A/N: Thank you again for the wonderful response to this story. Thank you for trusting me to take you on an angsty journey that eventually ends in happiness. Each follow, favorite, review and PM means more to me than you'll ever know!
Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.
Please note, the majority of this chapter is rated M!
Melodies, Murders, and Mysteries
Chapter 3
Harsh breathing fills the otherwise quiet, open floor plan of her apartment. The battle of ripping clothes off and the fight for dominance leaves Kate's naked back pressed against the cold door with Castle pressed deliciously against her. The slide of his skin against hers sends a spark straight to her core, and shiver through her body that she hasn't felt, ever.
Diving head first into her mother's murder has left little room for romance, not that she has managed to find anyone worth her time anyway. She has turned down any offer of being set up, brushed off any man who attempted to flirt with her, in favor of protecting her walled off heart. Giving her favorite author her number was a decision that fate seemed to make for her, forcing her to go along with the plan whether she wanted to or not.
Now, that same man is in her apartment, naked and pressed against her in every way she wants him but one, and she can't stop the want that laces through her veins, can't ignore the addiction she knows is already forming. In the dark, hollow emptiness of her life, a beacon of light begins to shine.
The press of his lips to the soft underside of her breast draws her from her thoughts. His hand trails a blazing path up the outside of her thigh, stopping to wrap around the sharp jut of her hip. His other hand drifts to her back, tracing each vertebra on its journey down to the soft swell of her ass. Her lower body jerks into his when he molds her flesh in his hand and at the same time that his mouth closes greedily over her breast he lets his hands fall the back of her thighs and she knows immediately what he wants.
He uses his hands to lift her, groaning when the wrap of her legs causes him to brush against her in the best way. She knows the instant he feels the wetness that's pooled there, the proof of how bad she wants this regardless of how much alcohol is currently in her system.
There's no need for foreplay, no time to pause and learn specific things about each other's body. There's only the desperate need for release, the slow burn of pleasure that will inevitably break them apart from the inside out, and serve as a momentary lapse of the painful memories they both carry. A moment to forget.
She whines into the press of his mouth when he hovers at her entrance, the engorged tip of him pressing just inside but failing to slide deep enough for her craving. He's either too drunk to tease her any longer or too close to the edge himself because he suddenly buries himself deep inside her, forcing the air from her lungs with the thrust of his hips.
He pauses when the hard clench of her inner muscles pushes him dangerously close to the edge, unwilling for this moment to end even if he's unsure of how much longer he can keep them upright. He growls when she does it again, nips at her bottom lip in retaliation, but he still doesn't resume his thrusts and Kate whines her disapproval.
"Castle, move damn it," she husks into his mouth, arousal dripping from her tone despite her annoyance.
"If you don't stop doing that this is going to be over far too quickly," he slurs against the side of her neck when kissing her becomes too much.
"I don't care. Just fuck me, hard, now!"
He doesn't bother to lean back and look in her eyes; it's enough to imagine everything they reflect. The pain she tries to keep buried, the arousal that's burning through her, the desperate need to keep anyone from getting close to her. He's ninety percent sure that this is all she'll ever want from him, a quick release against a hard surface that leaves little room for emotions. And if he hadn't had his fair share of pain, he'd refuse to do this with her, refuse to indulge in the plan she clearly has for them, but he's a broken man and she's a broken woman and neither has the strength to heal the other.
He obliges her request and with three more hard thrusts and the circle of his thumb against her clit, she cries out her release against his chest, the repetitive clench of her muscles drawing him over the edge with her. His legs tremble in protest, threatening to send them both crashing to the ground, so he manages a mumbled question of where her bedroom is and she points in the general direction.
It's a stumbled dance, mainly because Kate refuses to unwrap her legs from his waist and he refuses to let go of her, but he finally manages to crash through her bedroom door and deposit her clumsily onto the bed. She pulls him with her, but not for a cuddle session, the needy whine and press of her lips to his own sending her message out loud and clear. She needs more, and he's not about to deny that he needs the same. He has only had her once and he already knows that no one else will ever compare.
Her impatience surprises him yet again when she flips their positions, rolling him under her in a move entirely too fast for her level of intoxication. But she's focused when she rises above him, confident when her hand wraps around his already hardening length, effectively bringing him back to full mass with a few strokes. She wastes no time, places him at her entrance and sinks down, drawing him deep into the velvet depths of her before he can take even one ragged breath.
It's a fury of writhing limbs after that, each fighting to keep up with the other as they race towards another mind blowing release. Castle can't help but wonder how many lonely nights Kate has spent in this bed, coaxing orgasms from her body with the rhythm of her slender fingers while wishing she wasn't alone. Or perhaps she didn't wish that at all, maybe she's been entirely content being alone. If that's the case, he wants to change it, but he's not sure she'll let him.
Her hands splay over his chest, breasts bouncing with each rock of her hips and the moonlight spilling into the room paints shadows across her face when she throws her head back. He loses sight of her face as her body bows, arching backward as she skirts the edges of her release. He knows what she needs to fall, but he chooses to watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the way she moves above him.
And when he's ready to fall with her, ready to clear her mind of all that's bad for the second time tonight, he finds her swollen bundle of nerves, presses two fingers against it and circles.
She chants a mantra of expletives, whispers of 'oh fuck' and 'yes' are the only words he can make out, and then she freezes above him, hands braced and body tensing as she falls off the precipice . This time, instead of following her over he waits, stills within her until she lifts her head, hazy eyes finding his and a nod that gives him permission to continue.
He rolls them, pressing her into the mattress with the warm weight of his body. He gets no protest from her, only the fierce wrap of her legs and the wiggle of her hips as she urges him to move. He starts slower this time, the angle causing him to slide against her clit with each thrust and he knows he can make her come again, knows that's exactly what she wants.
He keeps his rhythm slow, builds her back up until she's panting, hands gripping his biceps tighter, and then he pounds into her, hits her in just the right spot to draw from her a blinding third orgasm and in turn his own release. He buries himself deep inside her, spills into her with a grunt and when he's thoroughly spent and unable to hold himself above her any longer, he collapses onto the bed beside her.
But instead of drawing her into his arms like he wants, instead of draping himself around her back and holding her close, he watches as she rolls away from him, watches as she closes herself off and adds another brick to that already impenetrable wall around her heart.
And although she doesn't kick him out, he watches her breathing even out, knows that he won't be nearly as welcome in her bed when the morning draws her to consciousness. So he waits a bit longer, and then he slips out of her bed, dresses and leaves her apartment, and perhaps, her life.
As he stands on the dark, deserted sidewalk waiting for a cab because he can't bear to walk home with the weight of his thoughts, he can't help but wonder what her life would be like if something tragic hadn't happened to her. He yearns to know her story, to know the events that took place to form the deeply hurt person that Kate Beckett is. He's not sure what her feelings toward him will be when she wakes up, but he knows that even after one night with her, he's not ready to walk away.
Whatever way she'll have him in her life, whatever she'll let him be to her, he'll be that for her, because everyone deserves someone who'll be in their corner, even when the rest of the world has walked away. That woman deserves someone who will love her, in spite of her flaws and weaknesses, and he's not entirely sure, but he thinks he could be that person.
He welcomes the soft feel of his sheets when he finally falls into the comfort of his bed. He managed to sneak in without waking his daughter or mother and that's something he's thankful for. He manages to fall asleep almost immediately, but his dreams are filled with her, memories, a future, happiness, the kinds of things that only exist in his dreams. He once had the chance for all of that, had the chance for a future filled with only the best things, and then life took it away from him and he gave up on the idea of happily ever after.
She wakes in the early hours of the morning, naked and sore in places that she knows haven't been worked for a long time. She stretches her body, rolls to find her bed companion gone and the sheets cold. She wouldn't have asked him to stay, and she's not sure how the morning would have gone had they woken up in bed together, but she can't ignore the slight pang she feels when she finds him gone.
She got what she wanted, a release, well, multiple releases actually, but she still feels empty, still feels the darkness that one night in bed with Richard Castle can't replace. She thinks she would gladly spend more nights with him there, would willingly give her body to him each time he wanted it for the chance to forget anything but him over and over again. She wonders if he'll call, wonders what conversation they would manage to have after what they did. What do you say to someone who calls you after you fucked on the first date? She has never been that girl before, never wanted to sleep with someone as soon as she met them, but she doesn't regret her choices and she doesn't regret meeting him.
The flutter of her heart when she thinks of him quickly becomes another thing that she ignores, another added feeling to her list of those she doesn't want. She doesn't want to fall in love, because love is just a welcome mat for more pain. She can't handle any more pain or loss. She won't fall in love. She won't let anyone get close to her. She won't.
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