It's quiet in his car as they make their way out of Manhattan. A little too quiet maybe, but Kate's okay with that. She knows his mind is whirring into gear. He's definitely wondering about the outfit. She's pretty sure he's wondering even more about the shut-out he experienced back at her apartment.
The Ferrari purrs as they navigate out of the city, the engine vibrating through the supple leather and thrumming as he steps on the gas. The car rides low and a little rough. It was made for race tracks, not city streets rutted and marred by potholes. Each bump is a jolt straight to her core, each deceleration a small moment of disappointment. Kate begins to wonder if it was such a good idea to play with him, she is wound tight and the stop and go traffic is doing nothing to calm her excited nerve endings. It's the middle of the week and mid-town is jammed.
The air conditioner blasts cool streams of air over her skin, raises goose bumps along her forearms. She almost wishes the top were off, she could use a little fresh air. Something to take the edge off.
God, she sounds like an addict. And maybe she is; he's damn near irresistible to her. Denying him for the sake of the tease was harder than she'd ever imagined it would be. And she's spent a lot of time imagining all the ways she could drive Castle crazy over the years. Since that very first case, four years ago. No wonder she's having issues controlling herself. She had been parched and he was her drink of choice. He slid down her throat, warm and silky smooth. Making her so wet…
Whoa, dial it back there Katie girl.
Sure, she's been guzzling at the font of Richard Castle for the last five months, and he has found more than a few ways to quench her thirst. But it's not enough. It's never enough.
The idea of putting the car's top back is ridiculous, of course. As she pointed out earlier, it's October. It's hovering in the mid-sixties outside, they would freeze the minute they hit the open road. So instead, she angles herself against the door and presses the side of her face against the window. The cool glass eases some of the heat that blazes its way to her cheeks.
She watches him out of the corner of her eye, bottom lip pressed firmly between her teeth. It used to be an unconscious habit, but now it brings forth the ghost of his own teeth against her mouth. The way he drags them through his front teeth and soothes with his lips. The heavy, swollen feeling, that lingers well after he's finished with her. She crosses her legs, uncrosses them. She repeats the action a few times before giving it up the pretense. She's kidding herself if she thinks she can hold out for long.
But she's definitely going to have a little fun with him in the meantime.
Stupid. So stupid. What was he thinking? Starting something and then not following though.
What man in his right mind would deny her? It's all fun and games until someone is left with pants too tight and the taste of Beckett on their lips.
Nobody else better have the taste of Beckett of their lips. She's his. He toes the accelerator pedal a little harder than necessary and delights in the feeling of power under his hands.
He's a cave man and he knows it. Doesn't matter though, she's his. But he is hers too. He thinks that evens it out. She certainly didn't complain last night, when he growled his possession of her and left a sizable mark, the shape of his mouth, on the side of her breast.
"Yes," she'd panted.
Though she did smack the crap out of him this morning when she saw it.
But then later, he caught her tracing it in the reflection of the bathroom mirror with her fingertips, a pleased smile on her lips. His heart had swelled at the sight and he had quietly left her to her thoughts.
It's those small moments that ease his still bruised ego. The way she looks at him when she thinks he's not looking. How she traces the lines on his forehead and brushes the hair off his brow when she thinks he's still sleeping. The way she chants in the throes of ecstasy.
Yes, love, Castle, love, yes, you, Castle.
How she holds eye contact as she shatters around him.
A traffic light turns red and he gets lost in his head for a moment. The reason for this trip and how they got to this point.
She still hasn't said it properly. But neither has he. Not again. Not since that fateful day. Not since he'd broken his promise and she'd broken his heart. He'd promised always, and then he'd fled. She'd told him her wall was coming down, and then piled it back up faster than he could blink when her case came hurtling back into the picture.
They had made promises that morning, after the storm. Apologies, for losing sight, and misplacing faith. And they'd made grudging confessions. Of fear and panic, hurt and perceived slights. It had been gut-wrenching and it had been touch and go for a while. Large cracks had formed in their once unbreakable foundation and it had taken all these months to fully mortar it back together.
This weekend in the Hamptons had been his idea. He was ready to tell her again, and he was certain she was ready to reply in kind. But he also wanted a chance to have her full attention; without the interruptions of her work or his family. Which is why they were staying for the weekend and everyone else was under strict instructions to find their own way come Friday.
He senses it as she shifts in the seat beside him, notices that the light has changed green. He guns the engine with purpose as he pulls into the intersection. He's impatient. He's ready. They are ready.
He wants to do it right this time.
It was the truth both times he'd voiced his love, but it had also been ill-conceived. Desperate pleas while she lay dying, while she teetered on the edge of a black hole, didn't lend themselves to reciprocation.
So, he used Halloween as an excuse for the entire team to leave the city and to cajole Kate into accompanying him to his oasis on the coast. He knew she still harbored some ill feelings towards the place, after the fiasco that was the summer of Gina and Demming. He knew the absurd display of wealth would make her uncomfortable despite the fact that she and her family weren't hurting for money. There was money and then there was money, money. He had the latter and he owed a lot of it to her. He hoped the task of turning the place into a haunted house would emphasize the fun his wealth could bring and lessen the impact of the burdens it sometimes carried.
He hopes he can change her perception of the place he holds most sacred. The loft is his lair but the beach house is his escape.
Gates had been surprisingly easy to convince into letting the team have a few days off. He didn't even have to pull the 'mayor card'. The absurdly high closure rate they managed to achieve and the ridiculous hours they'd been pulling lately probably didn't hurt. He had pulled her aside, asked nicely and she had granted his wish. Just like that. He suspects that she might approve of their unique partnership. Off the record, of course.
He suspects Iron Gates might have a gooey center. He suspects she's been taken over by alien clones. He suspects he's losing his mind.
He blames the woman in the seat next to him.
Chancing a glance in her direction, he finds her chewing on a lip. Does she know how much that turns him on? The small smile playing about her mouth suggests that maybe she does.
Oh…
Maybe she's the one that's turned on.
Her face is flushed and she leans heavily against the door, as though placing distance between herself and him. Did the lack of accomplishment back at her apartment affect her just as much as it did him? It makes the next twenty minutes of gridlock a little more entertaining as he sneaks a few peeks in her direction. How she clenches her thighs and chews on the nail of her pinky finger, presses her face to the glass. How her chest heaves just a little faster than normal.
Kate Beckett is hot for Castle. Madeline was right. She wants to make little Caskett babies. Whoa, Rick. Down boy. Not likely. Not yet, anyway.
She's totally hot for him though.
Finally, the traffic clears and as he speeds onto the 495, he relaxes into his seat, let's his right hand stray to her thigh. It's a straight shot for at least the next hour.
He feels her muscles twitch as his fingertips graze the soft fabric of the billowy skirt. Not her usual look, but she's stunning as always. Softer, he thinks; until he catches a moment of eye contact and quirks an eyebrow in her direction. Her pupils are dark pools of arousal and she smiles, with just a hint of pink tongue trapped between white teeth. He diverts his eyes back to the road and she shifts again, closer to him now but facing her head away, out the window as though taking in the view. She cocks a leg up on the dash as though she's not at all interested in his company. Oh, but he's on to her.
The movement causes the skirt to pool high on her lap and the supple skin at her inner thigh calls to him like a siren song. He walks his fingers slowly toward the apex of her legs, desperate for an impression of flesh on flesh. As he nears his goal, she calmly catches his hand and places it on the console without a word.
They continue the game for a few exits. With each attempt, the skirt ride a little higher, until he knows the next time he will be able to see the dark blue lace of her panties. He twitches in anticipation and takes a moment to adjust. He doesn't miss the catch in her breath, so he does it again.
Not a word is spoken. It's all surreptitious glances and wordless mirth. He braces for the feel of rough lace against his fingertips, he instead feels slick velvet and damp heat.
"Beckett…?"
He grips the steering wheel hard, glad the road is straight and near deserted. He faces her and she turns toward him with a look of victory on her face, raises an eyebrow.
"Yes, Rick?"
It's the first words she's spoken in nearly forty-five minutes. Her voice is pure sex. Pure wickedness. It's all he can do not to slam the car into the embankment and throw her over the hood.
"Where are you panties?"
Turns out I had a little more story left in me tonight. This morning. Whatevers. Reward me with reviews? It'll make my day when I have to wake up and go to work just three mere hours from now.
Note to self: Beta is not a fan of dairy references when it comes to thighs. I'm glad she set me straight. How to count and this in one night? I'm spoiled. 3