This is the chapter where I wish I was as gifted with writing poetic smut as Kimmiesjoy.
And there's a sentence in here just for you, theputz913.
...
Round two has her hands fisted in the sheets as he murmurs against her navel, asking about her scintillating tattoo.
His tongue begins tracing the letters, 'Vincit Omnia Veritas,' sprawled out in calligraphy writing on her left hip, and he grins into the colored flesh as a tremor seizes her.
He's sweeping her shivers, collecting them, pressing memories of her reactions into his sex-addled brain.
"It means, 'truth conquers all'," she sighs, and her mouth sensually opens, back bowing as she realizes his intentions.
"I can't wait to explore what that means to you," he says throatily, looking every bit the juicy, egotistical womanizer the tabloids portray him to be as he settles himself between her thighs.
"Another time, Writer Man. Right now I need you to explore umm," she nibbles on her kiss-swollen lip, "other things."
"Other things? You're going to have to be more specific."
"You read my rules," she eeks out, hazel eyes intrinsically spicy from her earlier orgasm, legs falling open invitingly.
He swallows hard as bloody hell, one of his dreams is about to come true as she's beckoning him to feast on her.
"And I have to say I'm thrilled with every one of them."
"You would be," and her smile grows, reflecting illicit intent. "In your case," she purrs seductively, "those rules were meant to be broken."
"And here I am, Rule-Breaker-Extraordinaire," he taunts, oozing masculinity like it's an up and coming fashion trait. "Ask me, Kate," he half purrs, half demands.
The man thinks he's a gifted Latin Lover (she will not contemplate the possibility it's a fact) and wants her to ask, does he? Well, that's not going to happen. . .
It doesn't matter (she tries to convince herself) he's the first man in forever who's scaled her walls, wrapped her up in a blanket of infinite desire interwoven with valor and trust.
It doesn't matter he's the first man in many years who's left an indelible impression on her heart, and the first one she'll consider relinquishing this type of control to, allowing him to perform this one, overly intimate act.
It doesn't matter that she's fantasized about him doing this very thing. . . Nope, wild horses couldn't drag the information out of her, revealing it to him.
She will not ask, plead, beg or any form of the word.
Oh dear God, his lips are planting a trail up her inner thigh, - bold, risque, open-mouth kisses, - his splendid tongue darting along the sensitive flesh, drawing carnal patterns of infinite desire.
He pauses right before he reaches her center, looks up at her between the apex of her thighs, eyes as infuriatingly gorgeous blue as the stained glass windows on the Sistine chapel. She can practically feel the electrifying sizzle snap in the bedroom as their orbs war with one another, - his saying, 'You're going to have to beg', and hers saying, 'There's no way in hell'.
She smells the torrid scent of sex surrounding them, inhales his addicting testosterone which has her devastatingly heady with arousal after only twenty minutes earlier experiencing the most intense orgasm of her life.
"If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask."
The smarmy bastard blows hot air over her core, tantalizing the pink, swollen flesh, causing moisture to slick down her thighs.
"It would excite me beyond belief," and his mouth dips to her lower abdomen, nipping the waxed skin softly. "To make you come," his teeth drag down her pubic bone, causing tremors as dizzying as a minor earthquake, "with just my mouth."
This man's seriously GOOD. He shouldn't be writing murder mysteries but self help books for men who need help learning the intricacies of a woman's body.
"Has anyone ever told you you talk too much, Mister Castle?"
His chuckle reverberates over her flesh, low and sinful and completely him. She wishes she could bottle up the sound and store it, open it up on a later date to fuel her memories of this unbelievable night.
"Why, Miss Beckett, are you trying to say you're unhappy with my mouth?" He half-smiles, something downright dirty, "Because we both know I can prove otherwise."
"Knock it off, smartass, and put your mouth where it belongs," she simpers, hating how she's inflating his massive ego by finally succumbing to him.
He quirks one eyebrow, looks at her like, 'It's-about-time-you-finally-admitted-the-affect-I-have-on-you,' and asks, "Is this you, - NOT asking very loudly?"
"Take it however you want. I don't care as long as you keep up with me."
"Oh, I can keep up, all right. . . All. Night. Long."
He dives to her center, lapping his tongue against her folds.
She takes back every high and mighty adjective she's ever used to describe him and narrows it down to just one word:
Lady-killer, because there's a very good chance she just might be dead come morning.
"Fuck, Cas - sle," and her neck falls back languidly while one hand grips the headboard so tight, her knuckles turn ashen. Sighs of pleasure surround her as she crosses her ankles behind his head, bringing him closer to her core, forcing him deeper into her skin.
Her cat-like eyes squeeze shut as magnificent wave after wave of sensation washes over her, pummels through her, molten heat swimming through her veins.
She's blindfolded with laces of lust, an "Oh Gawd, ye - sss, just like that," being ripped from her without a strain of thought.
She's the flame and he's the oxygen, her raw need the fuel, waiting for ignition as he breathes pure blissful life into her loins, stoking her higher and higher until inevitably she'll soar and burn. . . Burn completely out of control like a wildfire raging free on a dry hillside.
Her taste is embedded in his senses, - delicious, familiar at the same time foreign, an affirmation of them belonging to one another.
"Don't. Ever. Stop," she commands and his tongue doubles its intensity, slicing through her wet folds over and over again, slamming into her sugar walls, his hands rousing and clenching and grabbing, his teeth dragging at the little nub causing her to buck up into his mouth.
Her fingers fist within the thick strands of his hair, pulling on them with the identical force he's pulling on her.
Rick spans his hands against her pelvis, circles his thumb against her clit, starting clockwise, over and over again, drawing moisture across her folds, drawing a salacious moan from her lips.
Her nub is swollen and pulsing and he can practically hear her thoughts of, "I'm never going to live this down as Richard Edgar Castle is between my legs and screwing me with his tongue."
His sensuous tongue cuts at the edge of her Diamond persona, tempering and polishing the imperfect woman from the inside out.
He can hear that she's close, - intimate, mewling sounds float his way and then her eyes fly open, lock onto his and she cries out her release, breathy with musical undertones, a sound he wants to hear time and time again.
His Lothario-pride soars as it lasts longer than he would have expected; her heavenly reaction heightening his own libido, making the blood pulse whirlpool fast to his cock, making him unbearably hard.
He pins her bucking hips, slows down his tongue, breaths over her labia, helping to bring her back down from the extreme high.
Before he can think about anything but her intoxicating musky scent, she's suddenly hauling him towards her, strong hands grasped beneath his armpits, pulling him desperately, needing to feel his muscular body above her, below her, all around her.
"You're so incredible at this," she grates and then her teeth bite at his lips, - savage, animalistic, a siren smile gleaning across her face as she tastes a hint of copper mixed with the sweet, tangy flavor of her own orgasm.
An edgy moan escapes him as she works her way up the tendons of his shoulder, nips a path across his collar bone, finally ending at his throat where she performs a sexy ninja move leaving him breathless and flat on his back.
"Damn Kate," he growls but she silences his protests with a scrape of teeth and hot slide of tongue.
"It's my turn to keep my earlier promise and fuck you senseless."
She kisses up and down his jaw, sucks on his chin before taking his mouth again, tongue bumping his lips erotically.
He tilts his head to grant her better access, allowing her deeper inside his mouth, making him feel as hot as she is desperate.
Venturing hands skim over sensitive, newly chartered spots.
She's straddling his abdomen, hips moving in a slow sensuous rhythm, smearing her wetness all over him.
"Promise me you'll be here when I wake up in the morning."
The moonlight shining through the open blinds creates shards of magical light across his defined torso, and she doesn't think she's ever seen a more beautiful male specimen in her life, wishes she had the courage to stay with him for the next few days, explore this unprecedented, amazing connection she's never felt with a man before, but . . .
She stops her movements, looks directly into his baby blues and says with a touch of shyness, "FOR YOU, I'll try."
Her answer swarms his senses, infiltrates his mind, body and soul, and it's not nearly enough, but enough for right now.
His lips mold onto hers, hoping to convince her with every press of his lips, swipe of his tongue, every breath they share, to give this once-in-a-lifetime relationship, give them, a chance.
She changes the tune with a devilish swirl of her tongue, makes it known with an alluring glide of her hips who's in charge right now and what she wants.
Teeth bite, tongues battle, waging a war where neither considers surrender but surges onward, forward, - to reach the heavenly, climatic goal where two bodies meld as one.
His fingers are in her mouth and she's sucking on them suggestively, rolling her lips over them, mimicking how her lower half aches to take him.
She's everywhere, those mesmerizing eyes roving over every millimeter of his skin, her athletic legs squeezing and shimmying, fingers running hotly over pebbled flesh.
A bolt of lightning surges through his body and the next moment his hands are digging into her hip bones, lifting her up and slamming her down on his cock, the sweet snugness of her walls making him groan in anguish.
Collision.
Collaboration.
Combustion.
Their limbs are rigid, and with each slide they mold further into each other, their bodies bound to one another by ever tightening chains of lust.
He withdraws and pushes, at the same moment she lifts and slides, his large shaft stretching her to the hilt.
Kate feels coiled, blindsided by his intensity, the pulls and pushes of desire combined with something infinitely more meaningful.
Her hair is tangled in his hands, broad fingers roving over her scalp, adding to the pile of sensations.
Erotic sounds fill the room that could belong to either or both of them.
She's sliding down his shaft, tilting her hips, taking him completely inside her, and then grinding down, driving them both to the edge of oblivion.
She springs herself towards him at the exact moment she starts to drift away, blood pulsating in heavy bursts to her core.
All it takes is his large hand claiming her breast and with one flick of her nipple she's flying, catapulting over the cliff of ecstasy, dragging him with her with a long press of her hips, sugar walls gripping, tightening, pulsing.
His hands clamp onto her pelvis to soften the surge through him as hot spurts of semen shoot into her velvety depths.
She feels the heat of his seed and it drives her to even higher levels, decimating her capacity to think, to even breathe. . . She collapses on top of him, lips sinking into the hollow of his throat, her ragged breaths heightening the lingering after-shocks traveling through his broad frame.
...
Afterwards, he wraps his long arms around her, cradling her to him as sleep beckons to his heavy eyelids.
"I want to learn everything about you," he whispers. "Your likes and dislikes, your childhood, your upbringing, those wild-child teenage years, your parents. . . By the way," he teases, "are there any sisters running around wreaking havoc on the male population of New York?"
He doesn't sense her withdrawal as she links their fingers together and places a kiss to his wrist. "No sisters. I'm an only child."
"That's a good thing," he chuckles, "because two of you could decimate the male population in less than a month."
"My only goal right now is to decimate a certain author who deserves every brilliant, raunchy title the tabloids have labeled him with."
"Mmm, you've already accomplished your goal then."
"There's so much more where that came from."
"There'd better be, as I already know," and his lips find the crook of her neck, languidly sliding across the creamy skin, "I'll never get enough of you, Katherine Beckett."
He falls asleep for the first time since his divorce with the hope that he's met his missing half, the one woman who will see past his fame and fortune and all his bullshit and just accept him for who he truly is, faults and all.
He berates himself in the morning for being such a heavy sleeper, berates the writer in him for believing in the impossible, because he wakes to a cold bed, - the scent of ripe cherries with a touch of musk emblazoned in his sheets.
He sees the note on the pillow next to him, picks it up with shaky fingers, almost afraid to read the elegant script.
I'll never forget you.
Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.
You own a piece of my heart,
Kate
He scrunches up the note and tosses it angrily into the nearby trash, - his body spent, his eyes lifeless. . . Because the irresistible, beautifully damaged woman whose heart is encased in ice and whose soul is locked away behind cement walls has officially written him out of her life.
For good.