Author's Note: I did mention that this story would involve smut and so, here it is…

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 3

Castle's theory about the case proved to be right. Because of course it would, with the way things were going. Kate was starting to think the universe–with Castle's help–had entered into a sort of conspiracy to drive her crazy with the thought of Castle, the reminder of her own stupidity. (And yes, she'd clearly been spending too much time with Castle if she was thinking in terms of conspiracies. Damn the man anyway for worming his way into her thoughts!)

Another case with a robbery connection and she hadn't missed that Tom had, as she'd expected, neatly avoided getting involved with the case–well, okay, so she had sort of guaranteed that he would by delegating Ryan to be the one to reach out to Robbery in the first place.

But as it was, Tom was barely a blip on her consciousness because she was too preoccupied with Castle. He was driving her crazy! It was as if now that she'd finally consciously admitted to herself that she wanted him, she just noticed him so much more, noticed everything about him so much more. She was always conscious of his height, the breadth of his shoulders, found herself constantly having to remind herself not to be distracted by looking at his hands, his surprisingly dexterous fingers as he fiddled with things and played with his phone and her unruly, traitorous mind found herself wondering what those hands would feel like on her.

When he'd bent over her to read about Delgado's record on her computer, she'd felt almost suffocated by his nearness, which was stupid because he hadn't even been touching her! But he hadn't needed to touch her; she had sensed, felt, or something, the warmth of him at her back and shoulders, swore she could feel his breath stirring the air just above her hair–irrational as it was–could smell the familiar scent of his cologne whenever she took a breath.

Bad enough when he wasn't touching her but the few times when he did actually touch her, when their fingers brushed as he handed her morning coffee to her, when he briefly touched his hand to her back in the jewelry store, she'd felt even his slightest touch send ripples of heat through her, had felt so sensitized to him she felt almost uncomfortable in her own skin, lust prickling over her like a rash.

It was ridiculous! Crazy! But it had helped make up her mind. She needed to do something, needed to scratch the itch, just get this stupid lust out of her system and then she could go back to normal, focus on her job the way she should be doing. Stop being distracted by him even when they had a case.

As it was, she almost wished she was surprised that Castle's insight recognizing that the diamond earring Hedley produced was actually a fake but she wasn't and he'd been proven to be right. An expert in Robbery confirmed that the diamond was a fake and when they had dug deeper into Hedley's background, they had found out that Hedley and the victim had actually gone to high school together. It wasn't clear proof but the coincidence of it was too much to overlook and a search of the dumpsters by Hedley's apartment had produced the murder weapon.

After that, getting Hedley to confess was child's play and Kate signaled uniforms to come in and oversee Hedley writing out his confession and then processing his arrest. She turned to Castle. "Nice job cracking this case."

He pretended to preen and she hid a smile. "I know, I'm quite brilliant, aren't I?"

"You're certainly not modest," she returned dryly.

He only gave her one of his cocky smirks and for a moment, she found her eyes focused on his mouth, the curve of his lips. Since when did his smirk make her want to kiss the smirk off him? (Since always, a pesky little voice in her mind inserted.)

He noticed where her eyes had been focused and his smirk slowly faded, his eyes darkening, and for a moment, her breath hitched–but then she heard the sound of a phone ringing and belatedly realized where they were. And whatever she might have decided, she could hardly proposition Castle right there in the middle of the bullpen where there were way too many interested eyes and ears.

She forced calm as she turned away from him to return to her desk. "I have paperwork to do," she announced, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Sure you don't want to stick around and help?" she asked lightly.

"And that's my cue to head out for the day," he responded without missing a beat. "See you tomorrow, Beckett."

Not quite, if she had anything to say about it. But she didn't–couldn't–say that, only contented herself with saying, "Night, Castle," blandly.

But couldn't quite keep herself from watching through her lashes as he walked away, his familiar stride, his height, the set of his shoulders, and, oh fine yes, his butt. Well, shit. She really, really needed to do something about this, get him out of her system. Really, considering how much this stupid lust for him was distracting her, it was almost her duty to do something about it because a distracted cop was so often a danger to not only herself but those around her. Okay, now she was aware she was making up excuses to justify her own decision but it wasn't entirely untrue either.

So she would give herself just one night with Castle and then surely–surely–she'd be over this stupid attraction and could move on.

She briefly considered and almost immediately rejected simply having him come over to her place. It would be too personal, seem like too much of a step towards, well, something to invite him over. She never yet had invited Castle over to her place and she couldn't start now, not for this. For that matter, she'd basically never instigated spending any time with Castle outside of the precinct, certainly not just the two of them, so avoiding making it seem like a first step towards anything was even more important.

Besides, she thought it would be better not to have reminders of him, of their night together, surrounding her where she would never be able to escape them.

Similarly, just going over to the loft was just as impossible, too personal and complicated even more by the presence of Alexis and Martha.

So that only left a hotel, neutral territory. For the first time, she'd have to do the cliché thing and reserve a hotel room solely for sex and nothing else.

She remembered that a couple years ago, before Castle, she and the boys had once been called to a crime scene for a murder victim found in the hotel room at a Wyndham hotel, far enough away from the precinct and just upscale enough that no cops were ever likely to frequent the place, one that generally seemed to cater to business travelers from out of town. The bar in the lobby had looked decent enough too.

With that settled, she sent Castle a text message offering to buy him a drink for his help on the case later that evening, after a moment's thought suggesting 9 p.m. by which time, she knew from her brief stay at the loft weeks ago, Alexis would have retreated upstairs to her own room to finish up her homework before bed.

His response was almost instantaneous and contained enough eagerness, as evidenced in the exclamation mark, that she bit her lip, feeling a flicker of doubt. God, was she really about to do this, have a one-night stand with someone she worked with on a near-daily basis?

Although, really, she mostly expected that once he got what he wanted and had sex with her, he might well announce that he'd done enough research for Nikki Heat and no longer needed to shadow her at all. And she tried, very hard, to tell herself she would be just fine with that. It wasn't as if she'd asked for him to shadow her or ever really wanted him around. She and the boys had done just fine before him and they would continue to do so if and when he got tired of slumming it in a grimy precinct and decided to return to his comfortable, glamorous celebrity lifestyle.

It would be just fine. She'd have her night of sex and move on and if he chose to move on too, well, that would be all for the better too. Really.

So she told herself and by dint of much repetition, (mostly) convinced herself it was true.

Kate was conscious of a little twinge of something like nervousness as she waited for Castle in the hotel bar later. She'd never been nervous about seeing Castle before but then again, she'd also never planned to suggest that they have a one night stand before either. She'd already reserved the hotel room but it wasn't as if she absolutely needed to use it for its planned purpose.

She'd sternly resisted the temptation to change out of her work clothes earlier. No need to act like this was a date or anything like that. It was going to be awkward enough just telling Castle what she wanted as it was.

Fortunately (or something), before she could begin to doubt herself, Castle entered the bar, his eyes immediately finding her, his expression brightening in a way that had an odd effect on her chest.

He had changed, she saw immediately, or at least changed his shirt to another button-down, this one in a deep blue that she just knew would almost perfectly match his eyes, and wearing a jacket. He looked unfairly good and she felt heat spark inside her. She also couldn't help but notice that she wasn't the only woman in the bar to appreciate his appearance, caught the way several women's gazes lingered on him, one woman's hand going up to touch her hair. And felt an entirely unbidden–stupid–little flicker of something like smugness because Castle's eyes and attention didn't stray at all, remained focused on her as he crossed the bar. Perhaps surprising considering his playboy reputation but then again, she doubted he was stupid enough or crass enough to let his eyes wander so conspicuously when he was about to meet her.

"Beckett, fancy meeting you here," he greeted, his lips quirking.

The small jest had her lips curving almost in spite of herself. So he wasn't about to make some big deal out of the fact that she'd invited him out for the first time. "Hey, Castle."

"You don't have a drink yet. What'll you have?"

"A vodka tonic."

"Coming right up."

He went up to the bar to get their drinks and she watched him unashamedly now, the lines of his broad shoulders outlined by his jacket, his very nice ass, and wondered if he could really be as nicely toned and muscled as he appeared. After all, clothing could be deceptive too. And physical attraction didn't always translate into good sex either. Although she really couldn't believe the sex would be lackluster.

Of course there was only one way to find out. She needed evidence, naturally.

He returned in just a couple minutes with her vodka tonic and what she guessed was Scotch for him, setting their drinks on the table before perching on the stool.

"Cheers, Beckett."

"Cheers." She lightly clinked her glass against his and took a sip as he did the same. She was conscious of a little awkwardness. It wasn't as if she and Castle were used to spending time together outside the precinct. In an attempt to stave it off, she hurriedly asked, "Can I ask, how did you learn so much about jewelry to be able to tell at a glance that the earring was fake?"

Something flickered across his expression before he answered with surprising succinctness, "Being married to my ex-wives was very educational."

Oh. It occurred to her that this was probably the most revealing thing Castle had yet said about his marriages, aside from his general deprecating comments about not liking marriage. Yet more proof that Castle wouldn't be interested in any sort of real relationship. (Not that she was either, not with him, she told herself quickly.)

But quick as the thought, his expression changed, his usual smirk curving his lips. "Anyway, I know a lot about a lot of things. I'm a master at Trivial Pursuit."

She felt a quick, irrational little prick of something like disappointment. She hadn't really expected or wanted him to talk about his marriages, had she? And why should she care about what his marriages had been like? It was nothing to do with her. This was only about sex–would only be about sex. "It doesn't surprise me at all that you know a lot of useless information," she needled instead.

He bridled in exaggerated offense as she'd known he would. "My knowledge isn't all useless! I did just help crack this case after all."

She smirked. "Just mostly useless, then? After all, even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

"And you're resorting to clichés? Insult on top of injury." He gave her a look of mock horror, striking a theatrical pose. "You wound me, Detective."

She let her eyes flicker to his chest. "You look just fine to me," she drawled, allowing her voice to become low, husky.

He'd just taken another drink and at her admittedly flirtatious comment, he choked, ending up coughing, and she felt herself flush at the look he gave her, questioning, as if doubting the evidence of his own ears. Which, she supposed, he well might since she didn't usually flirt with him so obviously. Well, that was what she was here for tonight.

She held his gaze, taking another gulp of her drink–for courage or something–and then, deliberately, licked her lips before drawing her lower lip between her teeth and lowering her eyes to his mouth. And didn't stop herself from wondering if his lips would be as soft as they looked, if he would be as good of a kisser as she expected, hoped.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, Beckett, I feel like I'm missing something. Are you–what's going on?"

She took the opening he offered. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?"

His eyes flared wide with shock even as his eyes darkened with what she hoped was desire. "Are you serious?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

"Well, no, but…"

She slid off her stool deliberately putting some additional sway in her hips as she took a couple steps towards the door before glancing back at him, hiding a smile at the way his eyes had fallen to her butt. "You coming, Castle?"

The familiar words–and the double entendre she put into her tone–had him choking on a laugh as he almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to join her.

He grasped her hand, startling her with the flare of heat she felt zip up her arm and seeming to pool low in her belly just at his touch, as they left the bar together, not in such a rush as to draw attention but not dawdling either. She tugged him towards the elevators when he would have turned towards the hotel's front entrance.

The elevator was one that required a room key card to get access and his eyes flared again as he saw her produce the key card and she used that as an excuse to release his hand, ignoring the fact that her hand felt abruptly and irrationally cold. Holding hands seemed too… personal under the circumstances. This wasn't a date, she reminded herself, or the start of a relationship. It was just going to be sex. Good sex, if her reaction just to his holding her hand was any indication, but meaningless. Which was all either of them was interested in, she told herself yet again.

The elevator ride was mercifully brief and the room equally mercifully not far from the elevator and then they were inside the room. Alone. With a bed only steps away. She felt a fresh wave of molten heat pooling low inside her, her nipples peaking, just at the thought. Oh yes, she wanted this, was ready for this.

She dropped her purse and jacket on a chair not far from the door before turning to face him.

He looked more uncertain than she could remember seeing. "Are you sure about this?"

"Are you afraid I won't respect you anymore in the morning?" she flipped back.

A sort of strangled laugh escaped him and it belatedly occurred to her that somehow, she wasn't worried about the reverse, that he would just write her off as a notch on his bedpost. This might only be one night but she knew he respected her–he thought she was extraordinary–and she didn't think that would change, not now, after all this time.

"Not exactly. I just want to be sure you won't regret this."

"I won't," she told him definitely and then before he could respond, she kissed him.

For a split second, he stiffened in surprise but then he responded and the kiss exploded as his tongue surged past the seam of her lips, hot and wet and aggressive, twining around her tongue, and oh, he was even better at this than she'd imagined. If she'd wondered if the attraction between them might fizzle out with just a kiss, she was proven very wrong. She was distantly aware of hearing a little moan and only belatedly realized it had come from her as his lips left hers only to slide down her chin and her neck as her head fell back to give him greater access.

His large hands slid down her back to cup her butt, bringing her arching against him, against the hard bulge in his pants–and oh, the size of it… Heat sizzled through her, her mouth all but watering.

His mouth changed course, sliding back up, pausing to suck and nip at the spot where her pulse was fluttering wildly and then again, finding another spot she hadn't even known was so sensitive, and her hands slid into his hair, tugging his mouth back to hers to kiss him hard.

His hands found her breasts through her shirt and her bra and she groaned into his mouth and then they were stumbling blindly towards the bed, still kissing, their hands busily undoing the buttons of their respective shirts.

She emitted a little sound of triumph as she finally undid the last button of his shirt and pushed it off his very nice shoulders, tugging until he reluctantly left off his own task of undoing her shirt just enough for his shirt to be fully discarded and she got her first look at the chest she'd wondered about. And stared. Ooh yes. He was… perfect, the word darted through her fuzzy mind and she tried to dismiss it–he was just what she wanted, his chest broad and just toned enough, the well-defined muscles of his shoulders and arms… God, if she'd had any idea he looked like this under his button-downs…

He quirked his brows at her, his lips curving into that cocky smirk that made her want to maim him–or just kiss the smirk right off him–yes, that would be better. "Don't I get to look too?"

Well, yes… She finished unbuttoning her own shirt, discarding it, feeling heat spark through her at the way his gaze became heated, focused, feeling his gaze like a touch. And then she undid her bra and let that fall away and then wiggled out of her pants and underwear. Almost before her clothes hit the floor, he was flattening himself against her and then they were falling back onto the bed, landing in a somewhat awkward tangle, one of his legs between hers, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her outer thigh. Awkward until she wriggled and shifted beneath him until his hips settled in the cradle of hers, providing delicious pressure just where she wanted him even through the barriers of his pants. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to undo his pants and hers and get right to the main attraction but if this was the only night they had, she wanted to experience more.

As if he had somehow read her thoughts, he shifted down, his hot mouth closing over her taut nipple and she cried out, fire streaking along her every nerve ending, as his hand moved to her other breast, stroking, kneading, teasing her sensitized nipple with his fingers. He kissed his way across her chest and devoted equal attention to her other breast, licking, sucking, nipping, until she was moaning, mindless, breathless. Oh god oh god, she was going to come just from the workings of his mouth and hands on her breasts and that had never happened… His other hand slid down her stomach, finding the wet heat between her legs, and just a single touch of his fingers had her climax rippling through her in a rippling wave of pleasure.

"God, you are so hot," he murmured against her skin and she felt the movement of his lips as a fresh tingle through her body, the sound of his husky voice setting off additional sparks inside her. (How had she never known that just a voice could arouse her?)

And he clearly wasn't done. Oh no, he had shifted further down, his mouth and hands kissing, licking, caressing in a leisurely exploration of her stomach, his tongue darting into her belly button, his teeth nipping lightly at the curve of her hip, his fingers delicately tracing her tattoo. She could feel the light scrape of his evening stubble against her sensitized skin, sending small ripples of pleasurable sensation through her.

His intent was obvious, even to her fuzzy mind. She vaguely realized she hadn't exactly planned or expected him to want to go down on her and she generally felt she could take it or leave it, but at that moment, with her body still feeling mostly boneless, her thoughts too fogged, she was happy to lie there and accept whatever pleasure he could give her.

Even as she thought it, he reached her thighs, pausing to kiss and then lick the crease of her thigh and then lower, first on her outer thigh and then her inner thigh and then–oh god–she felt his breath against the wet center of her as he nuzzled the sensitive skin of her inner thigh with the light scrape of his stubble.

She gasped and panted and then his mouth was on her and her hips jerked involuntarily at the shock of sensation that streaked through her like wildfire. His hands kept her pinned in place as his mouth went to work–his lips and his tongue and–ohgodohgodmore–the delicate, barely-there graze of his teeth–as he tasted, licked, sucked, and generally reduced her to moaning, gasping incoherence. One of his hands moved, one finger sliding into her while another pressed against her just right and she shattered, the blinding pleasure exploding, sparks sizzling through her veins.

Later–she had no idea how much time later and could almost wonder if she'd blacked out from the sheer bliss of it–she blinked fuzzy eyes open to find that he had–smart man–taken advantage of the time to strip off his own pants, leaving him naked, fully bared to her gaze. Oh, oohh, the tantalizing hints from the bulge in his pants hadn't done justice to him at all because he was big, beautiful–and hers–at least for tonight, she managed to amend.

The thought, the reminder, had her reaching for him. "My turn," she husked, marginally surprised she could even speak coherently.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, the all-too-tempting expanse of his chest, her fingers flicking delicately at the flat male nipples and then leaning in to swirl her tongue around one. He groaned, falling back onto the bed in turn, and she followed, finally, finally, getting to explore, appreciate, the build that had been taunting her through his clothes for what felt like weeks–months?—now.

She caressed, mapped, the solid muscles of his chest, his flat stomach with her hands and then her mouth. She nipped lightly at his nipple, he gasped–oh, he liked that–she repeated the action on his other nipple and he groaned something that might have been her name.

She wouldn't normally do this her first time with anyone but this was the only time and she didn't want to miss a thing, wanted everything she could get of him. She shifted further down to wrap her hand around the hard length of him, stroking, and then on his strangled groan, bent to lick him, delicately at first, making his hips jerk. Pure, feminine triumph surged inside her as she licked again, a little harder, and then closed her mouth around him, swirling her tongue around him.

"Beckett!" he groaned and then his hands were reaching for her, gently nudging at her chin. "I can't," he panted, "I can't."

She understood and left off her ministrations.

She moved to straddle his thighs but he stopped her again with a word. "Protection?"

The word broke through her lust-fuzzed brain and she stopped. She had come prepared, had a couple condoms in her purse, but her purse was by the door, which, at that moment, seemed like a mile away.

But then he spoke again. "In my wallet."

Which was, she knew, in his pants and conveniently just by the side of the bed. Which was good but she also felt a little niggle of something inside her. He hadn't known what was going to happen but he had a condom in his wallet. It was a surprisingly jarring reminder of his reputation–of course he would always have a condom with him. And it had nothing to do with her, she reminded herself. She didn't care, it didn't matter to her at all. That was why she was doing this after all, just one night, nothing more.

She rolled off him, retrieving his pants, but then he stepped in, grasping his pants and taking his wallet out, finding the small packet in it, and then discarding both pants and wallet once again, while she continued this odd tag-team by opening the packet herself and sheathing him.

He pushed himself up with one hand and she wasn't quite sure how but she guessed his intent and forestalled it by pushing him back down, straddling him again. She sank down on him, slowly, her eyes falling closed, a groan escaping her, as she adjusted to the feel of him, thick and hard and hot inside her. Ooh god yes, this was what she'd wanted…

She rose up and then sank back down again as his hips rocked, thrust into her, their bodies falling into rhythm with an ease that was almost terrifying.

He reared up to capture one of her breasts with his mouth and she cried out, grasping at his shoulders as her hips undulated above him with increasing urgency, faster and faster, as the spiraling tension coiled tighter and tighter and then snapped and she found she was clinging to him as the only solid thing in her world, her face buried against his shoulder as she rode out the dizzying spasms of pleasure.

He gave a strangled cry, his body jerking, as he too fell over the edge. He collapsed back onto the bed and she followed, slumping over him, feeling as if her bones had melted into water.

Their chests were pressed together, his arms loosely embracing her, and she could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat against hers. Kate felt the dampness of sweat on both their skins, the sensitive fullness between her thighs where he was still inside her. Tiny aftershocks ricocheted through her as she let her eyes close.

She felt his lips brushing a kiss to her hair, her temple, and the small gesture, too tender for what this was, broke through some of her haze. She eased herself off him although she was still a little too sated, her muscles a little too rubbery, to do more than simply roll off him onto her back. She lay there, eyes closed, waiting for her breaths to slow even as her fuzzy thoughts whirled. God, she had wondered if it was possible that the physical attraction between them might have been exaggerated somehow, wouldn't be reflected in the sex. Instead… oh lord, instead the sex had been even more, better, than she had imagined it could be.

After a long minute, she felt him stir, opened her eyes to see him stand and disappear into the bathroom, no doubt to dispose of the condom, before returning to the bed. His hands reached for her, tugging her towards him, but any sort of cuddling or whatever was a step too far, was too dangerous. She sternly ignored the little voice inside her that his firm chest had felt very good against her, would no doubt make a very nice pillow, and his arms would feel equally good around her, holding her as if to make her feel safe and warm and– Oh no, no, no, no, she couldn't go there, couldn't let herself go there.

This had only been sex, a one-time thing, and now it was over.

The thought prodded her into action and she forced her somewhat unsteady limbs into action, ignoring the protests of her muscles as she scooted away, out of his reach, and then pushed herself upright. She paused, giving her body another few seconds to regroup before she moved off the bed and started to retrieve her clothes.

"Beckett, what–"

"It's late," she interrupted. "I should go."

"But you–we–"

He broke off, apparently surprised into silence for what might be the first time she could remember, and she dressed quickly, not daring to look at him until she was once more fully clothed, as if her clothes were armor, which she supposed in a way they were.

She finally looked at him, looking unfairly sexy–and had to sternly battle back the urge to crawl right back into bed with him. He was watching her, looking a little confused, almost… wounded, and for a moment, she wondered if he might actually expect, want, more than just sex.

She pushed the thought aside. It couldn't be, had to just be the lingering effects of sex, their physical compatibility. He was Richard Castle, the multi-millionaire, the celebrity, the playboy, most eligible bachelor #9.

"It was only sex, Castle," she made herself say.

He blinked, gaping a little, and she inwardly steeled herself, pushed on. This was more awkward than she'd expected it to be but then she hadn't expected he might seem to be interested in more. "You cannot tell me you're shocked at the idea of a one-night stand."

"Well, no," he admitted slowly, sounding oddly uncertain, "but I didn't think you were interested."

"I decided to make an exception." For you, she left unsaid, not sure why those two words suddenly seemed so revealing, almost vulnerable. "We're two single adults who were attracted to each other, that's all," she went on. Are attracted to each other, very attracted to each other, but she ignored the little voice in her head. It wouldn't last, she was sure of it. It couldn't last. Attraction faded, especially after lust had been slaked. It always had before and she was sure it would again. Not today, maybe not immediately, but it would.

He didn't respond immediately and she hurriedly jumped in, desperate to get out, escape this awkwardness. This kind of conversation was not her strong suit and she had no idea what else to say, didn't want to talk about this further. "Night, Castle."

It was abrupt, she knew it, but there was no help for it. She turned and walked swiftly back towards the door, not quite fleeing, only to be brought up short when he spoke, "See you tomorrow."

Oh, so he didn't, at least, plan to stop coming into the precinct immediately, still intended to continue working together. She told herself the little flicker of relief she felt was only due to avoiding any of the boys' curiosity if he did disappear so abruptly and nothing more personal than that. "See you tomorrow," she agreed, not daring to look at him again.

She caught up her jacket and purse and then she left, allowing herself to fall back against the wall of the elevator, aware all over again of the twinges from muscles that had not been used, and certainly not so thoroughly, in quite some time. Oh, oh god, that had been… she hadn't known sex could be that good, could feel so… right, natural, without any awkwardness or self-consciousness, that she could be so overwhelmed by sensation until she completely lost any and all awareness of her surroundings.

She felt color creeping into her cheeks as a kaleidoscope of memories played through her mind, of the way he'd kissed her and touched her–all over–the heat of his skin against hers, the confidence of his lips and tongue working against her, building her up, the feel of him inside her, filling her so deliciously. Oh god.

She gave a little gasp and forcibly shoved the memories out of her mind. She had enough clarity of thought to be thankful that she'd already paid for the room, could just slip the room key card onto the front desk and slip out, without having to interact with anyone because she was sure that what she'd just done, that she'd just had the best sex of her life, had to be written all over her expression.

She made it home and stepped immediately into the shower, telling herself the strange tightness in her chest had nothing to do with regret that this would never happen again. It was just… oh, lingering awkwardness, that was all. She'd made up her mind that this could only happen once and it didn't matter that sex with Castle had proven to be miles better than she'd thought it could be, this still couldn't go anywhere.

He was Richard Castle, she reminded herself forcefully, he didn't do real relationships. After all, it hadn't even been three weeks since he'd slept with Ellie Monroe. Beautiful actresses and models were more his type anyway, as she knew from his history and Page Six, and she was just a cop.

And it wasn't as if she wanted more than sex with Castle anyway.

They were just friends and colleagues, at least for now, for however long he decided to keep on coming into the precinct, and that was just fine. She was just fine.

She'd had her night of sex–really great sex–and now she would no longer be distracted, would be just fine, in fact.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Obviously this isn't over yet…. Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.