She had already made the decision when she pushed on the handle.

That's what she thought anyway. She was done with careful retreats and planned withdrawals. She was finished with being the good one, being the one to get up and go home so that everything remained on an even keel. She was so over it.

But standing back inside his room, now on the other side of the door she had not wanted to be on the other side of (did that even make sense?), Kate Beckett didn't want to be here.

She wanted to be back at home, away from decisions like this, not standing in his room.

But already, Richard Castle was heading for her, all kinds of certainty in his face.

Having a connecting door was a bad idea.

She must've flinched, because even though the certainty was still there, Castle stopped short just past the couch, almost to her, the restraint evident in every line of his body. Restraint for her sake, because even though she *knew,* she didn't really know.

She didn't really know. How could she know? She couldn't know. This was an unknowable thing, this between them. No one could possibly predict all the ways in which her life would change if she did this. All the ways his famous-ness could hurt her. All the ways Castle could hurt her. Because she'd already discovered quite a lot of hurts, and she just wasn't sure she could take anymore.

This was too much. This was already a mistake. And she was so tired.

But Castle was still holding back, his hands fisted, his chest heaving, his eyes pleading with her but making no forward movement. He was waiting on her.

And maybe that's what did it. The struggle on his face held in check only by the force of his regard for her.

"Don't stop," she said finally, her heart pounding but unable to move. Please don't stop.

He came for her.

Richard Castle couldn't believe it when she opened up that door. He couldn't believe it and then he did believe it because the look on her face was pure panic.

Which made him stop. Even though he didn't want to. Even though all he wanted to do was grab her. Not very gracefully. Not especially nicely either. He wanted to maul her. He wanted to drag her back to the couch and put his hands-

Castle sucked in his breath and let it out in a huff, had to clench his fists to maintain some kind of balance. She looked like she was being confronted by a wild animal. Skittish and shifting from foot to foot like she might bolt at any second.

And then she said the best thing he'd ever heard:

Don't stop.

Castle was glad the door was padded, because he was afraid maybe her head had slammed into it a bit hard. As it was, he was certain her hips and back had smacked into it with the full force of his weight, and the combined pressure might have been too much for her if the door hadn't been padded.

But anyway. Didn't matter to him right now because his hands were cradling her face, their noses touching, his thigh between her legs as he waited for her eyes to open.

He waited. Traced his thumbs along her cheekbones, her fine and delicate and strong cheekbones, those dark lashes lacing her skin. His breath skirted her face like a prayer, waiting, content to wait and discontent at the same time.

Those lashes broke wide and opened, framing dark and intimate eyes.

He wanted to say something amazing, something all encompassing, something to rip her heart out.

But her eyes were doing that to him instead.

"Kate."

She lifted her face to him and pressed her lips, softly, to the side of his mouth, a trail of hot, hesitant kisses to the underside of his jaw, then to his neck, her tongue snaking out to taste his skin at the last minute.

Rick groaned as she moved lower, then regained his wits long enough to pull her back to meet his mouth, pausing just a moment to relish the look of her, flustered, wanting, intense.

"Don't stop," she repeated.

"Not for the world." And yet, he didn't move, didn't make his move, waited still.

Kate's mouth curved into a grin and she pushed up on her tiptoes so that they were even. Rick grinned back, watching her, feeling his smile reach his eyes, his whole face as she eyed him.

"So move, Castle."

"You move first."

He didn't mean it as a challenge, but it was. And the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes showed it. But she leaned back against the door, dislodging his hands, and rocked her hips against his thigh with a wicked look. "Now it's your move."

For a second, he couldn't even move. And then he had his hands braced to either side of her beautiful, smirking face, his chest pinning her to the door, and she was right where he wanted her.

He leaned in. Her breath stuttered, her hands drew up his sides, caressed his cheeks, dropped to his shoulders. He placed a delicate kiss to her lips, warm and soft, completely unlike himself. He wanted to bruise her; he wanted to mark her. He just wanted, more than all of that, for her to never run away from him again.

So he was slow; he took his time. He brushed her hair back from her cheek, brushed his lips against her jaw, pressed his forehead against hers until he could catch his breath. And then, when she had just started to speak, he closed his mouth over hers and drugged her with the force of his need.

It might have been too much. But he couldn't hold back anymore.