A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting - as we all know, sometimes life happens. I also want to thank everyone who's read and reviewed - I don't have as much time as I would wish to answer each of those reviews, but they mean a lot. They really do. So thank you, all of you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Castle kisses her, light and gentle, slow and intentional, and then with that same irresistible conviction he moves past her lips and invests her mouth, his tongue caressing and teasing and dripping fire into her veins.
Her hands curl on his shoulders for support or encouragement, she isn't sure - his skin is warm, tender under her fingers, and she moans in approval, inches closer. She's draped over him, his body surrounded with her, and still that's not enough. Nothing is enough.
She wasn't lying earlier - she *needs* him, needs him with a ferocity, an urgency that scares her, leaves her bewildered and powerless.
She can't help it.
He takes his time, each gesture infused with meaning, the large palm splaying at the back of her neck, the nibbling at the corner of her mouth, the thumb of his left hand drawing circles on her chest, around the faded scar of the bullet that almost killed her.
She feels something wet on her cheek and realizes with a mixture of annoyance and shame that she's crying. But Castle doesn't seem to care; he kisses her tears, licks them, drinks them, and desire needles through her stomach, makes her jerk against him.
"Oh, Rick," she breathes, so helpless, so small, everything burning inside.
He hums in response, the vibrations rattling her, traversing her body faster than she can think. He moves his lips to her neck - oh - to her collarbone - Jesus, she can't - and then to her chest. The tip of his tongue teases her, so light and mischievous, while his fingers slide to the clasp of her bra, undo it expertly.
She closes her eyes tightly so that the play of light behind her eyelids matches the heat coursing through her veins, unfurling in her belly. The lights dance, strange and wild and beautiful, as Castle works his tongue, his lips, his teeth all over her body.
She shivers, and it's not from the cold; she growls, and it's not in anger. And when she curls around him, when she begs him, pleads with him, it's not about making him feel better. Not anymore.
It's about her and him, about them - husband and wife.
Her husband.
The gratitude fuzzily melts into the pleasure jarring her bones, and when she comes, his name is a sigh on her lips.
Not Castle –
Rick.
Castle finds himself very grateful for wide wooden benches as he lays down on his back, the warm weight of Kate resting over his chest, her dark locks splayed over his ribs, her lips brushing his skin.
It's not very comfortable, of course, but he wouldn't move for the world. Their legs are tangled, a mess of limbs, and his arm around her waist secures her against him. He teases the soft skin of her side with his fingers and she curls tighter around him, a breath, half-sigh, half-laugh, falling from her lips and fanning his chest.
"Castle," she murmurs, and he feels the flutter of her fine eyelashes, hears the drugged, sleepy quality of her voice.
"Yeah?"
She licks her lips slowly, and her tongue accidentally brushes his torso. Then he feels her mouth curving into a smile, and he removes the "accidentally" part of the sentence.
His sexy, gorgeous, amazing wife.
"We should probably get dressed," she says quietly, and the reluctance in her voice lifts his heart. She's not even trying to hide it.
"Are you cold?" He asks, wrapping both arms around her, hoping to weave a cocoon of warmth around her slim body.
Her absolutely decadent body. The thought makes him smile. He tries to lock it in a corner of his head, until he can find a laptop or a sheet of paper, write it down for the next Nikki Heat. So frustrating when he has the words but no means to make sure he'll remember them.
"Hmm, no," Kate answers, burrowing her face into his chest and yawning against him.
"I think it's fine then," he whispers, playing with a still-wet curl. "You can sleep for a little while." He wants to enjoy this, his wife asleep over him, savor the last of the heat and pleasure threading through his body while knowing that she's here to stay.
That she *chose* him.
He's still bewildered, but delighted too, happy beyond words, the weight of it too much for his poor heart, the joy bursting, blinding.
"Not sleeping," she mutters, the words almost inaudible. He smiles, bites back the answer that tingles on his tongue.
He's not sorry he did: ten seconds later, her breathing has evened out. Asleep against him.
He grins.
His wife.
Kate drifts in and out of sleep for a little while, lulled by the peaceful rhythms of Castle's heart, the warmth radiating out of him; but she's never been one for naps. The drowsiness that comes with waking up, the heavy, awkward feel of her body – she hates those.
So when she attempts to turn and almost falls from the bench – Castle's solid arm is the only thing stopping her – she decides that naptime is over.
She disentangles herself from her husband's body, a small smile gracing her lips when he gives her a whiny pout, and quickly retrieves her clothes, puts them back on. The damp, sticky fabric makes her shiver, and she's thinking of changing into some of the dry clothes in her backpack when she notices the bright ray of light coming in through the cabin's tiny window, tracing a clear path over the dark wooden floor.
Kate goes to the door, opens it; sunlight pours in, claiming the space. She has to slit her eyes against it, shade them with her hand.
"Castle," she calls breathlessly when she can see again, stunned, silenced by how beautiful it all is.
She steps outside without even realizing it, the grass wet but soft under her bare feet. The sunlight catches in the million little drops of rain that drip from the trees, hesitating when they reach the end of a leaf, unwilling to splatter on the far-away ground – it's like nature has been adorned with sparkling diamonds and is now alight with them.
Green and gold, and blinding white.
Her heart pounds, the dazzling, enchanting vision melding with her feelings for the man who is now standing at her back, his hands splayed on her waist. Everything swirling inside her.
Rick's mouth follows the curve of her neck, presses a kiss into the sensitive junction with her shoulder.
"It's beautiful," he murmurs, resting his cheek against hers.
Kate turns in his arms, just enough to meet his blue eyes, so clear, free of clouds. Just like the sky above them.
"Yes," she says, brushing her lips to the corner of his mouth before she looks at him, into him, and watches the happiness unfurl on his face as he understands her. "It is."
She lets him hold her hand.
She lets him hold her hand and even though she's done it before, even though the feel of her cool, slender fingers against his is nothing new, Castle can't fight the delight hugging his heart, the exhilaration that makes his toes curl.
It's almost like he's on drugs, like he's high – and he's not sure it'll ever wind down.
He never realized until now, how heavy the mantle of uncertainty was. How it weighed him down, even in the best of times.
But not anymore.
What with the rain and their – pause – at the cabin, they are behind in Kate's schedule, and she tries to make up for it, pushes them to a quicker pace. In any other circumstance Castle would probably complain (he likes a slower rhythm, likes being able to look around and take his time) but today he follows, his feet only too happy to keep on pace with hers.
When the sun starts to set, however, and they've only taken a couple short breaks – not to mention the poor cereal bar he had for a snack which has left his stomach thoroughly discontented – Rick has to press his lips together to refrain from asking, "How much longer?"
Kate still has that determined look in her eyes, even though she's slowed down a bit for the last hour (he wants to make a comment about her not being able to sustain the pace she's set herself, but he has a feeling that wouldn't end well).
She seems to know where she's taking them.
Which is too bad, because honestly, he'd take any bed, or tent, or well, anything really. Anything that allows him to lay her down and cradle her body into his, trace its lines and curves until her hips buck from the touch of his tongue.
The cabin has left him somewhat unsatisfied; he always wants more time with her, wants to feel her tremble, to hear those helpless, breathy little moans that he loves to drag from her lips.
She took him by surprise earlier – he was vulnerable, unmanned by her story, unable to resist. But tonight, tonight –
He's going to build her up for a long, long time before he lets her be satisfied. Before he lets either of them be satisfied. A smirk stretches his lips, and just then Kate turns to him, arches an eyebrow when she takes in his expression.
And he thinks –
He thinks she shivers a little.
"How much longer?" He finally dares to ask, his tone as far as possible from the whine that usually goes with the words.
It might be the night falling, but her eyes have definitely grown darker. Beautiful, bottomless eyes. He wants to kiss that beauty mark again, feel the flutter of her lashes against his cheeks…
"About an hour," she answers, her voice low, lacking its normal veneer of confidence.
While he can enjoy the effect he seems to have on her, the answer does not exactly make Castle happy.
"An hour?" He echoes, unable to keep his displeasure from showing. "Kate, we've practically been walking all day. Is there nowhere closer?"
She narrows her eyes at him, clearly not enjoying being challenged. But she does consider – he can see it in the way she presses her lips together, pushes her hair back.
"There's –" She pauses, shakes her head at herself. "There's this village where I thought we could stop, Saint-Sernin" (Oh, this French accent) "but they didn't have any free rooms, except for this château thing that was so expensive… "
"Château?" Castle interrupts excitedly. "That's – French for Castle, right? *So* appropriate. Oh come on, Kate. Please."
She parts her mouth – he can read objection all over her face – but she hesitates.
"I know that it wasn't in your plans," he adds softly, as persuasive as he can. "And since it wasn't, since I'm the one asking, maybe I can pay –"
"No, Castle," she opposes immediately, firm, immovable. "No. We can go, sure, but it's on me. You promised, remember? Honeymoon's on me."
"Kate…"
The look in her eyes – utter determination, and the promise of a storm to come – makes him stop, swallow his arguments. He did promise. He said they'd do this her way, and if she can pay, if she wants to, then he should keep his mouth shut.
No matter how much he wants to spoil her, make everything perfect for her. Kate is her own woman – she'll never let him pamper her.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Okay," he says, surrenders. He smiles, watches the surprise that widens her eyes when she realizes she won't have to fight for this.
He reaches out to take her hand, and after a moment Kate squeezes back, smiles. With her free hand, she fishes for the map in her back pocket, unfolds it.
"It's only ten or fifteen minutes away, I think. We have to go back to the fork we passed a couple minutes ago, turn left instead of right."
"Lead the way," he simply answers.
And because he can't help himself, he leans in, brushes his lips to hers, light and tender. Just a way to tell her, you're in charge. I'll go where you go.
Kate kisses him back, her fingers curling at his jaw, caressing.
Ah, they need to get to that hotel already.
He's the one to break away, eager as he is for more, more than just a brush of his wife – he wants the whole thing, the smooth planes of her abdomen, the delicate dip of her navel, that spot at her side, between two ribs, where the skin is impossibly soft.
"Let's go," he says, tugging on her hand.
He feels, rather than hears her laugh; her chest vibrates with it, and her smile is bright even in the dimming light.
"Let me grab the map," she murmurs, biting her lip as she squats down, hand outstretched for the piece of paper.
And he realizes with a twinge of disbelief that she let go of the map in order to kiss him properly, to press her palm to his cheek.
He grins, can't help gloating a little (and who could, really? The thought of having Kate Beckett at his mercy, of being able to wipe her mind clean of other concerns – it's just too good).
She doesn't mistake the expression on his face, and he gets an eye roll for his troubles.
"Yeah, Castle, we got it. I can't think straight when you're around."
Under the heavy layer of sarcasm, though, her voice seems to hold something very different – a delicate melange of tenderness and annoyance, of pride and amusement.
Wow. It seems there is some truth to her statement (well, he *knows* there is some truth to it, if he's honest) – but the stunning thing is, she seems perfectly aware of it herself. And…she doesn't mind?
"Well. Are we spending the night here, Castle? I was under the impression that you were quite…eager for a bed."
There's no mistaking the laughter dancing in her eyes, rippling on her face. The little –
"Not so much the bed as the woman in it," he shoots back, grabbing her hand and starting to move back to that fork in the path.
And – how delightful – night or not, he can still perfectly make out the lovely blush that paints her cheeks.