Chapter 6

His mouth briefly invaded hers again, then left, not without a whine of protest, to attend to her jaw and round to her ear, pressing his intimate ownership into each small space of smooth skin and then a tiny nip: a little pressure on the nerve that the previous night had made known; that had made her wriggle and breathe harder. A small amount of attention to that spot later, she was squirming; panting out desire and need. She would surely discover how much she needed him.

He slid his free hand down her flank, careful not to stroke the proud curve of her breast, and followed with his mouth, which had no such restrictions. His tongue dampened the thin lace, shifted it back and forth across the point of her nipple, circled and retreated and used the fabric to scrape over each sensitised inch: always through the material covering her.

She tugged against his grip, trying to escape his firm hand, but he wouldn't have it: he'd caught his Beckett and he was intent on them both enjoying her captivity. She certainly seemed to be, emitting small sexy needy noises of encouragement, curving to his hands and mouth in open, wanton invitation.

"Like that?" he whispered into her breast. "I can just keep doing this until you plead for more. I can keep you burning for it until you scream out my name and beg me to take you." He drew the hard point and areola into his avid mouth and suckled hard, rolling it with the tip of his tongue, drawing the moan from deep inside her. He didn't cease his ministrations until she could barely breathe for gasping and she was squirming frantically against him, desperate for a friction he wasn't providing and which she couldn't reach: he still holding her hands behind her back, his chest pinning her to the door. He'd gone down to one knee, and both knees were pushing her stance open, exposing the truth of her searing want but doing nothing with it.

Only the smallest tendril of intelligence held Castle to his purpose. Beckett open and writhing and gasping for breath was bringing him up too: painfully aroused and himself desperate to rip the pretty, soaked panties from her and surge into her hard: fast, rough and utterly owning her lithe, beautiful body and soul. Self-control was even harder than the rest of him. But. But he had to turn her inside out and upside down: show her how together they would blaze, as matched in body as in brain and perfectly in sync for both. Having had her the previous night, he couldn't envisage never having her again: screaming his name when he was deep within her or curled cat-like asleep beside him, safe in his arms.

Or, indeed, side by side at her murder board or a crime scene or tossing around theories because that was – well, no. It wasn't quite as good as sex. But it came pretty damn close and they could do it in public.

However, they weren't in public and she was absolutely in the mood for sex. As was he. All those thoughts hadn't stopped his body enjoying her body which was still very definitely enjoying his mouth.

Her breasts, though beautiful, had been caressed and kissed and appreciated for long enough. He lowered himself back on his heels, which put his head conveniently around her navel, stretched up a fraction to tease the small indentation, listened with extreme satisfaction to her disgraceful profanity and attempts to order him around, and then slid the wet fabric to and fro between her parted legs. Her language did not improve, although it was punctuated by more!, and Castle!, which arrived at regular intervals.

"Something you want?" he smirked up at her, and slipped one thick finger beneath the panties, gliding it through the slick hot folds and watching her reactions. Once he mentally deleted the profanities, what emerged was get me off. The original had contained many more words: however Castle didn't need the emphasis that those words had supplied. What he did need was a better grip on the Beckett wrists, though, because they were very close to escaping. He decided on distraction. The fact that his proposed distraction was exactly what he wanted to do was a serendipitous bonus.

She couldn't help the scream. She'd been desperate and embarrassingly enthusiastic about what he was doing, and he just hadn't gone far enough hard enough deep enough – and then his finger had slipped beneath her panties and she'd almost come right then but that rat had avoided touching just the right spot until she'd tried to release her wrists. Not that she'd wanted them released: the hint of control was exactly what she wanted and maybe tonight would be a little rough but rough was good when she was in the mood and she surely was. She could feel herself teetering on the edge: every small muscle fluttering and clenching on emptiness and just do it Castle I want it Castle now and her wrists snapped and suddenly there was a long, thick finger within her and hitting the perfect spot and she couldn't help the scream as he rubbed across her with his thumb and she shattered around his hand.

For a moment, all she knew was that he was still kneeling at her feet, a hand around her hip holding her up.

"Bed," she husked.

"Not yet," he purred. "I haven't finished." He leaned forward and kissed her abdomen. She mewed. He did it again, and again, dipping lower each time, his free hand catching the edge of the panties and easing them lower an inch in advance of his lips, and mew became mewl merged into moan. He stopped just before he wanted to.

"What do you want?" he growled into the soft curls, and licked just before she could answer. All that emerged from her mouth was a frantic gasp. He waited an instant. "What do you want," and licked again so that any answer she might have made was lost in the needy noise. "You want this, don't you?" and another wicked lick and swirl of tongue tip over raw nerves. "Open and wet and wanton and mine. You want it, don't you?" That time she half-screamed.

He spread her wider and breathed against her. "You like it. Me holding you right here, pinned against a door and your wrists held so you couldn't escape if you wanted to. You like it a little rough, don't you?" and he rubbed the late-evening shadow on his jaw across her satiny inner thigh, a tiny scrape, a tinier edginess. "You like what I can do to you. Buttoned-up Beckett, all unbuttoned, all for me." Again, he didn't give her a chance to reply before he was winding her tighter, higher: already over-stimulated and twisting frantically under his greedy, ravenous mouth until she came again, harder, on a long high noise and slumped.

"Now we'll think about the bed," Castle noted. "But first, I think that bra would be just as pretty joining its matched panties on the floor." He raised one eyebrow and waggled it villainously. "Do you always match your underwear, Beckett?"

She mustered a brain cell which had some game. "Only if I'm wearing any."

That fetched him. Oh boy, did it fetch him. And then he fetched her: right up in his arms and into his bedroom and somehow she was flat on her back, naked, in the centre of his bed and he was looming dangerously over her and stripping at an entirely unfair speed to be naked himself and then he lowered and settled over her to slide and rub and tease and not do what he should have been doing, which was highly unfair. And he'd let go of her hands, too.

Oh. Ah. Where on earth had he – ohhhhhh – where – ohhh fuck – oh, who the hell cared where the tie came from as long as she came. Again. He was trailing it gently across her chest, a predatory smile on his face.

"Not being a cop, I haven't any handcuffs," he drawled. "So I've had to improvise a little in order to test my speculations." She stared at him, but her eyes were huge and pupils dilated and when she bit her lip it was totally clear that she was right there with it. "So, Detective. Do you like it when the tables are turned?"

She tongued her lips delicately, the pink tip of her tongue moving wetly, lasciviously, and gave a feline, inscrutable quirk of her mouth. "Why don't you find out?" she breathed, and then pounced.

Castle was momentarily blindsided by her sneak attack, which turned him on to his back and then made a determined reach for the tie. Beckett grabbed for it, and had acquired a firm grip on the fabric before Castle realised that she was already winding it around one of his wrists. That was not to be borne, tonight. Another night... but maybe not with his good silk tie.

He twisted away from her, and tugged hard on the tie. Beckett fell forward into him, not expecting that tactic, and consequently missed her attempt to capture his other wrist. He took immediate advantage, flicking the tie out of her clutch and then rolling back to roll over and place considerable weight across her.

"Stuck," he said smugly. "Now what shall I do with you?" He smiled lazily down. "I think... whatever I want to do." He took possession of her wrists. She growled at him, and he grinned. "I won. Now I'm going to take my prize."

"Big bully," she grumped. Notably, she didn't complain at the idea that he was going to take his prize. (That's because you know what he's going to do and you can't wait, the immortally irritating brainworm chirped.)

"Who started it? You went after me first." Her wrists were confined by one large hand. He rolled off her again, and then stretched her hands above her head. She shivered, but she was neither afraid nor cold. "And now I've got you." The other hand threaded the tie around her wrists. "Not quite what I'd envisaged, but this hotel doesn't really have the right sort of bedposts."

"You chose it," she snarked.

"Not for its bedposts, obviously. Besides which, there are so many things I can do with you and a tie, even without bedposts." She couldn't help the squirm. "Starting with this." The tie departed her wrists, and trailed down between her breasts. He smirked. "Not what you expected?" It tickled further down her body, and Castle moved to spread her legs and then kneel between them. She flexed, excited, and the tie danced around her stomach. "Now where? Up?" He dragged it over each breast in turn. "Or down?" and it went back to below her navel. "Up, or down?" With each word, the silk tie flickered over her skin, teasing, and Castle's predatory, hungry expression intensified.

The next time the tie flickered to the rhythm of Castle's repetitive up, or down, Beckett sat up to grab it and take some well-justified revenge. Tying it in a neat bow around his – er – extended assets seemed entirely appropriate. And if it were pulled just a little tight...he'd follow wherever she led him by the – well, not nose.

Her entire plan was completely derailed by Castle placing one unreasonably large hand just below her breasts (and why was he not distracted by the chance to play with them? Humph) and pushing her back down.

"Uh-uh," he said smoothly. "Stay where you are." His hand pressed gently, but somehow when Beckett made another attempt to sit up nothing happened. The tie was out of reach, too. The stretch of his fingers across her ribs allowed him to play with a proud curve without moving to let her free, which was – oh yes do that some more – definitely entirely – ohhhh – unfair and he should let her get her own way but not getting her own way was pretty good too because she was soft and liquid and it would be just so good to give in and surrender and just let him do whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted but she wouldn't concede and his fingers were moving and ohhhh just do that again he was watching her as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. She wanted not to be making small needy noises and moving at his direction. Sadly, she couldn't stop either, and all from tiny, barely there touches on her breasts and him kneeling between her parted legs and raking a hot gaze from face to thighs and back again. She wasn't shy about her body, but something about it being Castle made it so much more arousing: almost frightening. Almost. Just that little edge of knowing he was bigger, stronger (which he was proving without effort), just that little edge of knowing that he would hold her, cover her, take her.

Please take her. Right there and then. It wasn't like he wasn't ready. Hell no. He was totally ready, so why wasn't he doing it? She tried to sit up again, and was held down, again.

"Something you want?" That voice. Deep and dark and treacly and lubricious. She reached for him, and couldn't quite make it. "Someone you want?" His hands moved to play with her a little: teasing, rolling and pinching gently: she squirmed. How could he have known so precisely what would turn her on, wind her up? He'd never touched her before yesterday. He dipped forward and kissed her hard, fast and possessively – and then sat back again, still fondling her breasts.

"Kiss me," she demanded.

"Where?" His thumb scraped her nipple, just at the right point, and she whimpered. He unfolded from his knees, and lay, propped up on his elbows, chin touching her stomach. "So many places to kiss you."

"Anywhere. Just freaking kiss me and stop messing around."

Castle smiled slowly, which wasn't at all the right reaction and would certainly be dealt with. Later. "But I like messing around with you. It's so delightful how cross and hot you get when you're not totally in charge. My cool control-freak, all out of control and anything but cool." He kissed her sternum with a swift, evil flick of tongue before she could answer, and smiled sweetly at her. "There. A kiss."

He then acquired an entirely faked expression of remembrance and realisation. "Last night you were totally out of control," he purred dangerously. "You liked every single bit of it: stripped while I was fully clothed, open with my mouth all over you, desperate and writhing when I took you."

"Stop teasing," she growled. Tried to growl. Horrifyingly, it arrived in a husky half-whimper which sounded far too much like a plea for Beckett's peace of mind. Not that mind or indeed peace had much to do with her current state. She was thoroughly frustrated and Castle – rat – wasn't doing anything at all about it. More to the point, he was quite expertly stopping her doing anything about it, and just like the day before it was winding her higher and higher and she really, really needed him to touch her or kiss her or something more definite than a predatory smirk.

"I like teasing you. It has such interesting results." He sat back up again and extended a hand. "You're all wet." He lifted the finger he'd just drawn through her to his lips, flicked out his tongue and tasted it. She couldn't take her eyes from the fingertip. He did it again, more slowly, and she moaned. His finger painted her lips, and they parted to take it in, swirled lasciviously around it, and nipped in unspoken chastisement for his teasing.

"Ow," Castle said mildly. So mildly, in fact, that it became ominous. "That wasn't nice at all. In fact, that was very naughty. What did I say earlier? Oh, yes. We'd" – what we? There wasn't a we in that statement – "agreed that naughty girls – like you, Beckett – have to face the consequences." She certainly had not agreed to that. Definitely not. And she wasn't totally turned on by what the consequences might be. Definitely not.

His finger lightly traced over her heated centre, again. "What should I do?" he mused. "If we were back home, I'd have far more options. Still, I'm sure I can improvise."

She made an incoherent noise, largely because he was touching her too lightly to be useful but it was shivering every last nerve and she couldn't quite reach but she was so close and touch me.

"Trying to give me orders? This isn't the precinct."

She found her voice. "You never listen there either."

"Oh, I listen. I just don't obey. Just like I'm listening now, but won't obey. Consequences, my dear detective. Consequences."

She'd never known that the single word consequences could convey such a filthily erotic implication. She would have said something, but that evil finger was running over her again and instead of words, she mewled and arched.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes." She didn't believe he'd lost track of where he was – and much more importantly, where he wasn't, which was inside her where he ought to be – for one single little instant. "I was thinking about what I should do with you. I could just keep teasing you until you can't think straight and then take you. Or I could have you now, and then tease you even more." His expression turned devilish. "Or I could just stop."

If he did that she would shoot him. She could buy a gun. And he was going to suffer when it was her turn.

"You don't want me to stop," he said smugly. "Do you?" And he stopped: put his hands on his knees and sat there, perfectly still. He never stopped fidgeting any other time and she was right there naked and open in front of him and it was totally obvious how much he wanted her and the damn man stopped?

"Do as you please," she managed, and was proud of herself for regaining some game despite the thundering of her pulse and the desperate need of her body. She moved her hands.

Castle caught her hands. "Oh, no. Consequences means you don't get to either. If you want it, you have to say so." He waggled his eyebrows villainously. "And then I'll decide whether to give you it."

Beckett stared at him. "You what?"

He smirked back. "I'll decide. Do you want it or not?" Most unfairly, he slid a finger over her again. "Just to remind you..." Hell, yes, it reminded her. Insofar as she could think at all. It just wasn't fair that he could undo her so expertly with a single touch and it certainly wasn't fair that he was making her ask (or beg, or plead) for it and Kate Beckett did not do surrender ever but somehow she wanted to. Which was totally not fair either. He would beg.

She held out for a full ten seconds.

"Don't stop," she whimpered.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

To answer a point many have made: Castle will not have everything his way. Oh no.