It's only now that she begins to wonder if taking the well-earned upgrade to the honeymoon suite for their last four days at the ranch was such a good idea.
Castle, it turns out, spent a good deal of his theater-filled childhood playing New York City cowboy, enamored with the likes of Indiana Jones and the romance of the literary vaquero. Man knows his way around a rope. Doubling the length up on itself, he casts the loop up and over the truss supporting the high ceiling and rigs the ends into a quick-release tied to the nearest post.
Her husband at last returns his attention to her. Her chest still heaves as she lays splayed on the bed where he left her as soon as he could stand. Beckett scrambles to him when he beckons, the suggestive leer in his eyes still playful, but not to be trifled with right now.
"You've had your fun, cowgirl," he husks, teasingly referring not only to her new favorite hat but to the way she rode him into mutual oblivion the second they'd gotten into their new room, skirt rucked up and corset still tight around her waist. He begins running his fingertips down her bare side and picks up his cowboy hat from where she'd flung it whilst climbing him the moment they'd gotten in. He jams it back onto his head. "Now it's my turn."
Shivering at the feeling of their combined fluids slowly seeping down her thighs in contrast to the warm air of the suite, she melts into his embrace, lifting his hat momentarily to kiss him, to agree on how far this play goes.
Castle makes a noise of appreciation deep in his throat. Stepping behind her and guiding her into place directly under the rope's looping end, Castle drags his hands from her hips, brackets her sides, nudges at her arms for her to raise them, and slides his touch all the way up the underside of her arms, making her shudder and her nipples tighten instantly at her exposure and arousal. He pulls the loop over one wrist, then guides her other wrist across it, tugging the slack just enough that it won't fall away.
The scratchiness of the rope is not half as pleasant as her suede-lined cuffs at home, but that, she thinks, is part of the appeal. When he begins to tighten the rope from the post, she squirms, feeling at first a welcome stretch, then a decidedly taxing one. Standing on her tip-toes provides relief, but while Castle resumes the quick-release on the post, she realizes she'll either have to maintain the stress on her feet and calves, or on her arms. The former is not an option, so slowly, she relaxes, muscles in her arms and shoulders and back giving one by one until her feet are flat on the floor. The pull is not exactly good, but not precisely bad, either.
Smirking from underneath that ridiculous(ly sexy) hat, Castle saunters up in front of her.
"Well, well," her husband reports casually, "wrangled a wild one, have I?"
"I don't know," Kate plays along, "have yo—ooohh!"
Without further discussion, Castle sinks to his knees, pressing his mouth to her center and licking a stripe upwards to her clit, where he swirls his tongue. Rough hands close around her thighs, widening her stance and forcing her to rely more on the rope to hold her. Her upper body sways and leans, wrists tightened together bone to bone and the rope digging into them in a way she just knows is going to leave marks.
Good. They have four more days. Four days for him to put as many marks on her as he likes, for her to put a few more on him, too. Four days where she can brazenly display the red marks on her neck and shoulders and laugh it off with a knowing look - because this is their honeymoon after all - rather than don a turtleneck and get creative with concealer again. She wiggles a little more, enjoying the burn of the rope thoroughly now and not longing in the least for her cuffs left at home.
His talented tongue snakes inside her then, the pad of his thumb moving rough circles over her clit, she whimpers at the over-stimulation as much as the knowledge of how much he loves this, how much he loves to taste her. He never loves it more than he does when it's like this, when he eats her out just after he's fucked her. It's raw and possessive in every way, how he wrenches her legs a little further apart, bringing his mouth flush with her and sucking, his tongue relentlessly flickering against her. Her hips twitch and twist, not sure whether she's seeking more friction or desperate to get away. It's too much, she's still recovering from earlier, she can't – she can't -
"Castleeeeeeeeee-" she whines, begging him to either ease up or push her over the edge she's so close to, her insides wound tight and her calves straining and her thighs shaking, so close she can taste it, just needs-. In an instant, he's gone. "No!" she screams in frustration.
"You didn't think I was going to let you off that easily? After you teased me all," the knee that's never quite been right since the skiing debacle two years earlier creaks as he rises off the floor, "day," his voice drops to a venomous hiss, "long," behind her, his chest presses to her back and his hands curl around her waist, "in that corset, and those jeans, and those boots, with that six-shooter?"
Shit. Maybe she took that a little too far. She was going to tease him until they were on the flight home, maybe make them five-time Mile High Club veterans (does that qualify them for an award?), but his control wore thin throughout the day after the endless series of interruptions the night before that maddeningly manage to find them even all the way in the old west. Or, this slightly absurd facsimile of the old west, anyway. He'd only just been distracted by the prospect of a treasure hunt.
"That's right, Beckett," he growls in her ear, "you're going to be as frustrated as I was all day," oh god, oh god, she's already half-crazy with it and if he keeps talking to her like this? "I'm going to drive you to the edge, over-" Castle stops to suck at the pulse point in her neck, "and over-" he murmurs around where he's caught it between his teeth in a way he knows drives her mad, "and over."
She knows arguing is useless. When they play these games, it always is. And that just makes her need it more. His words stoke her as his hands begin to roam. One palm settles in the drenched vee of wet skin between her legs, the other tenderly cups her breast, thumb gently circling her straining nipple.
"I might keep you up here like this all night," he threatens with a tone that may just as well be suited to commenting about the weather, "fuck you and lick you whenever I want, just keep you all hung up on display."
Kate's head thrashes against his shoulder, indistinct begging she knows will only make him more determined to hold her off (but that's part of the fun), wriggling and shimmying her hips in a losing effort to find any more friction against his hand.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"NO!" not liking the idea of not being able to touch and reciprocate much longer, she denies it, snapping her teeth but unable to find purchase in his flesh with the angle he's at. Her body winds a knot tighter with his words, and mindlessly, she tightens her thighs around his hand, the pressure on her arms and wrists alleviated slightly with her stance.
Consequence is swift. Kicking her feet apart again to widen her stance, Castle snarls in her ear.
"You had your fun," he repeats, "my turn. Mine." He loves that word; said hardly anything at all else during their first times – the first round the night she came to his loft. The makeup sex after their first big fight. The first time after he'd disappeared and somehow, miraculously, returned home to her. Their first time as husband and wife. She inhales sharply at the memory.
"Mine," he insists, prying his hand from where her strong legs still insistently grip him, not entirely intentionally either, her body acting on instinct rather than conscious command.
His hand connects with her ass suddenly, a slap echoing in the high-lofted room. Kate yelps in surprise, her body shaking madly all of the sudden, the wet and stinging handprint of her juices a sensation she wasn't prepared for. The fingers at her breast tighten, pads digging into the soft flesh and pinching her sensitive nipple, rolling it roughly.
"Mine."
One more slap to her flesh is all it takes – she's coming. She knows it, he knows it too, his hips jerking involuntarily, pressing his length to her ass. Her body doubles over as much as her bindings allow, clenching around nothing. He slaps her again, pushes her pleasure higher. Again.
"Please…"
"Please, what?" his tone is taunting and yet breathless with arousal.
"Again," she manages to breathe, "God, Castle, please, spank me again!"
He complies, the sting racing through her with her orgasm. Three more sharp slaps and she feels the skin of her backside burn, her body peaks again and her husband groans darkly in appreciation before whirling her in his grasp to face him.
She dares open her eyes, finding his instantly. His eyes wave and swell with love, lust, play, fight, tenderness and the promise of retribution.
"Just couldn't wait, could you?" Castle scolds lightly, the mirth in his eyes telling her that this is, in fact, exactly what he wanted and was likely part of his plan all along. "Well, then."
With a thud, he drops to his knees again. Panic rising, Kate begins to protest – too much, too soon, too fast - but it's too late. His head is between her legs again, the flat of his tongue raking slowly the entire length of her opening. Sucking at her, playing with her clit, teasing her opening, it's too much. Without warning, he roughly penetrates her with two fingers, curling them inside while his tongue flickers against her, paying no mind to her steady cries and pleas.
She doesn't know how long he holds her there, pushing her up and over, over and over, with the unrelenting punishment of pleasure pushed too far. When his mouth closes over her clit and he begins to suck, she can take it quietly no more and begins to scream, any thought of other guests at the dude ranch long forgotten. Her screech rings out in the quiet of the fake town that's gone to bed.
"Nooooo!"
"Kate," he draws back for a moment to look up at her, letting her see his face glistening with her release, "you know you can get out of this, right?"
Whatever Ryan and Espo will say about her dubious acting skills, she thinks maybe she's gotten too into this scene. She melts at his guilty and worried expression, her mind coming back just enough with his sudden sincerity and concern to answer him.
"I know," she reassures him sweetly, "I know my safeword, Castle. Do your worst."
With that, her lover grins wickedly, licking at the remnants of her orgasms around his lips like the cat that got the cream.
"Oh, on the contrary, my dear…" his voice trails off as his fingers crook inside her then pull out entirely before they're popped into his mouth. He makes a show of licking his thick digits clean and she trembles with excitement, the brief reprieve of his need for reassurance giving her enough time to tame the sensory overload inside her.
When he stands, he brings one of her legs with him, hitching it around his hips and easing some of the pressure on her wrists. She sighs in relief. She still can't touch him, but the lack of circulation was beginning to become painful, she realizes belatedly as the feeling floods back into her hands and hisses when the pins and needles start. How he always knows - even before she does - when something's becoming too much, she has yet to figure out. But it's all forgotten in a heartbeat when he guides himself to her, thrusting home slowly and holding her to him, their eyes level and transfixed to each others' gaze.
Castle affects an understated cowboy drawl that sounds disturbingly natural and fixes his hat from where it got pushed back while his mouth was otherwise preoccupied.
"I think this migh' just be some of my finest work yet."
Might eventually have a second part, but marking finished for now.
Comments, questions, concerns, complaints and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!