Friday, October 18, 2013

Release Week Spotlight & Giveaway: KNOTS by Chanse Lowell


by: Chanse Lowell

an Erotic novel 

Release Date: October 14, 2013


Jeanie's life has been turned upside down. She's lost her husband at an early age and with him, her way. An offer from a man she's avoided, a man that was her husband’s best friend, may be the only thing that can bring light back into her life. Mark isn't like most men. His dominant nature helps him see a different side of Jeanie—a submissive woman with a deep capacity to love and please a man. But having a relationship with him so soon after her husband’s death causes strife with her in-laws—the only family she knows. Can Mark set her free, or will she walk away, missing out on the chance for an all-encompassing love?

CONTENT WARNING — This story contains scenes of an explicit, erotic nature and is intended for adults, 18+. Story includes anal sex, crude language, bondage, role play and a Dom/sub arrangement involving consensual sex. Characters portrayed are over the age of 18.


“Do you think you disappointed me?” he asked softly. He stroked her hair like he did last night when he’d held her.
She shook harder and nodded.
“You didn’t, sweetie. I just . . . Fuck, I thought you could handle it, and I figured this was a basic rule most people had. Did I scare you?”
“Then why are you crying so hard?” He cupped her cheeks, tilted her head back and kissed her forehead.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Tell me.” He kissed the corner of her right eye. It was moist.
She reached up and wiped the salt water off his lips like she had after her shower when her hair had moistened his mouth. His eyes drifted closed, and he licked his lips after her finger was gone. Fuck. Do that again . . .
“I want you to like me,” she said, her voice tiny and full of dread.
“I do—so much. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“People don’t hit when they like somebody,” she said.
“You’re telling me, in grade school, when little Timmy Jones pulled your pigtails, you didn’t punch him in the arm? You didn’t play around like that ever?” He yanked her hair to prove his point.
She gave him an exasperated look—her head tilted to the side a little. “I . . .”
“Did you?”
She blinked, and her expression went from annoyance, to shock, a tinge of rage and then finally morphed into mortification.
“I thought so. And didn’t you ever get in the mood with a guy you really liked, to bite him or pinch him or even pull his hair?”
“God, this is . . .”
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“Yeah, of course I fucking did, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I don’t do that with my friends,” she said, pulling away.
“Why not?”
“Jesus, I didn’t even do that with Pono.” Her hands flung up in the air. She scooted back to the edge of his lap.
His hands flew out and gripped her waist.
“Be my friend, right now.”
“What?” She blinked and her mouth formed an O.
“Slap me for fun.”
“Do it. See how much better you feel.” He grinned.
“No, I can’t . . .” She turned her head away, but not before he saw the heated look in her eyes.
“You know you want to,” he said, pinching her right hip.
She jerked away and smiled. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” He did it to the other side.
Same reaction, only a little smaller.
“You’re gonna fall off my lap if you keep that up,” he warned.
He pinched the opposite hip.
“I said stop it!”
“Why?” He smirked.
“Because I don’t like it,” she said, but it came out voiced like a question.
“You mean, you’re not supposed to like it.” He baited her.
“Yeah—I mean, no—I mean, fuck! You’re confusing me.”
“Ask me—ask me so you’re not confused.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I wouldn’t even know what to ask you.”
“Set your palm over my heart right now,” he said.
She did it without a second’s worth of hesitation.
Fuck, she was killing him. Her left hand was on his chest, and her ring finger was missing her wedding band. Oh good God . . . How was he supposed to keep from stripping her and fucking her now? “Feel that?”
“It’s racing.”
“Damn right it is. That’s what playing like this feels like it when it’s done right. Gets the blood pumping so fucking good, it’s a rush. Nobody’s getting hurt—not really. We’re having fun, and it gets better the more you do it—makes you feel almost high.” He took her hand off his heart, and he nipped at her index finger, then bit the tip, placing just enough pressure to make her question if he’d back off or bite harder. And of course, he also hoped it would remind her she had removed her wedding ring all on her own, and that had to mean something.
Her eyes went wide, then scrunched directly after. “I don’t know if I want to hear this.”
She squirmed on his lap.
He sucked on her fingertip, then let it fall out of his mouth with a loud sucking sound.
“Jean, you’ve been telling people the truth your whole life when they ask you questions. You avoided the important one Pono asked you before you married. Wanna try it again? I’ll ask you for him—in his place. Was he the right man for you?”
She gulped, and a hiss of air escaped her. “No, he wasn’t.”
“No fire.”
He smiled so wide, his jaw was almost aching. “And have you ever met a man that was as honest as you are?”
“Well, Pono tried to be, but he—”
“No, that doesn’t answer the question. You’re diverting. Answer it truthfully. I’m asking you a direct question—have you ever met a man as honest as you are? When you ask a man a question, does he satisfy you by telling you the absolute truth?”
“No one except you,” she said, averting her gaze.
He tipped his chin back, and his eyes slid up in his head. Was she getting this?
“And what does that mean to you?” he asked, his voice low, heavy and filled with grit.
“What should it mean?”
“Uh, uh. Answer.” His head fell back down into place, and she was looking back at him once more. He gazed into her light blue eyes—now slightly darker.
“I don’t know—but it scares me.” She wiggled on his knees a little.
“Now, ask me what you want to know about me.”
She bit her top lip, and her gaze moved down his body. “What are you?”
“Be more specific.” He gripped her chin when she tried to look away.
“I can’t. I don’t know how to ask it.”
“You do, and you can. You’re not getting off my lap ‘til you ask it.”
“Are you a Dom or something?” she asked in a rush.
“Do you already know the answer?” He leaned forward—his face an inch away from hers.
“Then why are you afraid to ask?” Her breath spread out over his lips, and God, his mouth was watering.
“Because then I can pretend not to know, and it hurts a little less.”
“Why does it hurt at all?”
She shifted away. “Because I want to know more.”

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Meet the Author:

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.

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