100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra
By Dana Keylits

Chapter Seven: The Padlock

She was hunched over the desk in her tiny home office, the muscles and tendons in her neck giving birth to a painful knot that was now giving birth to a headache. She'd come home from work, still unsatisfied with the progress they'd been making on the case, and decided to take another stab at it after a couple of hours rest.

Except, she couldn't rest. Which was why she was now sitting at her desk, wearing her favorite blue nightshirt and slippers, staring at the digital crime scene photos that were flickering against her computer screen, taunting her.

The murders of the three women were proving to be particularly difficult to solve, with no I.D. on any of the victims, and no discernable motive for their killing, other than the apparent sickening motive that whoever had done this, liked it.

Her phone chimed and she picked it up to look at the incoming text.

It was Castle. He was on his way with take out.

She texted him back, don't forget the duck sauce. And then she carelessly dropped the phone on the desk, an unceremonious clunk filling the silence around her.

He would probably stroll past her threshold with a bottle of expensive red wine, too, she supposed. Which, right about now sounded like exactly what she needed.

She folded her hands in front of her and then stretched them straight above her head, arching her back against the chair in a futile attempt to weave out the knots that were peppering her shoulders. She cocked her head to one side, heard an audible crack, and then did the same with the other, achieving similar results. She turned in her chair, grabbing the back of it to force her torso into a twist that would make a pretzel stand and applaud, and several more cracks traveled up the column of her spine. She turned and did the same on the other side. More cracks. Then she spent a few minutes gazing out of the window, affording her eyes some much needed rest.

Reasonably refreshed, she returned to the crime scene photographs. She was missing something, she knew it, she just couldn't place her finger on it.

"What is it, what is it, what is it?" she mumbled to herself, tapping one long finger against her pursed lips. "What is it that I'm missing?"

"Could it be me?"

She jumped. Some part of her brain had heard him come in, but she was so focused on the photographs that she'd ignored it, her cop's instincts knowing it was Castle and seeing no need to force her to stop doing what she was doing.

She swiveled in her chair to face him as he leaned casually against the doorframe between her office and living room. He was wearing the same black jeans he'd had on this morning, paired with the bright blue shirt that brought out the spectacular blue of his eyes.

She smiled, "Hi."

"Hi." He pushed off the doorframe and ambled towards her, a boyish grin playing his lips. "How's it going? You've got that whole Beckett-scrunchy-faced thing going on here," he motioned around her face with one hand, and then leaned down and kissed her quickly on the lips.

"Ugh. I know I'm missing something, Castle. I just don't know what it is!"

"Then maybe you need a break," he suggested, inching closer to her. He held out his hand, and she rolled her eyes at him. "C'mon Beckett, let me sweep you off your feet." He edged his hand closer.

She slapped her palm into his and stood up, falling into him.

He was like a soothing balm, an elixir, and the knots and pains that had been plaguing her all afternoon were suddenly loosening, unfolding themselves, smoothing muscle over bone, tranquil and posture.

Their kiss started off slowly, deliberately, the press of firm warm lips against soft and wet; tongues darting out to meet and dance, familiar and exciting, palliative, wanting. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled, flirting dangerously, daring him to move, which he did not, knowing better, before letting it go.

She pressed her forehead against his, "Mmmmm, this is nice."

He curled his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, her body pressed against his, and slid one leg between hers, rising up to meet her pelvis.

She gasped, her lips bowing against his.

"Yes, nice," he agreed.

One hand tripped down her spine, his palm gently cupping the delicious slope of her ass before fingering the hem of her nightshirt. He walked his fingers up her thigh, taking the nightshirt with him, his fingernails gently scratching her skin, leaving thin white marks in their wake, as though branding her.

She moaned into his mouth, her body pressing closer to him, humming and buzzing, open, wanting, needing. How did he do that to her? How, so quickly, could she go from being a hunched-over bundle of knotted muscles, agitated and stressed out, to a quivering puddle of flesh and desire, throbbing ache, impassioned need.

He did that.

Always did that.

He kicked the wheeled task chair away from the desk and backed her up against it, pressing her into the unyielding wood, sweeping aside the keyboard and piled paperwork that sat atop the large counter.

She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. "You seem to have something very specific in mind here, Castle," she teased, her eyes rolling closed as his hand traveled up the inside of her thigh, his thumb pressing into sinewy muscle. Ripples of pleasure radiated from the spot where he'd just touched her to the wanting place between her legs.

He smiled, brushing his mouth over hers before tilting his head and traveling his lips along her jawline. "Mmm hmm," he replied, his tongue darting out from between his lips to lap at her neck, the salty-sweet of her tepid flesh tripping on his tongue, eliciting a mournful moan. The deep timbre of his voice vibrated against her throat, sending tiny little shivers in a footrace down her spine.

"Page seven, Kate."

Shallow lines traversed between her eyes and then smoothed out as realization dawned. "What's it called?" she asked, her lips bowing into a kittenish grin just as his hand inched higher on her thigh, his lips grazing lower on her neck.

"The Padlock."

"Hmmm," she purred, wiggling her hips against him, "sounds dangerous."

He peppered her neck with small kisses, gathering the hem of her nightshirt in his hands. "Mmmm, no, you'll be pleasantly surprised by how easy this one is."

She leaned back, arching her eyebrow at him before he lifted her nightshirt up past her thighs, the slope of her hips, the inward curve of her waist, the delicious teardrops of her breasts. Up, and off, her hair falling softly around her shoulders as it passed over her head.

His hands mapped her upper body as they kissed, caressing her spine, her shoulders, cupping her breasts, his fingertips strumming the ladder of her ribcage, the gentle rise of muscle over bone, and then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her delicate underwear and pulled, sliding them slowly past her hips, down the long lines of her legs until they hit the floor and she stepped out of them, kicking them carelessly away from her.

"Sit on the edge of the desk," he whispered, his tongue tracing an uninterrupted path along the shell of her ear.

She did as she was told, placing the palms of her hands against the desk behind her to brace herself.

He gazed at her, the blue of his eyes swimming with flecks of green and gold, sparkling at her from beneath hooded eyelids. "You take my breath away," he croaked.

She smiled, not the least bit shy about being completely naked in front of him, not afraid to be open, vulnerable, safe and wanting, unguarded and willing, needing him, only him, not merely him, but only him, now and for whatever undefined future she could imagine beyond this moment. "And you," she raised her eyebrows, "…are way overdressed." She plucked at the top button of his oxford shirt. "Get naked, Castle. Now."

He wasted no time and was out of his pants and shirt in less than ten seconds. Her eyes dropped to the hem of his boxers and she slid one finger between her teeth, biting on it. Her eyes slowly rose, scanning the ripples of muscle at his abdomen, the wide span of his ribcage, the broad expanse of his chest, before meeting his eyes. She raised her eyebrows and then dropped her gaze to his boxers. Take em off, her body language told him.

And he did. Sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of the grey silk underwear and tugging them down, his penis springing free as the soft fabric passed below his hips.

He was ready.

He was very ready.

He moved to where she was, sliding between her legs, his hands guiding them until her long gams were wrapped firmly around his waist. He traced the surf where her legs met her hips, smiling as she flinched, and then eased one finger inside of her.

"Mmmm, you're so wet already," he observed, sliding his finger out of her to tease and coax her clit.

A long slow exhale teemed from her mouth and her eyelids fluttered shut.

He placed his hands on either side of her hips, scooting her forward so her bum was right on the edge of the table.

And then, with a determined, carnal, mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he thrust himself deeply into her.

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open as he filled her completely. She threw her head back and moaned, her long chestnut hair cascading down her spine, tickling her sensitive flesh, her soft curls bouncing with each thrust of him into her. She gripped his waist as tightly as she could, her muscular legs allowing only enough give to let him move out and then back in to her.

He grabbed her from behind, pushing her against him as he pounded into her, over and over, establishing a punishing rhythm. He watched as her deliciously shaped breasts bounced up and down with each thrust, and he briefly stopped so he could lean forward and wrap his lips around one nipple, immediately rewarded as it rose and puckered inside of his mouth. Kate lifted one hand to rake her fingers through his already tousled hair as he sucked and nipped at her breasts, first the left and then the right.

He growled as he finally let go of her enchanting nipples.

She mewled. Just like an indolent cat, her body chasing him, missing the feel of his lips on her charged, sensitive flesh.

Until he thrust himself inside of her again, re-establishing a deliberate cadence in and out.

And in.

And out.

Faster and faster, relentless, desperate, determined, savoring the moans and hums rising from her throat, the pinkness of her skin as they rocked together.

He circled his hips, thrusting them, feeling her inner muscles grip him, delighting in the strength and flexibility of her legs as she pulled him to her with each thrust, just barely letting him pull out before tightening around him again.

His hands roamed along her thighs, caressing her flesh, kneading her tense muscles. He loved her legs, loved their long lines and curves, loved their strength, too. They were powerful, able to chase down bad guys when needed, but feminine and comforting when tangled with his as they slept or made love, or simply lay together. He loved her legs. Loved the way they were wrapped around him now, teasing, urging, malleable, but only just, not allowing him to move more than a few inches away from her before forcing him back into her.

He was climbing, a familiar delight spreading low in his belly, rising, rising and he had to hold it back, waiting for her, knowing she was close. He could tell by the familiar sounds and rhythm of her body, the way the skin on her chest flushed bright crimson, the thin sheen of sweat that collected over her body, her mouth open and panting.

He moved one hand to the place where they were joined, pressing the pads of his fingers against her clit, immediately rewarded by the long slow moan that tumbled past her lips.

He watched as her breathing changed, becoming erratic and labored. She was close, so close, and he wanted to see her come.

"Look at me, Kate," he whispered.

She rolled her head forward and opened her eyes. They were glassy and unfocused. Their color changing from green to brown to gold as her pupils constricted against the early evening light that poured in through the window behind him.

"I want to see you, I want to see you as you come," he begged.

His words were her undoing, tumbling her over the precipice and she convulsed around him, her eyes holding his steady gaze as she came. She tried to call his name, but could only manage a string of garbled words, incoherent, scattered, much as how she felt.

But her eyes spoke for her, and he saw it there, he saw her pleasure, her openness, her pain, her love. It was all there, swimming in those chameleon eyes as they held his baby-blue's and it stopped his life's breath. Right there, halted in mid-exhale.

He felt her internal muscles gripping him, and then relaxing, then gripping again, tightening around him before letting go. And, just when he thought she was done, satisfied, complete, she did it again. Her eyes never leaving him. It made him think that this was more than one orgasm. That she'd just come again.

And, again.

He circled his hips, coaxing each wave of her climax until she was still, quiet, her pupils dilating, the rise and fall of her chest slowing, and then he slowly thrust into her again, easing back with exquisite slowness before slamming back into her, then easing out again.

He kept this rhythm for what felt like a fine eternity, slamming in, pulling slowly out, slamming in, easing out. In. And out.

And in.

And out.

Until he knew he was on the edge, about to fall over, and he sped up, thrusting quickly in and out of her. His face a steely mask of concentration, but his eyes holding hers with an intensity that unnerved her, almost frightened her, yet she felt safe at the same time. Because there was love there, deep and abiding. And she knew, she knew it was for her, only her.

He cried out, exploding, emptying himself into her, feeling as though he'd just shattered into a million sharp pieces. She gripped him with elastic muscles, easing the rest of his orgasm from him, coaxing him, calling him, loving him with every fiber of her life.

His heart was thumping, his thoughts in riotous disarray. He was still inside of her, though he had gone soft, and his eyes had never left hers.

And, they were smiling.

Brightly, beautifully. Smiling.

Both of them, with their whole faces, their lips and eyes, smiling intentionally at each other, and they needed nothing more, not speech, not food, not air, not water, not any other person, place or thing. Just this. This moment.

He eased out of her and she sat up, framing his face with her hands. She kissed him, sweetly, slowly, with thought and intention, speaking her words with her lips and tongue, and teeth, but inaudibly.

She slipped off the desk, her toes finding purchase on the carpet below her and slid into his arms.

They laughed.

"Wow," he finally said.

"Wow," she agreed.


Their meal finished, the wine consumed, Kate had returned to her computer to show Castle the crime scene photographs. They'd talked about the case over dinner, once they'd recovered from The Padlock (Kate now understanding why it was called that), and Castle wanted to see the pictures again. Kate was relieved for the fresh set of eyes.

She clicked through the crime scene and autopsy photographs again, one at a time, until Castle told her to stop. "Put all three of the autopsy photographs up side by side. Just their upper bodies."

She did.

"Look," he said pointing at the first victims shoulder. Kate peered more closely. "A scar."

"Right, in the shape of an L and now look here," he pointed at the next victim.

"Another scar,"

"In the same place, but in the shape of a backwards L."

Kate scanned the third photograph, "Oh, God. Castle. What is this?" The third victim had an upside down L.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "Think we can call Lanie at this hour?" He glanced at his wristwatch.

Kate picked up the phone, punched the autodial number and hit speakerphone.

"Hey, girl!" Lanie greeted. "Why are you calling me at this hour? Did Castle do something to piss you off again? I'll kick his ass, Kate. I already told you…"

"Lanie," Kate interrupted, glancing nervously at Castle as he mouthed What did you tell her? She shrugged, returning her gaze to the phone. "I think we've caught a break, let me tell you what Castle found."


A/N: If you would like to see what this position looks like, do a Google search of "100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra," or follow me on Twitter (krdaniels) and I would be happy to send you the link to the webpage.

And, thank you so much for reading, and for your lovely words of encouragement. I truly appreciate it.

And, ya gotta love Lanie, right? More of her to come. :-) No pun intended. ;-)