Page 2 of Beneath His Vow
His heat leaves my back and his hand slips into mine. He doesn’t drag me out of the bar, but he’s not gentle either as he pulls me behind him like a man who is a heartbeat from unraveling. I know he doesn’t want to do it in front of an audience.
I can feel his need pulsing through him just as savagely as my own, and maybe I’m as crazy as he is because it makes my pussy clench knowing I did this to him.
He drags me into the garage around the back of the clubhouse. It’s cold and goosebumps rise on my exposed skin as I wait for him to open the side door. I stare at the back of his cut and the words arced over the back. The leather looks soft and well worn, a talisman of a world I was invited into. The life we have is because of his club links and the Crimson Sinners have always been important to both of us. It’s family. And when I’m sitting behind him, the rumble of his Harley vibrating through my bones, my arms wrapped around his waist, his hand on my thigh—that’s when I’m happiest.
As soon as the lights flicker overhead, bathing the garage in a harsh fluorescent glow, his mouth crashes onto mine. His fingers are in my hair, ruining the curls I spent hours perfecting, while his other hand is wrapped around my jaw, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss he’s searing into my DNA.
Blindly, I fumble under his shirt, needing to feel the hard planes of his abdomen, his warm skin, but he reminds me I’m not in control here.
I’m turned, pushed down on the bench in front of me, my boobs squashed beneath the weight of my body. His fingers trail at the back of my thighs, sending shivers racing up my spine. I can hardly breathe as he pushes the hem of my dress up over my ass.
I brace, and he growls. I know exactly what he’s pissed about. “You walked into a room full of horny assholes without any fuckin’ panties on.”
The slap to my ass makes me gasp and my insides clench so hard I see stars. “It would have ruined the line of the dress.” I sound breathy, wanton.
His fingers stroke along the seam of my pussy, finding the wetness pooled between my thighs. “Did that turn you on, my naughty little wife? Walking into that room, dressed like sex, knowing it would unravel me?”
I lean on my forearms, glancing over my shoulder at him. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”
“That ain’t in question. You walkin’ into that room, showing my brothers what’s mine is. Who do you belong to, Lexi?”
I’m hot everywhere, my skin on fire. I’m going to come before he even gets inside me. “You, Casey. Always you.”
“I should fill you up, keep you dripping with me so that you don’t forget that.”
I hear the clink of his belt, and I force my body to relax, ready to take him. This isn’t going to be sweet, soft, or gentle—not that Casey knows how to be any of those things. He’s about to punish my body in a way that reminds me I’m his.
I brace, but it never prepares me for the size of him. My groan is guttural as he thrusts into me in one deep stroke. I cling to the workbench, as if that can anchor me, tether me to this plane of existence where I’m bent over with my body on display, the smell of motor oil in my nose, my husband’s cock heavy between my legs. For a moment we’re both suspended, neither one of us moving, both just breathing through the sensations rippling through our bodies.
I don’t tell him to move, even though I want him to. He won’t let me lead this after my little show. He doesn’t know how to take a backseat. So I wait, patient, feeling the burn inside me as my body stretches around his shaft.
Casey trails his fingers down where the dress exposes my spine, and every nerve ending lights up.
“You’re fuckin’ mine, Lexi,” he murmurs. “You think that dress was the problem? No, baby. The problem was you walkin’ in here wearing it and thinkin’ it wouldn’t lead to this. The problem was you believin’ I’m not gonna pump you so full of me you won’t be able to walk without remembering what I did to you. Maybe I should stop playing this game and put a baby in you so you can never doubt you’re mine.”
My pussy clenches around him so tightly that he loses rhythm. I love it when he talks like that. Mostly because I know he means every word. He wants me chained to him, even though he knows I’d never leave.
“Casey.” His name comes out strangled, my cords so tight I can barely make the sound, but I know it does something to him hearing me say it because he shoves so deep into my body I swear I feel him in my chest.
“You like that? Like the idea of me putting a baby in you? Fuck, darlin’, the idea of you round with my kid, every man looking at you knowing what I did to you, that you’re mine—it fucking undoes me.”
He reaches around to my front, his hand resting low on my stomach as if he can already imagine our child beneath his palm.
I’m so wet, so turned on that all coherent thought empties out of my brain. I cling to the workstation like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. Even the sounds coming out of my mouth don’t sound human.
I take what he gives me. Take the punishing pace he sets because this right here is love.
It’s claiming and obsession.
Devotion and ownership.
And I need it.
Each thrust is so deep inside me it feels like he’s trying to imprint himself on my organs. I’ve seen so many versions of Casey over the years, but this is the one I need tonight. This is my husband showing me it doesn’t matter whether I don’t like myself right now, because he likes me enough for the both of us.
My thoughts obliterate when his fingers scrape over my clit. My hips jerk, a wave of heat spreading under his touch. It’s building inside me, the release I need, the one only he can give me.
“Casey, I’m gonna come.” I try to speak, but it comes out in a breathy whimper. Pitiful. Pathetic. Too far gone to care.
