there should be stars
Friendly reminder that the rating has been bumped up.
She drives Lanie to the West Village, dropping her off outside of her building. The woman wiggles her cell phone between her fingers before ducking through the front door. And for once, Beckett is thankful for the traffic on the way to SoHo. It gives her time to think, to sort everything out in her head.
But the ten minute ride doesn't give her enough time. She parks along the curb. The windows of his apartment are dark but a glance at the dashboard tells her it isn't past one yet. She nearly restarts the car, heads to her own apartment, and sleeps in her own bed.
No. Lanie's right. She's not taking the cowardly way out. She just needs to talk to him.
She gets out of her car, checking to make sure she has her phone and wallet, and crosses the street to the front door. It's not Eduardo but the night doorman who lets her in, wishing her a good night. Beckett takes the stairs, jogging up the three flights to his floor.
He answers the door in jeans and a v-neck t-shirt and she can almost feel her resolve slipping away.
"Hey," she says, stepping through the door, hearing him shut it behind her.
The apartment hasn't changed since the last time. The couch is in a different spot, the dining room table rotated closer to the windows. But it's still the same place she had found a haven in years ago when she was drowning and he caught her. Very nearly like home.
Which is why it isn't all that strange when he responds by backing her up against the front door, crowding her as he tugs at the sleeves of her jacket until it falls to the hardwood even as his lips blaze a heated trail along her jaw.
She falls into the routine even after four years. Her hands dive into his hair, angling his mouth further up until she can give as good as he's giving. Her tongue pushes at his lips. "Castle."
He breaks away for a moment, bending down so that his hands lift under her thighs until her legs wrap around his waist. "It can wait," he manages, starting toward his bedroom.
Beckett shakes her head, finding her voice so she knows she won't moan when she opens her mouth. "We need to talk," she gasps.
"Talk later." He turns, using his back to open the bedroom door, kicking it closed. "I need you."
And when he places her on the bed, kneels on the ground to pull off her boots, she pushes up on her elbows, looking down her body at him. He puts a hand on the mattress, getting to his feet. Hovering over her, he touches his lips to hers, barely brushing them together. One hand leaves the bed, working at the buttons of her pants. She helps work the black dress pants down over her legs, kicking them off.
His fingers are under her panties immediately, his groan muffled into the curve of her neck. "God, Beckett, you're so wet."
Her hips tilt up, trying to force the friction she needs. But he moves away, wiping his fingers on the inside of her thigh, and she can't hold in the groan at the missing heat of his body. He's taking his clothes off, tossing them onto the floor, eyes still trained on her. So she takes the opportunity to shed her panties and unbutton the deep maroon shirt, adding it to the pile.
He's back on her before she can get her bra off, pressing a kiss to the bite mark from earlier that is blooming over her collarbone, the black cotton doing nothing to protect her from his mouth as it courses down over her chest. His teeth tighten over her through the cloth, loosening when her head pushes into the mattress as she whimpers something that sounds like Castle, please.
But his lips don't move back up to hers. Instead, they drift further down, tracing a path over her expanding ribs, around her belly button. Her fingers grasp for something to hold onto as he blows warm air over her center, diving into her own hair, the tugging on the strands keeping her eyes open. He smiles when her hips buck up, using his arm to pin her down, dropping twin kisses to her inner thigh, just shy of where she needs him. She glares down at him, eyes sliding shut as he darts his tongue out, dragging the tip through her arousal.
He wraps his hand around her ankle, positioning it over his shoulder a moment before she feels his fingers tease at her. He whispers her name against her just as he pushes two fingers into her, the vibrations of his voice nearly tipping her over immediately. The leg over his shoulder tenses as the low whine gets caught in the back of her throat. As his fingers curl inside her, his mouth sucking lightly on her, Beckett finds the arm holding her down and scores his skin with tiny crescent marks from her nails as she comes undone.
Sex was always intense for her. But his knowing hands, hands that have mapped her body and found each weak spot over years, make it so much more, amplified to the point of pain.
He doesn't let her even out before his lips are at the curve of her hip, caressing the still sensitive skin on his way back up her body. The trail varies from the earlier track, bringing him along her side until he jumps to her arm, a kiss at the inside of her wrist before biting gently at her elbow, her shoulder.
She can't seem to get a full breath in. Each shuddering attempt brings her breasts in contact with his chest as he presses her down with his weight. "Please," she says, mouth at his jaw, opening her eyes and finding his right there. "I need…"
Castle tugs on her knee, spreading her so that when she snakes a shaking hand between them to wrap her fingers around him, thumb smoothing over the tip of him before guiding him closer, she only has to arch her hips and he's there. He stays still, letting her adjust.
When she uses one foot as leverage, lifting her body up into his, he responds, twisting his hips. She whines out a curse, her head thumping back against the mattress. He takes advantage of her position, licking his mouth up the column of her throat as he draws back, pushing in slowly.
They've always been good at this but she's forgotten until she's teetering on the sharp edge just how good he is at reading her.
Because he knows to reach back, pull her leg up along his back so that her heel digs into his muscles. She's keening into the pillow, head turned to the side in an attempt to muffle the sounds, when he pushes into her, deeper than before. Her body is strung out. Her hands find a bunching of his sheets, grabs them as an anchor as he moves back into her hard enough to make her squeak before his mouth covers hers.
He touches his forehead to hers, rhythm slow, steady, and waiting on her. His lips course over her furrowed brow, down to the slope of her nose as he whispers, "Let go, Beckett. You're so close. Just let go." He balances one his forearm, sneaking his other hand down between them, pressing his thumb against her clit in hard, tight circles.
It breaks her on a strangled breath. Her body trembles under his, her hand clenching around the sheets as he thrusts once, twice more and follows her over the edge.
He stays over her, the weight bringing her back down. Her lips move against his neck, sloppy kisses cooling with each huffed breath. Then he rolls off, flopping out next to her. His fingertips skim along her arm down to her hand, still holding onto the sheets. A single tug has her shifting so that her head rests on the pillow, body still one long, liquid line, breathless as he pulls the sheets up around them.
And when she falls asleep, it's on the right side of his bed, as though he'd never gone. Stretched out on her stomach, left hand trapped under her body while her right curls on the pillows so that each breath warms it with every exhale. Choppy shoulder-length hair a short, dark curtain over her face hiding the barest hint of a frown.