Cuffs
By Dana Keylits
He had the candles lit, the food warming in the oven, and a bottle of red wine uncorked and breathing. All he needed, now, was her.
She had called at five, no bodies had dropped, thankfully, so she was on her way home. He'd used his key an hour ago to let himself into her loft, they couldn't be at his place because his mother was having her "play" group over for discussion, appetizers, and mulled wine. They would undoubtedly be deconstructing Shakespeare, or Tennessee Williams, or Ibsen. It was all a bit pretentious for his taste, so he'd politely nodded hello to the assembled group of multi-aged thespians, and then gracefully made his exit.
He'd stopped at Noodles and Company on the way to her place and picked up one each their favorite entree's, Penne Rosa for her, Pad Thai, for him. Salad and bread for them both, and for good measure, a gigantic chocolate chip cookie - for dessert.
And then he waited. Of course, he wandered too, perusing her bookcase, smiling at the collection of Richard Castle books stacked neatly on one end of the top shelf, some of them worn and dog-eared. She'd clearly been a fan long before they'd met. He loved that.
He was about to turn on the TV when his eye caught sight of a paperback book stuffed haphazardly on the bottom shelf of the book case. Shades of Grey.
Holy shit, Kate was reading Fifty Shades of Grey!
Castle had read them himself, of course. How could he not? It was all the talk of the publishing world. A true literary success story. The author of the books had started out as a fanfiction writer for those tweenTwilight movies, and now, she was getting rich off of books she'd originally only published electronically. His reading had been purely out of literary curiosity of course, though the kinky fuckery in the books didn't hurt, either.
He chuckled, trying to figure out how to best tease Kate about this, when he heard her key unlock the deadbolt, and he swiftly met her at the door, a cheshire cat grin spreading across his lips.
"What?" She demanded, a half grin on her face as she tossed her keys on the counter and shrugged out of her leather and denim jacket. She could tell he was up to something.
"Oh, nothing." He said, rocking onto his toes, a gleeful smirk planted on his face.
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing playfully, "Castle."
He turned his head, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, smiling. "Oh, nothing, really. It's just that I learned something new about you today."
Her face fell, "Have you been snooping again? Castle, I told you!"
He held up a staying palm. "No, I learned my lesson. I didn't open any closets, or rifle through any drawers."
She relaxed.
"But, I did see something rather interesting on your bookcase."
She pulled off her boots, rubbing her tired feet as she did, she threw him a dirty look. "What?"
"Well, besides all of my books - which, thank you for that, always happy to know who my fans are." He bowed slightly.
She rolled her eyes.
"YOU, Detective Beckett, are reading Fifty Shades of Grey!"
She paused, looking at him, the space between her eyes crinkling in confusion. "What?"
"Don't deny it, Kate. It's okay. I get it. You wanna play. Perfectly healthy thing for a woman in her sexual prime to do."
"Castle, I am not reading Fifty Shades of Grey."
He arched an eyebrow, "Really. Huh, then..." Grabbing the book as if in triumph, "What pray tell is this?!"
She made a face, wrinkling her nose. "It's Shades of Grey, Castle. Unrelated to that book with a Fifty in it."
"Huh?" He looked at the paperback in his hand. And, indeed, it said Shades of Grey.
"By Jasper Fforde?" Kate said, her hand leaning on the counter, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "You do know who that is, don't you?"
"Wha? Of course...do I know...I am a best selling author, you know." He sputtered.
"You have no idea, do you?"
He tossed the book on the counter, "No. None."
She laughed.
He laughed, too. "Damn, and I thought this meant you were doing research."
She opened her mouth in an amused smile. "Research?"
"Yeah, you know. Now that we're together? Like..." He lowered his voice seductively, "...kinky research?"
She bit the inside of her cheek as she regarded him. She straightened up and slowly moved to close the gap between them. "You think I need a book to know what kinky is, Castle?" She asked, reaching behind her and pulling her handcuffs from her belt. She dangled them from one finger in front of him.
Castle smiled, a score of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. He backed away, stuttering, "Whoa, really? We're going to..." He pointed at the cuffs in her hand as she continued her advance. He cleared his throat. "...use those?"
She raised an eyebrow, one hand on her hip, the other accommodating the cuffs.
He continued to back away, suddenly very nervous. He tripped on the corner of the rug and had to hop a couple of steps to right himself.
She just kept coming.
His wrists were firmly secured by the hard steel of her police handcuffs, she'd slapped them roughly on, pinching his skin, causing him to gasp. She raised an eyebrow, looking for reassurance that he was okay. He smiled.
I'm okay. I'm more than okay.
Shirtless, his arms bound above his head, the cuffs laced through the bars of the cream colored bent metal headboard, Castle waited, panting, wondering what her next cat-like move was going to be. She'd relieved him of his jeans, wriggled her way out of her own, too. And now, dressed only in her panties and a grey Lanson tee she was searching for something beneath the bed.
His mind wandered, what could she be looking for? Candles? Ooooh wax play! Feathers? Nipple clamps? A butt plug? He clenched at the last one. He really shouldn't have read those books, all sorts of naughty images were swirling around in his head.
She pulled out a large rectangular shaped dress box. Flipping the lid, she peeked inside, a kittenish grin spreading across her face.
"I know just the thing, Castle," She teased, straightening up. In one hand she held a blindfold, in the other a braided, brown leather riding crop.
Holy fuck. Castle swallowed, then blinked, then let out a half-growl half-chuckle. "Whoa."
"What's the matter, you're not nervous, are you?" She descended upon him, her eyes blazing.
"N-No. Not nervous." His eyes on the leather whip, "I...ah...beh...I...Just want you to remember, my safe word is...apples," He stammered.
"Duly noted," She replied, as she climbed on top of him, the crop in her hand. She covered his eyes with the blindfold.
He thought he might jump out of his own skin, he reached for her but was abruptly stopped by the handcuffs. He heard her giggle, she seemed to delight in the sound of the metal on metal as he fought against his restraints. She liked the power, the complete authority over whether, and when, he was going to attain pleasure, or pain.
Or, more likely, both.
She rocked her hips languidly against him. He was ready, had been ready for awhile, but she was going to take her sweet time, relishing in his frustration, his discomfort, his obvious arousal at her complete command over their sexual destiny.
Whack!
The sound of the riding crop was much more dramatic than the pain it caused, more of a sting, really. Every time he heard it swoosh in the air, he tried to prepare himself for the blow, but it landed in a different place on his body every time, his thighs, his abdomen, his chest, his upper arms, pain and pleasure radiating from each blow, and he found himself craving it, needing it, wanting the sting of it to warm his body, electrify him, amplify the already charged condition of his flushed, hungry flesh.
But then, she had it against him there, cautiously running it up and down the length of him, and he held his breath. Ready to, at any minute, cry out Apples! Surely she knew, however, that you don't whack a man there.
The room was silent, he could hear the ticking of a clock echo somewhere in the loft, and if he hadn't been aware of the weight of her on top of him, he'd have thought she'd left the room. Then, almost inaudibly, he heard the sound of fabric shuffling and before he could digest the meaning of it, felt her body shift, her bare flesh coming into contact with his, and suddenly, her breast at his lips, the familiar shape and taste of it pressed into his mouth. He eagerly sucked at one nipple, flailing against the handcuffs, so desperately he needed to use his hands.
He heard her sigh, and the movement of her hips increased, he could feel her need against his own, but the fabric of their underclothes preventing them from uniting.
He felt dizzy, consumed, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely dominated by her. He'd never felt so aroused before, so taken by her command of him. It was thrilling, euphoric, almost unbearably pleasurable.
Suddenly she was gone. The room quiet, the sound of the in and out of his own breath, the blood roaring through his veins, amplified by the complete deafening ambient stillness.
"Kate?"
He paused. Listening.
"Kate?"
Nothing.
"Beckett?"
He felt the mattress shift, then felt her straddle him again. Her lips to his ear, she whispered, "I'm here, Castle." She pulled the blindfold off.
He gasped, his mouth dropping open as his eyes adjusted to the light. She was kneeling above him, completely naked, a cheshire cat grin on her face, her hair down, cascading around her perfectly curved shoulders, her sun-kissed body glowing in the candlelight. She was toying with the waistband of his boxers, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric, burning his charged flesh with her touch.
He couldn't take it anymore. Can a person die from too MUCH pleasure?
"Apples! Apples, apples, apples!" He desperately whispered, hyperventilating.
She tore his boxers off in one swift motion, and then resumed her place on top of him, lowering herself slowly, taking all of him into her. She rocked her hips back and forth, in and out, up and down. Their eyes closed, their breathing shallow, the movement of her on him metronomic, controlled, fulfilling at the last, the excruciating want, need of him inside of her.
And they came, almost in perfect unison, certainly in perfect require, their strangled cries a chorus echoing off the walls. She collapsed on top of him, stretching her legs along the full expanse of him, he struggled against the cuffs, so wanting to encircle her with his arms.
They kissed, their mouths hungry, yearning, their tongues engaged in an urgent, frenzied dance. She yanked on his hair as she bit his bottom lip, he exhaled into her mouth, his wrists struggling against their impenetrable restraints. They parted, her cheek resting against his as they desperately tried to catch their breath.
Then she untangled herself from him and padded to the other room, returning with the key to her handcuffs cradled in the palm of one hand.
Liberated from the handcuffs, he reached for her, circling his arms around her middle, crushing her to him. His hands roamed the curves and lines of her body, dipping, massaging, grabbing at her flesh, having been deprived of her for far too long. They worked their way over every inch of her before finally laying idle at her breasts, where she covered them with her own hands.
She gasped, "Oh, Castle." She was holding his hand up, looking with concern at the purple bruises that were forming at his wrists.
"It's okay, Kate.'
"No, you're injured. I didn't mean to..."
"Kate, it was totally worth it!" He smiled, that familiar boyish glint in the corner of his eye, "It doesn't hurt. Much."
She placed her lips against his right wrist, planting soft kisses along the purple line that encircled them, then did the same with his left.
He framed her face with his hands, kissing her softly on the lips. He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Hungry?"
She nodded, "Famished."
He pulled on his boxers and she slipped into her bathrobe.
"I'll get the food ready," He offered.
She nodded, "I'll be right there."
When he was out of the room, she picked up the blindfold and riding crop and returned them to the dress box she kept tucked beneath her bed. She glanced behind her, making sure he was still in the other room, then picked up her dog-eared copy of the book. A smirk on her face, she turned it over and pulled it out of the box.
Checking once more to make sure he wasn't looking, she buried her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey deep between the mattress and box spring.
No reason he had to ever know it was there.
The End