He plants Beckett on the very edge of the end counter, feels her squirm when the cold marble bites into her skin. His fingers reach, spreading wide, pushing her dress up higher and higher and it hits him when she sinks her teeth into his lip.
Castle retaliates.
He presses the shudder of exhilaration to the tips of his fingers and sweeps them over her chest. Her teeth chase over his lip followed by her tongue. And when he finds her nipples, her mouth opens and a whimper rambles out, descending to the pit of his stomach.
He kisses her deep, lets her steer him where she wants him, rabid roaming movements, tearing apart his clothes.
About half a second into the kiss that tells him exactly how this ends, it hits him.
He's in love with her.
Not just a little bit. Not in a fuck she looks good enough to eat in that dress way.
Not even in the that's one hell of a love letter, are you sleeping with her? Get it out your system way that Paula saw long before he did.
It's almost elemental, how it crashes over him, makes everything inside freeze, hard as rock, and then splinter apart. Like molten lava.
Something inside him shatters.
It hurts.
It's terrifying.
It's Beckett.
She's not playing fair, taking her anger out on him in strangely arousing ways - the bite of her nails leaving a forever kind of sting across his chest - and he lets her, for the briefest moment.
He takes her punishment to see what happens next.
Her hands shoot between them, dress hitched indecently high and her fingers not in the least bit tentative.
She curls, grasps and pulls and even through the thin material of his dress pants Castle knows, shrewd movements like that will have him a broken mess in minutes.
If not seconds.
He wants her moan over his lips again. Around his tongue. He wants that stuttered, pissed off sound that mixes with the warmth of her mouth and the rasp of her skin.
He's in love with her.
Her eyes open and she's trying to get her hands on him, lithe fingers flicking belt buckles and tugging zippers and her head tilted down away from him.
He lifts her chin, strokes her jaw and finds her soft. Soft and hot.
And angry.
His fingers slide and he can't help it, he tangles himself in her hair again. He's already devastated the twisted up-do with his wet fingers and straggly ends curl just at her ears. It doesn't matter now what raggedy mess he leaves in his wake because he just needs to touch her. Get lost in her.
He sweeps his thumb across her bottom lip, presses at the edge of her mouth for entrance and pushes his tongue into her mouth when she opens for him.
She's still mad at him. Raging. Squirming. She shoves her hands between them again, her eyes open and somehow she fumbles the clasp open.
He can feel the ripple through her fingers as she shakes. He feels it too, an intensity so forceful that it stuns him motionless for a moment.
And then she's touching him.
Her hands are smooth as she strokes him, the tips of her fingers a little roughened. He imagines it's from holding her weapon. Loading her gun.
A flare of arousal darts through him and he feels himself harden in her grip.
"Fuck, Castle."
Her lips barely gasp against his own and her eyes slam shut. He can't help it, he stares.
Her hands are wrapped around him, twitching and shuddering in a way that makes electricity crack and snap its way up his spine, but he's staring at her face. The wet line of her lips, full and inviting.
Her thumb grazes his tip, one handed now as her other palm falls flat on the lowest twitching muscles of his stomach, Castle leans in, desperate to see her eyes.
He coils both hands at her neck, a rough caress of her jaw angling her head to the side so he can lick her earlobe.
"Beckett."
She shivers and her eyes open. Beautiful. Hazel green. Angry still.
He holds her that way for a moment, not realizing what he's seeking until she gives it up unknowingly.
The shit, we're really doing this look passes between them, chests bumping with every breath and she lifts her hands, wrists primed to tear him apart with the action of her seductive fingers.
Then anger rises up inside him again, chased by denial and taunted by need - want racing along side - it shouldn't feel like a battle, but it's does.
He's in love with her.
She swallows and he does the same, claiming her wrists before she can start her slow tease again. His hands between them so intimately that all he can think of is tasting her and his mouth floods with saliva.
Castle licks his lips and follows her gaze, finds it trained on his mouth and aches desperately to give her what she wants. What he wants.
He pushes her thighs apart sharply and runs his palms over her simmering skin. Up and up, riding swathes of skin tight blue as high as they will go.
He drops his eyes and -
Black silk.
A raven blur against alabaster skin.
Exquisite.
Castle swallows, clutches at her skin, fingers splaying. He reaches, waiting for a slap or a reprimand knowing neither is coming. She tugs him closer and helps him drag her underwear down her legs by lifting when he urges her.
Fingers light to the back of her knee, she breathes hard, a stroke over her ankle, her fingers clench white on the basin.
Castle holds the heel of her black stiletto and pulls her free.
He moves back up her body slowly, breathing hard through his nose. The midnight fleck of her pupils reaches his and he lays one, searing hot, open mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh.
She shivers, bodily. Head to toe. His fingers like ice when they slide inside her.