Stepping Out
Chapter 4 – Slow, Slow, Quick, Quick, Slow!
'Amado Mio, Love me forever, And let forever begin tonight' goes the song, as China Forbes' throaty voice fills the studio, rasping over the words, tugging at Castle's chest, and threatening to split him wide open.
Their classmates are stumbling around them, giggling as hips smash together, and clumsy feet struggle to keep up with the rhythm. Someone's muttering 'slow, quick, quick, slow," somewhere off to their right, and they narrowly avoid colliding with Larry the Lawyer and Suzie the Secretary. (Not their real names, but who the hell cares?) Because Kate Beckett is almost pressed up against him, and they're working on a basic, Rumba box step, rather successfully he's pleased to report, with a few Cuban walks thrown in for good measure, just as Fernandez showed them.
"No, no! Closer. You must be closer!" yells the Banderas wannabe, physically grasping Castle's rear end, and shoving him up against Kate's body until there's no space left between them.
Castle throws her an apologetic look, and tries to telegraph, 'don't shoot me, I'll back off as soon as this creep show leaves us alone.' But when the instructor twirls away to leap on another unsuspecting couple, satisfied that he's solved this particular crime against dance, Kate makes no move to step away. In fact, he feels her fingers tighten on his arm and spine, pulling him closer.
What the hell? Seriously!
He's counting in his head, brain fusing with panic, trying not to look at his feet, and definitely not looking at her face. Because if he does, and her expression is anything less than devoted, he thinks he'll be crushed once and for all.
Because, the way she's moving against him; as if she likes it, wants this…wants him, it's driving him insane, and if she's faking it for the sake of an undercover op, then he's sure it's time to call it quits for good. Because if this woman is this good at faking it in public, and he ever gets her between his sheets, he knows, knows that he won't be able to separate fact from fiction when it comes time to make her scream.
"You're drifting, Rick."
Her voice rumbles low, and seductive next to his ear, the use of his first name as effective as her hot, wet tongue flicking at his earlobe. (Well, it would be if…) His eyes fall closed for a second and she chuckles. Oh, wicked, Kate.
"Drifting?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her smirking face. Their eyes meet for the first time since the song started to play and a slow smolder begins.
"Mmm hmm," she nods, ducking her head beside his neck, lips suppressing a smile, long, dark lashes grazing her cheek as her hair tumbles down the side of his face, curls tickling him, and oh god she smells so good that he thinks he might faint. Yeah, okay – so maybe he's forgetting to breathe, that might be part of it, but up close, this close, she's intoxicating. Better than any single malt or drug he's ever tried.
They break apart for several seconds, perfecting their Underarm Turn, but it feels lonely and empty without her pressed in close, and Kate evidently feels the same way, because her breasts and hips are back, welded to his, before he gets a chance to lead the maneuver himself.
She runs a hand through her hair, tipping her head back and exposing her pale, creamy throat to him as she shimmies her body down over his body. He thinks he saw this move on the Discovery Channel once; something about a submissive act, but he's pretty certain it was chimps or gorillas baring their throats to one another, and he wonders if the same thing applies to humans? Well, Kate Beckett, at any rate, because there are times, like right now, when what she's doing to him could definitely be called inhuman. Her chest is rubbing against his abs, as her legs skim his thigh, and when her face comes level with his once more, her eyes are closed.
For gods sake woman! Stop!
"You wanna take a break?" he finally chokes out, the heat they're generating threatening to set him alight.
He thinks he might actually cry if she keeps this up much longer, nearly certain that a sob is threatening to break free from his painfully constricted throat.
"Do you?" she asks, and it comes out as something of a challenge, served with a side of disappointment.
"No. I…I was thinking of you," he offers gallantly.
About your walls, and your invisible boundaries that I'm pretty sure we're trampling all over right now. But though he thinks this part, he wisely leaves it out, and she takes his offer on board, and graciously hands it back to him.
Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth; pink, and plump, and glossy, when she says,
"We need the practice…and, besides, I'm having fun."
With you, say her eyes and her wandering hands.
But the music has stopped, Castle realizes with a jolt, and their classmates are staring at them as they continue to Rumba to a soundtrack only they can hear.
"Beckett," he hisses, taking hold of her wrists as she snakes her arms down his body for the umpteenth time, a move that never gets any easier to bear. He's kicking himself for stopping her, but really…there's nothing else for it, the way people are rubbernecking; gawping slack-jawed as they watch them perform this sex pantomime in the middle of the floor.
"Oh," is all she says, quietly, before dropping her hands and stepping away from him a little. But, thankfully, only a little.
"I see some of you, the true lovers among you, are leetle experts at the Rumba already," purrs Fernandez, singling them out with an envious gaze.
An attractive blush creeps up Kate's neck, and Castle closes his eyes in mortification. 'She's a homicide detective, and I'm just her partner', he has a sudden, irrational urge to yell out, only he's not sure that's completely true anymore, not if the way she's looking at him is anything to go by.
"Now, we try zee American Smooth," announces Bad Boy Bardem, picking a new victim as his partner, leaving Rick and Kate, the Rumba sexperts, to learn this one together.
"Well, we're both American, and one of us is definitely smooth. So this should be a breeze," she whispers in his ear, her fingers sliding into his back pants pocket, grazing his ass and setting off fireworks, (just when the hell did she get this close?), and Castle chokes, triggering a coughing fit that has several dancers looking worriedly in his direction while Kate innocently pats his back with a satisfied grin on her face.
Yes, wicked, wicked Beckett!