Before she can throw him one more of those maddening little looks, he drags her back, pushes her up against the nearest wall, and kisses her hard.
He really half-thought she might slap him, but Beckett just goes, grabbing his face, sucking his tongue into her mouth. His knee slides between her legs and she sinks down onto it, the pressure sudden and hot and unbearable, throbbing in his groin.
He'd stop if she wanted him to. He would. She's perfectly capable of maiming him. But she's not. She's letting him, she's pushing him further and further and oh God she's getting off on this just as much as he is.
The realization that angry, uptight Kate Beckett wants him sizzles through his veins, blurring his vision, rocking his hips into hers without his permission. That gets a little gasp from her, her fingers flexing at his neck, and he can feel her leg coming up against his, pulling him even closer against her body. He palms her breast through the flimsy material of her top, feeling her nipple puckered tight under his touch. She arches against him, biting his lip. Ow.
He retaliates, pushing his tongue into her mouth, invading, fierce and dominant. It draws a low keening noise from the back of her throat, something helpless and involuntary, and the thought of her so far past her rigid control sends an arrow of desire through his veins, settling between his legs and there's no way she can't feel him pressing against her. It's a thousand times hotter than that night he wrote the first sex scene for Nikki Heat, the night he let himself stop and think about Kate and his mind took it too far, way too far, and he ended up in the shower, stroking himself off, imagining her mouth around him as he spurted all over the wall.
She wraps her long, long legs around him and he groans. Shit. Shit. "Beckett," he chokes out. If she doesn't slow down, he's going to -
She sucks on his tongue before pulling back just enough to whisper into his ear. "Move."
"What?" He actually cannot think.
"Grind on me, Castle."
He does.
He pushes into her, catching the long slow rhythm of her body with his, the appearance of something he wants so desperately to be doing, because her body fits against his perfectly and he's wanted her since the moment they met.
Beckett moans as he sucks on her throat, worrying her collarbone with his teeth. He can feel the hectic, thready pulse under his lips, the blood surging under her skin. Her voice catches as he slides his hands over her ass and grips her thighs, pulling her closer against his body.
Where the fuck is the bouncer?
Her legs are clamped around his waist like a vise and she's rolling her body against him with this throaty little moaning sound that belongs in a porno and they're acting like they're having sex and she's so good at this that he's starting to believe it himself.
Her heels dig into his ass and he stops pretending his pants aren't getting increasingly, achingly tight.
They finally get pushed out the back door of the club and told Get a room already but it's pointless because whoever that guy was is gone. He's gone and Beckett's pissed and Rick is completely, painfully, obviously hard.
He stumbles out into the alley behind her. It hurts to walk. Kate Beckett just enthusiastically dry-humped him in public and he's not entirely sure this isn't some perfect wet dream. The mild drizzle from earlier has deepened into steady rain, and great, just great. Because now that little outfit is plastered to her body and ohhhhhhh yeah she is definitelynot wearing a bra right now.
She eyes him with a venomous look. She's furious.
But before he can say anything, she yanks open the back door of the car, grabs him by the arm and shoves him inside.
She climbs in and slams the door shut behind her and sinks onto his lap and ohhhhhh her tongue is back in his mouth and suddenly she's undoing his belt and he might actually die.
"Beck-"
"Shut up."
She pushes his hand between her legs and under her flimsy little underwear and fuck fuck fuck she's so wet. He traces a tight little circle over her clit and she bucks into him with a mewling sound, and then suddenly her hot fingers close around his dick and his teeth sink into her neck. It's a cramped space, his world reduced to the rain streaming down the car windows and his heartbeat pounding in his ears and her body.
She finally, finally sinks down onto him, and he grunts, fuck, fuck, feeling the hot tight sheath of her, her inner muscles flexing around him like a fist, and he's absolutely certain this isn't going to last very long.
But she's already close herself; she rides him hard, fast, keening in his ear as she sinks onto him again and again. The tactile sensations are too much, sensory overload, the slick rainy silk of her skin, the rough wet fabric scraping against him. His body is tightening, he's losing control, and just when he can't hold on any longer she lets out a high-pitched moan and breaks apart, shuddering, squeezing around him. He spills into her in long, hot spurts, fisting his hands in her hair, groaning into the sweaty, rain-soaked skin of her neck.
He slumps back against the seat, dazed, his body still humming.
Holy shit.