Please be aware that this chapter is rated M.

Love Shack
Chapter Five

The upstairs hallway is carpeted in a deep, sinking sea of purple. Kate wobbles on her heels as they search for the room bearing the star symbol that matches their key.

"Here we are," says Castle. He unlocks the heavy mahogany door and pushes it open, palm sliding over the curve of Kate's ass to guide her inside. Even though there's another masked attendant at the end of the hallway, Castle dips his fingers down under the hem of her dress just to feel the slick after effects of what he'd done to her on the chaise lounge. She startles at the touch, then twists to glare at him. She wants to be affronted, but he's just so adorably sexy, so she surges forwards, wiping the cocky smirk off his face with a hard kiss. He catches her, gathering her body up against his, deepening the kiss until her back bends and she has to grab his face to keep her balance. He kicks the door closed.

They stumble into the room and come face to face with the biggest bed either of them have ever seen, covered in just one black fitted sheet that shines like silk. There are candles here too, and the room smells amazing, like Christmas and vanilla and forbidden pleasures. Kate walks to the end of the bed and trails her fingers along the cool fabric. Castle comes up behind her, pressing her hair away from her neck with delicate fingers. She tilts her head to give him better access, her eyes drifting closed. She revels in the feel of her partner's hot mouth on her skin, the strength of his chest so warm and solid behind her. She lifts her ass, seeking him out, pressing back against the rigid part of him that must aching by now. He works at her neck, sucking and nipping hungrily. She can tell he's just on the verge of losing control and throwing her on the bed when suddenly - he stops.

"Uh, Kate?" he asks, voice unsteady. "What is that?"

She peels her eyes open and follows his gaze to the bedside table.

"Well, I'd say it's a video camera."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

She scans the room. "There's another one over there."

There are three cameras in total, and they're all pointed at the bed, angled in such a way that they might catch the most salacious views of whoever's sprawled out on the sheets.

Her arousal is still hot and sticky in her veins, and if she was with anyone else, she'd tell him that she doesn't mind and stretch out on the bed anyway. They are wearing masks, after all. But he's Richard Castle and a leaked video like this could cause a lot of damage, not to mention make his daughter want to move to Timbuktu if she ever saw it.

But then Kate gets an idea. She didn't spend a semester in pre-law at Stanford for nothing, and her knowledge is about to help them get a lead.

"Hold on a second, babe," she whispers. Castle nods, trusting her even if he doesn't know exactly what plan she's concocting. As much as he wants to ravage her, they're still technically on the job. If they go home with nothing but hickeys they might be in trouble.

Kate pokes her head out the door and calls to the attendant in the hallway.

"Excuse me, can I ask you something?" The man is at their door immediately, ready to help in whatever way he can. He's probably expecting a request for chocolate syrup or protection or a whip or something.

Kate purrs her words, working her charm on the attendant, and Castle starts to poke around the room, only half-listening as he explores their den of iniquity.

"Is there something wrong with the room, ma'am?" the attendant asks.

"No, the room is gorgeous, it's just … well, we really love the idea of being watched, but we're both high-profile lawyers in the city, and I just want to be sure that the footage from the cameras in our room isn't going to be distributed or posted online."

"I understand ma'am. Dionysus would like to reassure you that the video is being streamed live via a closed circuit for his own private viewing, and that the connection is very secure."

Kate flashes an alluring smile. "I don't want to be difficult, and we don't need anything fancy - my husband and I do want to enjoy our room as soon as possible - but do you think we could just get something in writing?"

"Of course, ma'am. Dionysus has legal documents prepared in the event of such a request. I'll just get some quickly printed up for you."

"Perfect," Kate smiles. She closes the door and turns back to find Castle peering into the top drawer of an ornate dresser. "Find anything good?" she asks. He lifts out a long sash of black silk. One end slithers into a puddle at his feet, and he twists the other end around his knuckles suggestively.

"This could be fun," he says, waggling his eyebrows and advancing on her.

He's interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Hold that thought," Kate says, turning to open the door as her partner growls.

"Sir, ma'am? Here are the documents you requested." The man hands over a thin sheaf of papers and a pen. Castle's in no position to check them over. Most of the blood in his body is straining against the zipper of his pants, so he sits down on the edge of the bed and fiddles with the silk scarf.

Kate scans over the legal documents quickly, then she scrawls her fake name on the bottom line next to an amorphous scrawl that must be Dionysus's real signature. She studies it for as long as she can without attracting suspicion, but she can't really make out anything other than a P at the beginning. She hands it to Castle to sign, then returns it to the man.

"Can we keep a copy for ourselves?" she asks.

"Of course, ma'am." The man takes Dionysus' copy and bows quietly out of the room. Kate grins and folds their papers, setting them by the door and slipping her shoes off to place on top of them. She may have only got one letter of their host's name, but she also has the name of the legal firm who drew up the papers. Jordan can certainly work with that. And now that they've got a lead, she feels like they deserve to celebrate.

She saunters towards Castle, her feet falling soft and silent on the carpet. She's got that look in her eye, the predatory one that makes him gulp. She stands before him like some sort of towering goddess and gently tugs the silk scarf out of his hands.

"Take off your clothes, Rick," she murmurs.

Castle obliges immediately and starts in on the buttons of his shirt. He's not stupid enough to argue with his fiancé's dark gaze. Besides, he's never really struggled with stage fright. She watches like a cat about to pounce as he strips for her, slowly sliding his shirt off and laying it on the bed beside him.

He stands up to unbuckle his belt, and even though he's a good several inches taller than her in stockinged feet, bearing down on her wearing his most dangerous expression, she has all the power. She keeps her eyes firmly locked on his. The scarf never stops weaving between her fingers.

He steps out of his dress pants and is about to slide his boxer briefs off when she stops his fingers with her own.

He raises an eyebrow. "What have you got planned for me?" he asks, voice low and cracked with desire. After all, he can still smell her on his fingers, on his own face, and he needs a release of his own. Making Kate Beckett come is his favorite pastime, and going down on her had been amazing, but now he just wants to fill her up.

"Hmm, someone's impatient." Kate extends one finger and jabs him right in the center of his chest. He falls back onto the bed easily, and then she's crawling over him in those damn black stockings and tiny dress and it takes all of his self control not to flip her over and press her down into the mattress. She asks him to scoot up the bed and close his eyes.

He waits, his body unmoving even though his mind is jumping from fantasy to fantasy, and he's about to ask where she's gone when he feels something.

The first touch is cool. The silk slides over his chest in a side-winding pattern down to his belly button. And then her fingers follow, mapping him, re-learning him, and he wonders if he looks the same to her. Other than the new scar, obviously. But he doesn't want to think about his disappearance right now; he just wants to block everything out except for the wicked game this woman is playing above him. She must not want to think about it either, because she treats the gnarled ridge under his ribcage just like the rest of his skin, skimming her fingertips lightly over every centimeter of his chest, shoulders, arms.

And then the warmth of her touch disappears and the silk returns, this time in a taut line that spans his chest. The goosebumps she'd drawn up with her nails just seconds ago had raised his nipples, and she flicks the tight line of the scarf over them. He flexes his pecs for her and she lets out a soft sound that would be a giggle if she wasn't so aroused.

It's an interesting sensation, one that he doesn't imagine many men get to feel, something light and delicate, and he wants to return it, to scrape his teeth over her tight flesh.

And then a curve of warm skin brushes over his cheek. He grins. She's read his mind, as usual. He darts up to catch her bare nipple between his teeth, tugs. She lets him work at her, gasping with each lick and bite and swirl, but she eventually slides away from the wetness of his mouth.

She's gone for a moment, then the hot wet touch of her tongue returns at the line of his boxer briefs. She lifts the elastic carefully over his tip and starts to slide his underwear down. He lifts his hips to help her get them over the swell of his ass, her breasts brushing his thighs as she descends with them. He has to open his eyes to see her reaction to seeing him - all of him - for the first time in months. She's twisted away from him, depositing his clothes in a neat pile behind her.

"Ri-ck," she chides, her voice singsongy. "You opened your eyes." She's not even looking at him. How does she know? The woman's detective skills are out of this world.

She turns back to him, her dress bunched around her waist. He wants to say hello to her breasts, to tell them that he's missed them these last two weeks, to flick his tongue over the tiny mark on her left areola that mirrors the one on her cheek. The sight of her makes him grow, and her eyes drift down, darkening like a gathering storm. And then she's trailing the scarf over his stomach again, and then lower, to where he's standing proudly for her. She winds the silk in circles around the base of his cock, and he groans. It's nice, but it's cool and he wants heat.

"Take off that damn dress and get over here," he growls.

She tugs the tight elastic over her hips, leaving the dress in a puddle on the floor, and then she crawls up next to him, propping herself up on her side. She slides her foot along his calf, arches her spine so her warmest, wettest parts nudge against his waist. Castle looks up at her like she's sacred, his left hand coming up to fondle her breasts, brushing his thumb over her tender, stiffened skin. She hums, letting the delicate pleasure tingle over her chest, moving only to lean over him to pick up the silk sash. She winds it around his left wrist twice, and he lifts it above his head, assuming she wants to tie him to the wrought-iron headboard. Instead, she tugs his arm back towards her.

"As much as I love tying you to the bed," she whispers, "that's not what I want tonight."

She winds her left arm under his neck and aligns it with his. Then she weaves the fabric in figure eights around both of their wrists. The way she binds them together feels familiar, somehow. Understanding flickers in Castle's eyes as he realizes what she's done.

"Kinky," he growls. It's what he'd said when they'd woken up in that creepy basement, their left wrists cuffed together with metal instead of silk.

They've come a long way. He looks at the woman at his side, and instead of a modest light-blue turtleneck and jeans, she's wearing a garter belt and black thigh high stockings, her chest bared to him and her smile soft and adoring. And this time, the only masks between them are physical, the black silk hiding them only from the cameras. They're not hiding from each other anymore, not hiding their want, their need. Their love.

He'd loved her then, more than he thought he could hide or contain, and he loves her even more now, especially when she comes up with brilliant, kinky schemes. She's pliable under him when he tugs their linked hands above their heads and rolls onto her in a deliciously fast, hot flip that has her knees coming up to his hips and clamping hard around him.

He grinds down into her, and oh, there's so much bare flesh sliding against flesh. She opens her legs wide and it frees him from between their stomachs, his tip finally brushing against the place he's wanted to be for weeks. He usually tries to keep more of his weight off her, but with their hands bound together, he's heavy above her.

"Kate? Am I squishing you?"

She shakes her head vigorously. "No - you feel good - you feel perfect," she says, and he does. She's missed this. Being covered by him, being ground into the mattress by him. He feels so, so good. She closes her eyes, and then he's kissing her, so sensually, deeply, in that perfect way that they've been able to kiss since the very first time their lips met in an undercover ruse in a dingy alley. Kissing Castle was something that never needed practice, just repetition. Lots of repetition.

She's moaning then, rolling in the sensation of having him above her. The pleasure of being this physically close to her partner again is almost too much to bear. Castle catches her lower lip between his teeth. At the same time, he adjusts the angle of his hips and starts to press himself into her. It's both familiar and devastatingly new. She knows that she couldn't have changed very much in two months but he feels bigger, more incredible. It takes more effort to fit him inside her, but the glide is slow and the friction is unbelievable, and she has to bite her lip when she wants to croak out 'Castle.' She catches herself just in time to say 'Rick' instead.

"Y'okay?" he asks roughly when at last he's buried in her.

"Never been better," she hums.

And then he starts moving and she gets lost in a woozy carnival ride of pleasure. Beckett's always been loud in bed, but the noises she's making now are verging on obscene. He wonders if it's for the cameras, but he gets the impression that she's completely forgotten where they are.

He knows she has when the first syllable of his last name starts to erupt from her mouth on a scream, and he clamps his mouth over hers to muffle the rest of it. It's the perfect storm, his hips circling at the end of each thrust, his mouth on hers, and she can't stop the freight train of an orgasm that hits her.

He manages to hold on, barely, and he stills inside her as she comes down, gritting his teeth to keep from joining her as her walls flutter around him. When she's finally calm beneath him, he kisses her nose.

"That looked like fun," he says, awed at the force of her release.

Her eyes are lazy, unfocused, and then they sweep down to where they're still joined and she realizes he didn't follow her off the edge of ecstasy.

"Rick - "

"We've got all night, Kate. Had to hold on."

Her eyes flame, because she's desperate to give him a taste of what he's already given her twice tonight. She maneuvers herself out from under him, then crawls onto her hands and knees - well, hand and knees, because her left hand is still tied to his. He swallows loudly at the sight before him. She smirks. Their hands are woven together at the base of her spine, and uses the link to hold her up as he finds her swollen, sodden entrance.

She tosses him a dirty little look over her shoulder and whispers "Don't be gentle, Rick."

And then whatever tenuous hold he'd had on his control snaps and he just moves.

He's not sure if he's ever been quite this fast, quite this aggressive in bed before, but she's so slick and tight around him and with every jolting thrust he tries to go as far and as hard as he can, and judging from her gasping breaths and little screams, she's enjoying it. A lot.

Her "I'm gonna - " and his "Oh, fuck, Kate - " come at the same time, and he can barely hear the the rhythmic sound of their skin meeting over the noises they make as they wreck each other.

Castle falls onto Kate's back, their tied hands limp above their heads, and he whispers his love into her ear for whole minutes as their heartbeats slow. Her tears soak into the black silk mask, but she's smiling.

They'll be okay.

And then they hear the sound of paper sliding across carpet. Castle cranes his neck to look at the door. A thick cream envelope with a velvety purple seal waits proudly on the floor. He doesn't get up right away, but eventually he peels himself from Kate's back, unties their wrists, and walks over to pick up the note.

He reads it and his face lights up.

"What does it say?" Kate asks, still lazy with bliss on the bed.

"You will not believe this, Kate," Castle crows, doing a little victory dance. Stark naked. He looks so ridiculous that Kate has to bury her face in the mattress to muffle her laughter.

He hands her the envelope and her mouth falls open in disbelief.

"Seriously?!"

One more chapter to go ... if you want more that is? *saucy wink*