You dirty little readers. I add a little smut and suddenly my inbox overflows! Love it! And you're gonna love this. ;)
She's perfect.
She's all smooth lines and soft curves and she's perfect. He's committed to spending the rest of his life memorizing each and every one. Imprinting her on his memory and branding her in his heart.
Her soft breasts and the gently curved line of her hips. The fall of her dark hair, fanned out and curled in upon itself. A delightful contrast to the white of the rug. The dip and rise of her sternum and the way the low incandescence of the basement office plays off the gentle shadowing of her ribs.
The long, silvery scar down her side. Evidence of a life saved. A life almost lost. The puckered and still angry looking bullet wound. He makes a show of nuzzling her breasts as he surreptitiously lays his ear to her chest. Just a moment. To confirm that her heart beats below. Something he's been aching to do since she bled out in his arms.
The beat is steady. Strong. Perhaps a little accelerated.
It's stupid but he needed it. Needed to hear it with his own ears, feel it with his own hands, see it with his own eyes.
It hurts. To look at her scars and realize just how close they had come to the brink. But now they make her who she is. The woman he loves.
And so, she is perfect.
She huffs quietly and he realizes he has voiced that thought out loud. He hears the disbelief. Perhaps she's lacking the confidence she deserves. Has earned. She should never be ashamed of those scars. But he senses she's in no mood for tender and slow. For reassurances or coddling.
More than senses. Her little threat of finding someone else may have clued him in.
Wicked woman.
He smiles as he makes his way down her body, as her scent engulfs his consciousness. Distinctly her. Musk and lavender. Vanilla and spice. A heady combination of body wash and arousal.
As his nose grazes the lace of her panties, he realizes it's not a new fragrance. He's smelled it before. When he's leaned in a little closer than might be professionally advised. When he's invaded her space. And then pushed a little further.
During late-night research marathons at her desk and over coffee in a Crown Vic.
A night in an alley when she belonged to someone else. On a couch in L.A. when she still did. So much time wasted.
More recently, when he delivered a dog and held her hand. As she sat on his couch and watched his mother re-write his childhood.
It's stronger and more defined now, but he's smelled it before. Like a repressed memory suddenly surging to the surface.
Wicked woman.
So much time wasted. He'll have to bring it up at a later date.
Maybe she'll punish him. He thinks he might like that.
Right now, he needs to taste her.
He sucks at the lace separating him from where he wants to be and tastes her for the first time. Bites gently at her flesh and grins as she angles her hips up toward his mouth.
His name is on her lips and the growl in her voice doesn't go unnoticed. Patience it seems, is not a virtue Kate possesses right now.
When she demands action, he needs no further encouragement.
With two hands he rolls the scrap of lace down her thighs. Lets his fingers trail a path down her legs. He stops to tickle the back of her knees and receives an eyebrow in response.
Right. No time for dilly-dallying. She'll be virtue free by the time he's done with her.
He throws the panties somewhere in the vicinity of the small bar and uses one hand and his toes to wriggle out of his boxers.
He's positioned at her entrance. Feels the heat, the moisture as he rubs up against her folds. It's like satin. Like liquid silk. He could write a sonnet describing the sensations, the warmth. The feeling of being home. Except he's not quite there yet and judging by the way her legs are insistently digging into the back of his thighs, he thinks perhaps his words are not what she's interested in right now.
"Hey Ricky..." she laughs, breathy and maybe slightly agitated. Definitely aroused. Amused and affectionate. "Anybody home?"
He realizes the amount of time he's been musing. The time he's been squandering. He realizes he'd like to wipe that little smirk off her face.
Musing, he thinks on a chuckle. How appropriate.
"Not yet, but I'm about to be," he grins and enters her in a single, long stroke.
They still. They are breathless. Astonished.
"Wow," they breathe in unison.
"Yeah.." he laughs, pulling out a little, settling back in.
Home indeed.
She shifts her hips under him and her legs rise. Smooth skin gliding up the back of his calves, her hands coming to rest in his hair. Pulling and tugging and he's not thinking anymore. She bites his shoulder and he licks down her throat. She sucks on his earlobe and he rewards her with a long draw out, a swift thrust in.
She lets out a string of expletives, dirty and raw.
Yes, he thinks. Exactly.
He holds her hands above her head and her fingers grip like steel around his wrists. It's penance and it's possession. He strokes deep and fast and she contracts around him. Pulls him deeper. Almost to the edge. Close enough for him to open his eyes and look upon her face. Eyes closed, face taut with exertion.
No, he thinks. Not like this.
"Kate," he hushes, slowing his pace. Regaining some control. "Look at me."
And she does.
It terrifies him. Because he's never seen love like this.
It sets him free. Because he also sees acceptance. And fearlessness.
She is unflinching. Unbelievable. Unforgettable.
Extraordinary.
He brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear and whispers in her ear, "Like this..."
He resumes his motion. Slow and languid this time. He lets his mouth travel to all the spots he missed earlier. He tastes salt in the dip of her clavicle, where perspiration collects. He tastes mint on her breath as he sucks her lip gently into his mouth. As he releases it and repeats the action. The bitter tang of Fracas as he nibbles behind her ear. He savors her.
His fingers brush lazily down the curve of her spine as she arches her back. He relishes in the feeling of her body pressed against his. Skin on skin.
"Love you," she breathes into his neck.
"I know," he assures. "Me too."
As they move together and as they watch each other, the emotional connection almost outweighs the physical sensations. Every touch is magnified. Every taste and every sound.
He rolls her out from under him, switches their positions so they are laying side by side. Their legs scissored together, and their arms tangled around each other. Physically and mentally entwined, their eyes lock. It holds them steady. And then thrusts them over the edge.
Release catches them by surprise.
"Holy shit!" she cries. It's half a moan, half sob.
He grunts and releases inside her. It's liberating. It's heaven. He bows his head and rests in the crook of her neck.
"Something like that," he finally agrees. When he again has the ability to form sentences.
They lay side by side for a while. Until their bodies cool and the rush wears off. She traces patterns on his arms. He twirls her hair around his fingers.
"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he murmurs.
She raises an eyebrow. Smirks.
"I bet..."
He tugs on the curl that's wrapped around his index finger.
"This," he says, tickling her nose with the ends of a strand. Loving the way her nose crinkles, loving the laugh lines that form at the corner of her eyes. Loving that he puts them there.
"And the other?"
Oh, he likes post-coital, Kate. She's coy, a little shy. She has a teasing glint in her eye and a wide grin that she tries valiantly to smother. She's adorable.
"Oh. Yeah..Well, I mean, that too. Of course!"
He sputters a little and feels his face color.
It's slightly ridiculous but the ability to be able to lie here with her, to be allowed to fiddle with her hair and kiss her as he pleases, it almost means more than the act of making love to her.
Maybe it does mean more.
Because the two of them sleeping together has always seemed inevitable. It's the outcome that he's never been able to imagine. To dare imagining.
"So, um.. Castle?
"Mm?"
"We're naked."
"We are," he grins, dipping his head to kiss a breast. "Yes, we are. We should be naked more often."
He wonders why she's stating the obvious.
"Castle?" she tries again, an amused tone laced with a little annoyance.
Nothing has changed.
"Mm?" he says again, distracted and using his tongue to toy with a nipple.
"We're in your office. At the "Old Haunt". Naked. With the door unlocked."
Oh. Oh!
"Shit!"
"We should probably.."
She gestures to the articles of clothing strewn about, makes to untangle herself and rise.
Quickly, he leans in and captures her mouth with his own. Steadies her with a hand on her hip. Another in her hair. One last taste. Before the moment has to end. This perfect moment.
He uses his index finger to raise her gaze to his own. Holds her chin in his hand.
"Love you."
"I know," she assures. "Me too."
They fumble around for a while.
Retrieving lost articles of clothing and arranging them back in place. Catching each others eye and sharing small smiles. Hastily looking away as they realize what they've done.
What they've begun.
She's not worried.
Well, maybe she's a little worried.
She pulls on her jeans, buttons them up and begins pacing the office. Over to the bookshelves. To the bar and behind the chair. She scans the room. The floor and his desk.
"Kate?"
His hand is on her shoulder and he turns her around. Turns her so that she faces him.
"What's wrong," he asks.
There's a slight hint of panic behind the concerned gaze.
And she can't help it. As much as she wants to reassure him. To once again confirm her love and calm his nerves; she just can't help the grin that breaks out on her face. The laugh that bubbles to the surface.
Because she finds what she's been searching for as she looks past his shoulder and toward the top shelf of the bar.
Her panties are slung around the neck of a bottle of Jameson. How he managed to fling them so high she has no idea. There's no way she'll be able to reach them without assistance.
She'd told him her secret. And the bottom had fallen out. But it's okay because what she'd lost was her fear. She'd followed him. And the bottom had fallen out. But it's okay because what she'd lost was worth less than what she'd gained. She ran. But it's okay because he'd followed, because she followed him right back.
She dove in. But she feels like she's soaring.
So no, she's not worried.
Except maybe a little bit about how she's going to retrieve her panties.
She raises a hand to cover her giggle, uses her other to spin him around and point to the scrap of lace adorning the bottle of Scotch.
"I hope you don't expect me to climb up there and retrieve those," he says with a devilish leer.
She considers it, but thinks better of the idea. She owes him one. She owes him a hundred. It's not a cup of coffee but she has a feeling he won't mind.
"Consider them a gift," she smirks. "Come on, Rick. Take me home."
"The loft?" he asks hopefully.
"Home," she says with a nod, placing a hand on his arm.
She knows by the adoring gaze that she said just the right thing.
The Beginning.
A/N: Actually it's the end. But isn't "The Beginning" so much more..hopeful?
This is where I gush about Nicole. She rocks my socks. She kicks my ass. She prods and she pokes and she really likes the seks!
One last chance to tell me you liked it and feed my ego... Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.