if they’d made this a small affair, if they could’ve chosen only four people to attend, it would have been the Finau family there, witnessing their marriage.
Mark took her hands—held them tight.
His breath was taken from him again as she beamed and her eyes teared up.
“Love you,” he mouthed at her.
“Love you,” she mouthed back.
His ears damn near rang when the Pastor was shouting the words for the ceremony.
The man’s voice carried better than any singer Mark had ever worked with.
He snickered when at one point the Pastor slipped into some pidgin English.
Jeanie giggled too, and even snorted a little.
It was perfect. That was the one word that kept flitting through Mark’s mind—perfect. All of it was exactly what they wanted.
The minister cracked a few jokes—talked about how in love this couple was in front of them, and before long, Mark was curling his fingers around Jeanie’s left ear, tucking a few stray hairs away and then it was time for him to say his vows, after slipping her wedding band on.
They’d written their own vows. He cleared his throat, then began, “Jeanine Anne Latham Finau, I love you with every breath in my body. There’s not a moment of the day that goes by, or ever will, when I’m not thinking about you and how much joy you’ve brought into my life. I am the luckiest man alive to have you. And If I were ever to hurt you, may God forgive me, because I sure don’t know if I could ever forgive myself. I will love you, honor, cherish and respect you until my dying breath and beyond. This I vow.”
A few “Amens” rang out in the crowd.
Jeanie sniffled, and then it was her turn. “Mark Daniel Pierce, you are the author of my soul, the creator of my heart. When I breathe, it’s with elation, knowing I’ll see your smiling face each day when you wake up in the morning, and I’ll be the last person to see you each night before you go to sleep. Those are the simple things in life, but they’re what I care about more than anything, because they all revolve around you, as do I. This I vow—to always be faithful, true, and solely devoted to you and your happiness. I love you, sweetheart.” She took his hand to her lips and kissed the spot, hallowing it before she slipped his ring on—the one he’d been wearing for months now. The one that was already a part of him.
He kissed her hand in return, covering the ring with his lips but keeping his glistening eyes on her.
The final words were spoken, which Mark was oblivious to, and then he was kissing her.
There were claps and praise heard throughout the chapel.
They turned to the crowd, smiled and then he whisked her away.
They would get through the reception, and then on to Hawaii.
There was something about that place that called to them.
Maybe it was the spirit of Haloa and Pono was calling out to them from across the ocean.
When Mark had her in his arms, sitting on the plane the next morning, he whispered, “I brought some gifts for you, Mrs. Pierce. You won’t get away from me. I’m gonna show you love like you’ve never experienced.”
She turned to him, eyes heavy. “And I have a surprise for you . . .”
She bit her lip with a coy smile.
“Tell me.” He nudged her leg.
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m your Master and your husband, and I refuse to wait, because I’m a bastard like that.” He smirked.
She rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. “We’re on our way to the land of fairies—Hawaii’s a magical place.”
“Yeah . . . ?” He grabbed her hand and settled it on his thigh. “Go on.”
“And every magical land needs munchkins.” She was bursting with happiness. “I’m ovulating. Today. I’ve been charting, and if you wan—”
He cut that shit off with a searing kiss. “Mile. High. Club,” was all he had to say.
She had her ass up and was heading to the bathroom where he knew she’d be waiting for him—naked.
Lucky for him, he was wearing a tie. Every fairy needed to be tethered around the neck, before they could be led to the land where magical creatures roamed free. Every submissive wanted to be bound in knots by their Master.
/> He yanked the tie off, slipped it through his right hand and smirked as he stood.
His sweet little thing was no exception. She would be knotted to him in every way.
And these knots would never fade away.
Afterword
I realize Knots is completely a work of fiction, but I tried to make these characters as true to life as possible. That being said, I must state some of the Tongan traditions mentioned in this story are based off information I learned while growing up around Tongans. I was told here in Phoenix, at Tongan funerals, all wore white. But when I did some research, it seemed other places did not always observe that, so I compromised and put the women in white and the men in black. I’ve also been told some places the women cut their hair off before the funeral service, while others wait until ten days after the burial. The choices used in the story, involving their culture isn’t intended to offend if it’s not accurate to other areas, but share the richness and variety of this culture. I love their vibrant personalities, and colorful way of life. I was told emphatically, funerals were a way to celebrate the life of the person that passed on and always involved lively music, dancing and tons of amazing food.
I’ve also been warned by my advisers’ for this novel involved in the BDSM lifestyle that what might be true for one Dom/sub couple is not true for another. Experiences and styles vary somewhat, so this is up to interpretation as to what a Dom or sub might do in these types of circumstances.
No disrespect is intended. I admire people in this lifestyle and those I’ve gotten to know. I can honestly say, they are some of the best people I have ever met and they have the most loving, enduring relationships I’ve ever seen. I try to take what I learn from them, capture it in a story so I can share this ethereal beauty with those around me.
It can be argued there is beauty in all types of relationships. I agree, but I cannot deny that the most beautiful relationships are the ones with open communication. And the BDSM lifestyle has that in copious amounts. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t work at all. I admire the rawness, the honesty of sharing dreams, fantasies, kinky toys and most of all, the core of who they are.
Also, be aware, that when I write about Doms or subs, I make sure to mention if they are trained or not. Any man can call himself a Dom, but unless he’s been trained and has done more than read a few BDSM novels, it would be best to avoid playing with that person. This is an art form, but one that must have an education through reading and hands-on training before ever entering into an agreement. There is absolutely no substitute for a mentor trained Dom. Believe me, an untrained Dom can be dangerous.
Just do your homework first before jumping in if this is something you intend to try.
Keep playing. Keep loving. And keep pushing hard.
That’s my wish for every person that reads this work of fiction—happiness inside and outside of the bedroom with someone that loves you for who you are.
Like Jeanie—you’re worth it!
More Works from this Author
Current novels:
Sleeves (scifi erotica) http://bit.ly/SleevesErotica
Kel isn't at all the animal locked in a cage that he appears to be. Secrets keep him there, hidden from those who hunt him. But what does a man do when he needs physical contact to survive, but can't stand the burning pain that comes with another's touch? He’s found a way to get a small fraction of his needs met at the nightclub, Sleeves. What happens when he lets in an unknown woman with a healing hand? Casey can see past the vulgar mouth to the affection-starved man hiding inside. When she does, all hell breaks loose, and the past finds him. Will he be able to avoid the agency, or will they add Casey to their twisted experiments? She entered the cage with him, and now it seems there's no way out.
Slick as Ides (scifi erotica) http://bit.ly/SlickAsIdes
What happens when a germophobe, elusive computer hacking genius has to stop to fuel up her car and it’s stolen right from under her nose by a handsome vagrant? Revenge of course. Only he’s no vagrant. He’s a computer hacking genius, too, and her competition. Curses along with inhibitions—fly out the window and through the phone when he calls repeatedly to harasses her. Who will win the upper-hand, if there is such a thing, between these two stubborn, obnoxious people?
Coming November 22, 2013
SHROAG 50 (scifi and historical erotica)
Symptoms of time travel are never fun—ask Guy Moore. He just returned, and now he's being thrown back in time. His assignment? To impregnate Anne Boleyn. As an agent of SHROAG, he's completed more assignments than any other agent and is ready to retire. Too bad Elizabeth I needs to be born to preserve history, and his DNA is the only one to do it. How will Guy seduce Anne, the woman who kept Henry VIII at arm's length for over seven years? And how will he keep from falling for her in his efforts?
Coming Winter 2013
See Rick Run (contemporary BDSM)
Rick's a professor, teaching Deviance and Social Control. Lacy's his student. He's hot, she's smart. A little experiment in a BDSM chat room after the semester ends starts a race to figure out which dick he is. He's not the boring middle-aged man that his students think he is, and Lacy is determined to find him. She might have to flog him for making her crazy for him, but that's only if she can catch him. Rick's got skills, and hiding who he is, that’s one of them.
Pearl on Cherry (historical BDSM erotica)
Clarissa Stone never thought she had a chance to make it on stage, but a strike in 1907 at the music hall opens up a door, and Clarissa races to it. The path isn't easy, and especially not after catching the eye of William Berling Ferrismore III. Money and power have gone to his head and he uses that to his advantage—sating his sexual appetite with the women on stage. Clarissa won't be caught so easy, but William doesn't play by the rules. How can she prove her worth as an actress with his defaming ways?
Coming Spring 2014
Scrapping Tin (scifi erotica)
Combat isn't easy, sacrifices are made. When Allie wakes up in a hospital after an attack and being shot, she's shocked by the doctor overseeing her. He's too good to be true, and maybe he is. Tins look just like humans, after all, and are the dregs of society. Is Mitch Seaward more robot than man, or is he really that perfect? Allie's father, a military commander, seems to have something up his sleeve. With Mitch, she dives in to uncover the truth, but will she be able to handle the heartache of the truth?
Author Bio:
Chanse Lowell grew up in the desert southwest and still lives there with her husband, children, and pet cactus. She’s addicted to three things—reading erotica, writing erotica and sandwiches with a side of erotica to aid with digestion. She grew up watching programs with science fiction and historical fiction themes, and is determined she can combine her three favorite genres, creating a new breed of novel with scifi, historical and smut sandwiched in the middle.
The last thing she ever thought she’d do was pursue her dream to be a writer since her family tends to keep her busy. When she was introduced to fan fiction, she realized she wanted to see more science fiction and historical fiction to fill in the gap with lots of naughtiness thrown in, of course. Her true passion is creating her own worlds from scratch, letting her imagination go and take her to another place.
Having recently entered the BDSM lifestyle and discovering she’s a submissive herself has opened her eyes to how few stories there are exploring the softer side of the lifestyle. She enjoys chatting online with others with similar kinky interests and has advisers in the lifestyle that help make sure her stories remain true and don’t veer off into outer space. Although aliens probably enjoy kink, too, since they like to dress in rubber fetish-wear while traveling. At least that’s her argument for why her new genre she’s created is valid.
Contact her at:
Website: http://chanselowell.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/chanse.lowell.1
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/ChanseLowellWrites
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChanseLowell
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/ChanseLowell
Amazon’s author page: http://amazon.com/author/chanselowell
Mayhem Erotica page: http://www.mayhemerotica.com/
Email: [email protected]
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