Page 1 of Beneath His Vow (Knocked Up and Locked Down #1)

ONE

LEXI

He’s watching.

I can feel his eyes on me from across the room, heated and heavy, filled with the promise of what he’s going to do to me the second we’re alone.

My core clenches at the thought.

His mouth, his tongue, his cock… I want them all.

But this isn’t the smartest way to get it. It’s never a good idea to poke an apex predator, but I do it anyway. I’ve always known how far I can push him before the monster slips out of the box. I also know he’ll never hurt me.

But I need him to see me tonight. Need to feel his heat on my skin, his possession in my bones. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s nothing he’s done—he still fucks me like I’m his reason for breathing. This is all on me.

Which is why I pulled on this dress and walked into the Crimson Sinners’ clubhouse with an audacity that verges on destructive.

It’s a good dress—too good. Casey hates it. Correction, Casey hates other men seeing me in it. And I understand why.

It dips low at the front, barely covering my nipples. The curves of my breasts peek out at the edge of the material, full and round, and my spine is exposed to the dimple just above my ass. It’s obscene really, but fuck, I feel beautiful in it.

Which is why I’m confident when I lean on the bar and push my ass out, inviting him to play. I know my dress will ride up enough to flash my thighs, just as I know he’ll be clenching his jaw to breaking point seeing this.

I don’t blame him for that. I’m a wet dream in a room full of men who fuck like it’s therapy and I’m inviting him to play.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. Unsurprisingly, he’s locked on me, his eyes blazing and his jaw so tight his face must be aching.

Casey Callahan—president of the Crimson Sinners, biker, and my handsome, overbearing husband.

The love of my fucking life.

The man is sin wrapped in wrath and ruin, which is fitting considering his road name is Preacher. His cut sits over his broad chest, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattoos I know better than my own reflection.

Even after three years of marriage, I’m still hopelessly obsessed with him.

He’s so fucking attractive, it’s criminal.

He has dark hair that’s long enough to run my fingers through, and a thick layer of scruff on his jaw that feels amazing scraping over my thighs when he’s between my legs.

Right now, he’s standing across the room, clutching a bottle in his hand so tight he’s going to shatter it if he doesn’t relax.

Surrounded by patched members and out-of-town brothers, Casey’s wearing lethal calm like a second skin, but I know him better than anyone in this room. I see that storm brewing in his eyes.

And I fucking welcome it.

He says something to Chopper and then he’s moving. Right toward me. The crowd parts around him, his eyes never leaving mine.

My heart is bouncing against my ribs, my skin so hot the clingy material is irritating.

I turn forward, waiting. Preparing.

Barely breathing.

Nitro raises an eyebrow at me from the other side of the bar, as if to say you brought this shit on yourself. He’s the only man in this room who has looked at me. The only one who would dare when I’m dressed for sinning.

My breath is ragged as I cling to the edge of the bar, anticipation pooling in my belly.

And then his hands are on my hips, warm and firm. Even though I was expecting it, I still twitch, and when his chest presses along my spine, I whimper like a desperate bitch.

“You walked into my clubhouse wearing that fuckin’ dress?” His words are hot against the shell of my ear and I melt against him, his hands banding around my belly. “You tryin’ to make me fuck you in front of every man in this room? You want me to show them who you belong to, Lexi?”

Oh, fuck . I squeeze my thighs together before I combust. “I wanted to look good for you,” I rasp as I twist enough to slice a look at him.

“Dresses, sweats, in fuckin’ nothin’—you always look good for me, but this dress ain’t for eyes that ain’t mine, baby.” He kisses my jaw and I melt against his chest. He’s barely touched me and I’m already a fucking a puddle.

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.

He thrusts harder, faster, his pace building, unsteady. “You keep moaning like that and I’m gonna lose it.”

“Good. I want you to.”

And I mean it. I love him unhinged. He thinks he needs to protect me from the darkest versions of him, that he needs to hide who he really is beneath the masks he only unveils when he’s Preacher, not Casey, but I fell in love with every piece of him, even the ones he doesn’t like to look at for too long.

He pinches my clit, and I detonate. My thighs tremble as my orgasm tears through me like a cresting wave.

I squeeze my eyes shut, lights flashing behind my lids, my heart racing in my ears.

I can’t make my lungs work enough to draw in a full breath, so I take rapid shallow ones that make my head spin.

He hammers into me one last time before he lets out his own strangled moan and empties inside me.

I don’t breathe, don’t move, don’t think as he collapses over my back, his weight pressing me into the bench.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Take every last drop of me into that pretty cunt.”

I don’t tell him I don’t have a choice, that I can’t move if I try. I just lie there, my legs no longer working, my brain a Casey soup while I listen to him try to calm himself.

Eventually, he strokes a path up my stomach to my hip, and then along each bony nodule on my spine.

“You make me a monster, Lex,” he says it softly, so at odds with how he’s just taken me, and how he spoke to me. “I lose control around you.”

“You’re not a monster,” I pant, my breath hot against the wood beneath my cheek. “You’re my world.”

There’s a pause, and I wish I could see his face, wish I could see what he’s thinking. Because even when he speaks, I’m not sure if my words land where I wanted them to. Men like Casey don’t believe they can be loved.

“You don’t get to be sweet after putting on that show, darlin’.”

He pulls out of me and I whimper as my pussy tries to clamp around him. I can feel his cum dripping down the inside of my thigh. Somehow that feels dirtier than anything we’ve done so far.

“Look at you. Messy little thing. Look at how your thighs and your cunt are glistening with me.”

A smile twitches at my lips. “Your mama would wash your mouth out if she heard you talking like that.”

“My mama would send you to therapy, Lexi, if she knew how much you love being filled with my seed.”

Fair.

Carefully, he peels me off the bench, turning me around. Then he grabs my chin between his fingers and thumb and presses a bruising kiss to my mouth. His tongue is everywhere, clashing with mine, teeth scraping my lip as he claims me with this final mark.

Then he pulls back enough to rest his forehead to mine, his eyes closing. “You were made for me. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you, Casey. With every breath in my body, I fucking love you.”

The tightness in his face smooths out at my words, a peace I rarely see in his eyes. “I would burn cities for you, baby, if you asked it.” He doesn’t say the words back, but he doesn’t need to. I know he loves me. He shows me every single moment of every day. “Let’s get you home.”

He pulls my dress down over my thighs, barely covering the evidence of what we did. “I’ll clean up and then we can head out.”

He grabs my wrist before I can move. “You think I’m letting you walk back in there looking like I ruined you?”

I roll my eyes at him. “I can’t get on the back of your bike like this. I’m dripping.”

The look on his face is so primal I brace for him to toss me over his shoulder like a caveman. “Consider that your punishment for unleashing me like this.”

He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. It’s at odds with everything he’s saying.

“Fine, but if I ruin your bike, don’t come crying to me.”

“If you ruin the seat, every time I look at it, I’ll remember why it’s damaged. And think about putting you right back where you belong.” He leans in, dipping down so that he can speak directly into my ear. “Under me.”

I almost melt. We’re not going to make it home at this rate.

And honestly, I don’t even care if we don’t, because Casey Callahan is my home.