Inherited Traits 3
She was bringing him home.
She wasn't sure she had meant to do that when the night had started, but by the time dessert was finished, she was offering him coffee at her place.
And he was laughing at her for being cliche. Or transparent. One of the two. She didn't care, because this was Castle - this was Castle - and it couldn't possibly make him think less of her. Not after everything. She knew better than that, and so she could smile with him.
He held her hand as they walked the block, searching for an unoccupied cab, and she liked the easy, natural rhythm they had. It was only their usual. They were just walking down the sidewalk talking in low voices about anything and nothing, when what she really wanted was to get somewhere private and start unbuttoning his shirt.
She wanted to put her mouth against his sternal notch, feel the swallow of his throat against her forehead as he tried to hold himself together.
"Thank you," he said suddenly. His hand squeezed around hers. They were still meandering in the direction of her apartment, though the blocks stretched out far and long. No cab in sight. "For not saying anything to Alexis, not tipping your hand and making her wonder."
"I wouldn't," she promised, squeezing in return. Her lust dialed back, simmering rather than boiling over, the introduction of his daughter's parentage causing a buzz of curiosity to travel up her spine. "But I do wonder if you won't have to, someday. If she figures it out herself, or some kind-hearted person points it out, it might get ugly."
"Do you think it will?" he asked, a whine cropping up in his voice. He cleared his throat as if to get rid of it, ambling at her side so that their shoulders bumped. "Won't my love for her trump all that?"
"In the end," she sighed, thinking about herself now. About them. It had gotten ugly. But in the end-
"I chose her, regardless. Just as any man does. That's the folly in the system. A man gets to abandon his kid and pretend like she doesn't exist, like it never happened, while the woman is stuck."
"That doesn't sound very flattering to anyone, Castle."
He grunted, glanced at her. But he took the rebuke for what it was. And then his fingers laced with hers. "I'm angry."
"At her?" He scowled at himself and glanced down the sidewalk, his eyes far from hers now, looking into some future she didn't have the vision for. "Mad at her that she'd be upset when I'm the one who loves her. Mad at Meredith for sleeping with her director to get a better role, and then abandoning Broadway entirely because it was too hard."
"Live theatre was too hard for her?"
"Or motherhood," he muttered. His face colored suddenly and now he was looking at her, seeing her. "I'm sorry. That's not fair to you, talking about Meredith and all this."
"I wanted to know," she assured him. "And it keeps my hands off you in public, so it's working out in my favor."
He laughed, a startled thing, and his resultant grin spread his lips and made his eyes crease, like happiness folded him up. Origami joy. He leaned in and caught the corner of her mouth for a kiss that was surprisingly heated. She caught the side of his neck and held him to her, angled for something better.
He groaned. Her tongue played with his, their steps faltering. Maybe not even Meredith's affair and Alexis's eventual discovery could keep her hands off him. Maybe the whole world and fate and the stars were conspiring to draw her to him, magnetism, gravity.
She wanted him with a ferocity that made her teeth hurt and her toes cramp in her shoes. Not having him now would be painful, and yet the idea of waking up to him tomorrow scared her with its dark unknown.
"Castle," she whispered against his mouth.
"Where are all the damn cabs," he groaned.
"Castle, tomorrow morning-"
"Work in the morning," he husked, gripping her hard and separating their mouths. "You're right. I apologize. I'll-"
"Not that," she groaned, so damn frustrated with his back-pedaling.
His hesitance to walk where she was leading. Like he couldn't trust it, like he was too much the gentleman to assume his presence tomorrow morning.
No wonder she couldn't imagine it, no wonder it scared her. "Castle, I want you there in the morning, but I don't know what that looks like, what the whole day looks like, what the week or my self-"
"It looks just like it has," he said easily, stepping back into her and circling her wrists. He drew her hands up and kissed her knuckles, of both hands, smiling. "Except-"
"Sex," she murmured, flashing hot all through her.
"I'd have put it a little more delicately-"
She smirked. "You're the writer, not me."
"Make love," he said immediately, as if she'd issued him a challenge. His eyes caught hers with equal daring. "Share a bed. Know each other, intimately." His touch dragged down to her elbows and then along her sides until she shivered. "It'll look just like it always has except - I can touch you. I'll have the memory of how I touched you the night before, the noises you made, the way you touched me in return."
If she couldn't catch her breath it was her own fault. "How do you know I make any noise at all?"
"You're much too passionate to hold it in," he said. And then his smile burned between them. "And I'm much too good at it for you not to lose control."
Kate's body flamed, and ached. She pressed a hand to the scar at her sternum and glanced down the street. "Where's a damn cab when you need one?"
She brought him home.
All of his nerves were gone, evaporating like dew burned off in the full morning sun. All he wanted was right here, but whatever awkwardness or peril that had been attached had gone. Their dinner date, the normalcy of them, had pushed them over those obstacles.
Kate didn't bother with the kitchen; she didn't go through the motions of coffee. She dropped her keys on a side table, stepped out of her shoes, took him by the hand to bring him with her.
He followed right into her bedroom.
She was already undressing, but she turned and went for his shirt, her dress gaping open, flimsy and loose around her shoulders. He pushed a hand inside the collar and skimmed warm skin, and she shivered and her eyes lifted to his, catching and holding.
He pushed the top of her dress down, and she lowered her arms to let it slide off, revealing a black bra with delicate lace edging, a tiny black bow in the middle, an embellishment to the puckered ridge of a scar.
His eyes homed in, and then his fingers traced the top edge between her breasts.
He was touching her breasts.
Castle blinked and inhaled a sharp breath, lifted his eyes to hers. She was cautiously standing before him as if awaiting judgment, and he stepped into her, palmed her hips to push the dress of the rest of the way. "You're beautiful."
The dress dropped. Her skin was at his hands. She was touching him back, little touches that unmanned him, made him step back to look at her.
"God," he said, prayer or penitent, no idea. Only that the sculpted lines of her legs met the flare of those perfectly canted hips, and that scrap of black burned like an arrow to where he wanted to be.
He stared at her, heavy-lidded and heart beating hard with wanting her, and he couldn't make his body work to take.
She reached in and delicately finished his buttons, fingers brushing against his chest so that his skin rippled.
"Kate," he dragged out, words deserting him.
"I know," she said. Forgiving him for it. Or maybe commiserating with him. How it struck her too.
At least she had the coordination to tug his shirt out of his pants and push it off his shoulders. At least she could run her hands up his sides and press her palms to his back and then their bodies together.
So blissfully together.
He groaned and caught her in his arms, crushing, and his mouth came down to find skin, beautiful hot skin, this smooth wonderful skin that moved and flowed and gave way at his incessant need. He dragged his jaw across her collarbone and sucked the flesh at her neck. She gasped and yanked his shirt where it was tangled at his wrist, in a hurry.
He untangled them both from the material, caught her ass in a hand and hauled her against him. She was breathing hard and taking nips of his jaw, his throat, his ear, and he fumbled at the stretchy black material of her panties.
Kate hooked a leg around his hip and ground against his belt, moaning.
"Oh, God," he gasped, painfully aroused, unable to stand it any longer. "Enough. Enough. Kate."
It was all the warning he could give. He sank his fingers between her legs and found her, wet, hot, and he rubbed until she was writhing, until the feeling of her body against his was torture itself, and he had to move.
He pushed her backwards and she dragged him by the belt, and then she was on her knees on her bed, ripping the belt through the belt loops, undoing his pants. She used her teeth, her fingers; she gave him entirely too potent looks with her eyes, gave him the husk of her voice as she demanded he strip.
He toed off his shoes, hooked a thumb in his sock, peeled it off. She was laughing, avoiding his jerking knee, shoving his pants down his hips and making it hard for him. In so many ways.
Castle sank down on the bed, stripping his pants and socks, but she was already climbing into his lap and doing an obscene roll against his stomach. He cursed and gripped her hips, felt her shoving him back, and he flopped to the mattress, staring up at her.
"Gonna go like that, huh?"
She grinned, lowered herself down to him only enough to open her mouth over his. Her tongue and the way she filled him, the slow strokes, the damp place low at his stomach where those panties were soaked-
She twisted to one side and dragged her hand down, pushed inside his boxers. Castle growled and bucked, unable to control it, and he rolled on top of her, forcing her to settle.
"Give me a fighting chance here, Beckett."
"Where's the fun in that?" she grinned.
He didn't even have the capability for a witty retort. All he had was the plunge of his mouth to hers, fighting for a dominance he wouldn't have long. She began pushing his boxers off, using her toes for the last of it, and he scissored a leg to help - and to pin her hips so he could see her.
Work on her for a little while.
She huffed back to the mattress, circled her fingers around his nipple. He did the same over her bra, waiting until she squirmed so he could call that one a win. He pressed his thumb under the wire of her bra, smoothed the skin where it creased, the weight of her breast against his knuckles.
"You're very good at this," she murmured, smile ticking up. Like she'd invented him.
She may as well have. He wanted her to have invented him. He leaned in and opened his mouth at her collarbone, trailed a hot breath down to the cup of her bra. Nudged his chin beneath the material until the bristle left from this morning's shave scraped that sensitive skin.
She let out a little breath that was almost a noise, like a woodland creature in a cartoon, and he made the mistake of grinning.
She felt that too and shoved on his shoulder, rocked her body into his to plant him back on the mattress. She spread her thighs over his hips and reached behind her to unfasten her bra.
It sagged and came loose and she tossed it away.
His hands lifted, cupped her breasts and immediately played with her nipples, rubbed harder when she twitched and leaned to one side. He raised himself up, caught her mouth for another kiss, kneading her flesh between them while her hips began to undulate, precursor to what they both wanted.
"That's more like it," he murmured, and sucked hard on her throat. She groaned and he traveled down, lifted her breasts to his mouth, took her inside.
Kate cried out, clutching him, and now the games of dominance were over, the push and pull. He wanted only more of those cries, and she was fiercely working a hand between them, finding him, torturing him with her grip.
She had to angle herself awkwardly on his lap and together they pulled her panties off. He caught them before she could toss them aside, watched her as he put them to his mouth, tasted.
She was molten at that. She dove in for a kiss, sucking on his tongue, rocking. He gripped her ass, found her wet between her legs, began a slow invasion with his fingers to make her wild. Ready.
Kate mauled his flesh, mangling him to her liking, shoulders and arms, his wrists and then back to his biceps. She ground against his hip bone and dug her heels into the bed, lifted up just enough for him.
Their hands collided, both moving to guide him inside. It was hot and erotic and somehow more intimate, their fingers brushing, tangling. She sank down and he nudged up, and they both groaned into open mouths, relishing the sensation of penetration.
There were things he should have asked before this. She should have insisted. But neither of them had, neither were stopping, and he would bear the consequences and call them, instead, fruit.
He was so damn soaked in love of her.
Rick touched her and she shuddered around him. Her hand let go and fluttered up to his, their fingers laced. He sank deeper and she groaned, her forehead dropping, eyes too close to see or meet. Her palm kissed his; he brought their clasp to the scar between her breasts and used her knuckles to circle it.
And then her hips did the same move in response.
She lifted on her knees and sank back down again. Her body was hot, sweat beginning to make the space between them muggy and damp. She breathed his name at his mouth Castle and it was erotic that way, his last name and her body sheathing him.
He lifted his hips and used his leverage to push higher. She whimpered and clung to his neck, kissed him messily.
It was slow, it was timed. She seemed to like prolonging the misery; he liked watching her. She had a way of twisting her hips that made his knee jerk and his teeth bite his tongue. To get her back, he brushed his fingers at her stomach. Just that fast she was coming apart.
He went still to behold her. Tracked her movements and the ecstasy on her face. Caught her jaw to tip her eyes to meet his, her feelings spilling out.
And then he laid them back on the bed and rolled on top of her. She widened her thighs and caressed his back, cupped his ass.
"Go," she insisted.
And then it was hard. Fast. She was loud, and his knees ached, but his balls ached more. She was meeting him with thrusts that jostled the whole bed, and he was deeper every time. He had to prop himself up to keep from crushing her, and it gave her room to fondle, to do things with her fingers that finally made him explode.
And when he was collapsed on top of her and trying to struggle off to one side, she wound a leg around his and gave a lazy rock of her hips that nearly made him cry.
Her mouth collided with his. Her temple had sweat that ran behind her ear and onto his thumb. He found himself stroking that curve where the bowl of her ear met her skull, as if that was at all sexy or sweet.
The sensation of her skin under his thumb was intoxicating.
"Wake me when you're ready again," she mumbled at his neck. "Or if you have to leave."
"I'll be here," he promised softly, more breath than words. "I will be here - middle of the night and morning too. And every day, every week, every self-"
She silenced him with her fingers to his mouth. "I don't need sex-haze promises."
He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. Above his heart. "They're not," he said, fighting against the heavy saturation of satiation. She needed this; he needed her to believe this. "It's not just the sex talking-"
"Great sex," she murmured, one eye cracking open.
He grinned, kissed under that eye. "Most definitely. But I want you to know, tomorrow morning, next week - Kate, you will never have to wonder."
Both of her eyes opened. Her fingers unfurled in his hand, touched his chin. Her leg tightened at his thigh, pulled them closer, more intimate.
"I don't wonder anymore, Rick." His name like that, from such a mouth made hazy by kissing, set his heart to pounding. She trailed her finger down his throat and leaned in, gave him a light kiss. "Because now I know." When she pulled back, she didn't go far. Her nose nudged his, her lashes along his cheek. "Don't you know too? How much I'm in love with you."