Were you looking for Lady Irena's House Of Pain? I'm sorry, that's next door. This is Lady Cora's House Of Face-Sucking Fic. Much more pleasant.

Now, just remember, I never claimed that any of this fic would be remotely realistic.

Cartographical, as always, you bedazzle my world.

Chapter 18: 2x16, The Mistress Always Spanks Twice

There is one hot, wild, kinky thing that I do like doing…

"What's the matter, Castle? You afraid of a little…role-play?" She stalks off, laughing at him, and it's so normal for her that he's not even surprised at this point.

"Yeah, you better run." He puffs out his chest in a display of manliness which is completely lost because she's already walking away. No, no no no. Richard Castle does not come in second place in a contest of verbal sexual harassment.

He hurries to follow her; she's set her coffee down and is heading for the elevator. Fine. She wants to drag him into a potentially mortifying sexual experience? Okay. He can dish it out too.

"I guess we like it rough, then."

"What?" She starts, pausing, her eyes flicking back at him in confusion as they wait for the elevator.

"You started this charade, Beckett. I'm just trying to get into character." She glares, but it doesn't bother him. She's even more adorable when she glares. "I'm your boyfriend. Your naughty boyfriend, right?"

"Don't get excited, Castle," she tosses at him, her eyes scornful.

"It's all in the interest of saving our fair city," he assures her. This is fun. "I've been a very bad boy. I wonder what I did?" She doesn't dignify that with an answer, which doesn't surprise him. He's discovered that as long as she doesn't inflict bodily harm on him, he can talk as much as he wants. Bodily harm is her way of saying shut up. "It was obviously something sexual. Maybe I made you embarrassed. Are you shy about our sex life?"

(Her cheeks are getting pink. Ah, there it is. He's got her off-balance now.)

(But oh God, saying the words our sex life to Kate Beckett…)

"Maybe you let me tie you up."

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide, and her mouth drops but she doesn't say anything, a wave of red coloring her face. Hm. That struck a chord, did it? Has she been thinking dirty things? Oh, he likes that. He really, really likes that.

Obviously, he needs to go further. They step into the elevator, and thanks to the privacy, he decides to see just how far she'll let him go before she maims him.

"Maybe we did it last night. Maybe I tied you to the bed." She's trying to ignore him. Trying very hard. But there's a blush creeping up her neck, and she stabs the button for ground floor with more force than necessary. "And I took my time. I definitely didn't hurry. I'm a very patient man, you know. And I made sure you spent hours begging me, moaning my name, until I finally put my mouth on your – "

" – Castle. Stop it." Her jaw is set, and he'd think it's just anger, if not for the shallow catch in her breathing, the faint wisp of air in her voice. Oh yeah. Game on.

"Oh, come on, Beckett. You're not afraid of a little…role-play, are you?" He cocks an eyebrow at her, because this is by far the most fun he's had this week. Flustering Beckett is as close as he's gotten to actually making her –

- well, it's fun.

(And maybe he's also having a little fun thinking about all the dirty things he could do to her, too.)

She grits her teeth, and he can see the tremor that runs through her, the breath she takes to try and steady herself. "Stop being a child."

"I don't think that's what's bothering you, Kate." He says it in a low, husky voice and chances her given name. It works. She swallows, and he watches, fascinated, as the delicate lines of her throat ripple, the fine muscles working, the smooth column of her neck –

This doesn't make sense. Isn't this exactly what she's been teasing him about? She's remarkably self-possessed when it comes to talking about sex, he's discovering. Why is it suddenly so easy to fluster her?

But then suddenly her eyes flick down to his mouth, lingering there for a second. Castle sucks in a breath. Nnnnnnnngh. This is getting out of hand. He just meant to get her worked up. But he feels an unmistakable surge of hot interest in his body, because oh, the thought of tying her to his bed and actually putting his mouth on her –

He swallows. Calm it down, Rick. Don't let her win.

He follows her out of the elevator and into the parking garage, and maybe it's just his imagination, but is she walking more briskly than usual? Like she's trying to get away from him? Like that's ever worked.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? I can stop if you're getting flustered."

She shoots him a venomous look that suggests he will soon be on the receiving end of unparalleled physical violence. But, well, technically she's not actually telling him to stop. He chooses to interpret the lack of her shooting him as acquiescence, and follows as she heads for the car.

"We'd never tried it before. But last night, there was something different. At first it didn't even look like we were going to make it to the bedroom." He has a feeling there's a wild, sexy side to Kate. And oh does he want to see it. "We were fooling around, and it was getting pretty heated. And then you stopped me, leaned in, and whispered, I've been naughty, Rick." (Damn, he can actually imagine the words, her soft, sensual voice, the sexy mischief in her eyes.) "You pulled me into the bedroom, and you told me to – "

"Castle. Stop. Stop talking." Her face is scarlet as she pulls out her keys.

"Oh, I did," he says, giving her what even he can only describe as a leer. Damn, is he enjoying this. "I let you do all the talking. You had to tell me exactly what to do, exactly where to touch you. How fast you wanted it. How hard." He can see the quick rise and fall of her chest, the hot blush on her face. He doesn't stop. "You wanted it slow at first. But then it got faster. You like it rough. Really rough. The neighbors complained."

Shit. Shit, he has to stop. But it's already too late. His vivid imagination is already seared with the pictures he's painting for her. He sees the dimly-lit bedroom. Kate tied to the bedposts, her eyes locking with his as he moves over her. The hitch of her slender body as she tenses under his hands. The gasp that escapes her, the sudden strain as she tugs helplessly against the ties. The sinful moan that finally escapes her red lips. Her body goes rigid. Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open –

"Get in the damn car." It comes out as an irritated (aroused?) growl, and he hastens to obey, because there is something so unbearably sexy about bossy, angry Kate Beckett and the way she orders him around and he just – just really wants to get bossed around in her bedroom. He does.

He slides into his seat and immediately turns to her. She slams her door shut with a little more force than usual, and there's energy running through her body, the faintest tremble in her hands, the heightened color in her cheeks.

He's got her.

"Do you like being tied up, Kate?"

She looks up at him through her lashes, biting her lip, and oh, she needs to stop doing that if he's going to ever get anything done. Ever again. His body is suddenly terribly, terribly aware of how close she is and how good she smells and how sexy she looks when she's teasing him. "You know what I like, Ricky."

He has to tell himself to calm down because there is not a chance in hell that she will consent to –

But then her hand is on his neck and her tongue is in his mouth and how is this happening? Oh, fuck, they are in her car and they are making out and his entire world is reduced to the corners of her mouth and the angry hot slick of her tongue and her silky hair under his fingers. The surge of arousal that flashes through his body is unmistakable. There's no way around it. He nips at her upper lip and she lets out a soft, high-pitched moan that goes right through him, because it comes straight out of this unlikely fantasy that is happening and it is so hot, steaming up the windows of this police car with Kate, that he's only half sure he's awake.

He's half-seriously considering just pulling her into his lap and letting her straddle him and seeing just how much of his story she's willing to try out right here. Because if she'll kiss him, right here, in the car, without being even close to being drunk, then what else can they do? Is there more sex kitten in Kate Beckett than he'd thought?

"Do you really like it rough?" he murmurs, letting his hand slide a little too high up her thigh. Her eyebrow twitches playfully, and his breath catches, because he is touching her in a sexual way and she is not killing him and he does not know what to do about all the horribly dirty things going through his mind right now (several of which would be so much fun to do in this very car).

"That's for me to know."

He grins wolfishly and lets his hand drift over her hipbone in a way that can't possibly be construed as anything other than inappropriate.

"Kate. You know I'm going to find out."