Short chapter because I have to pick up my kids. I hope you like it.
She really kind of hates him right now.
His eyes sparkle smugly as he smiles. "Was that ... satisfactory, Detective Beckett?"
No matter what she does, no matter how in control she feels, somehow, some way, he always manages to turn it around. He keeps her on her toes with his wild theories and his "never, ever call me kitten," whispered in her ear in that oh so sexy bedroom voice that he somehow knows drives her absolutely wild.
And now, on this night, her night, the night where it's her show and he's the one getting fucked, he has done it again. He's given her an amazing orgasm with nothing but his lips and tongue and it's just not fair.
Damn him.
How can he still be in control?
He's gorgeous, even more than usual. His hair is damp with sweat, his chin glistens with her, his pearly whites evident as he pants his pleasure.
Then Esposito tackles him and, just for an instant, his facade breaks. It's then, when his eyes lock with hers, bulging in excitement and fear and in desperate and terrible want, as he shudders and curses under the darker man's assault, that's when she has her epiphany.
It's an act. All of it.
The ego, the parties, the slick innuendos, every shining facet that Rick Castle shows to the world at large is complete and utter bullshit.
The man staring back at her is none of those things. This Castle is scared, anxious to please her, and so deliciously vulnerable it nearly makes her weep. This is the real, raw, unprotected Richard Castle, and Kate Beckett reels in shock, is it possible that she she actually likes what she sees?
Who would have thought?
"Ryan," she barks, "help me out of these," indicating her intimidating attire.
He nods, and she manages to extract herself from the Beefcake layers without major injury to herself or any of the other participants, which in and of itself is a minor miracle.
"Slowly, Esposito," she orders as Ryan's nimble fingers make quick work of the lacing, "I want him to be able to form actual words." Javi does as she asks, changing his punishing pace to something more gradual, more rhythmic. Castle's face is pressed against the bed covers, his cheeks flushed with drink and arousal. One impossibly blue eye pops open.
"Any requests, Detective Beckett?" he queries, his words punctuated by Espo's soft grunts, "Romantic poetry perhaps?" He mouth curves upward as he winks. "I'm not particularly fond of Shakespeare, but I do know quite a number of limericks that you might find particularly apt, at least."
Kate smiles back. She wants the thing that made her fall in love with the man long before she ever had to deal with him in the flesh.
She wants his words.
She wants him to tell her what he likes, how he feels, what he wants to do to her when she finally lets him. She wants to know everything.
And she's going to make certain she gets it.
"Tell me what you want."
She's going to make him beg.
Reviews would be nice, but I'm just happy that you're reading! Thank you all!