He spun her around, until her nipples grazed the rough, cold, brick wall.
An alley, just the two of them, her pants around her ankles, cheek and palms and breasts pressed hard against the wall. He freed one of her ankles, hitched her leg up until her knee scraped against the side of the building, and without further warning he slammed into her - hard - filling her with one smooth stroke. She cried out, an audible gasp of pleasure, every part of her overwhelmed by an almost painful sensory overload. Long, hard, and thick, her muscles stretched and quivered around him. Her palms slid down the rough surface of the bricks, chipping the ends of her short nails as she tried to claw for a handhold.
"God, you're so wet," Castle murmured into her ear, swirling his tongue across her earlobe, tightening his grip beneath her thigh. He pulled out, thrust deep, and found a broken rhythm amidst the desperation. She bucked her hips back, pushing against the building with her palms, with everything she had, to match his rhythm.
The orgasm grew within her. Small, sharp, hot sparks shot through her, the fire unrelentingly stoked, until she reached her peak -
- and woke up.
Beckett sat up in bed, sheets sticking to her sweat-slicked skin, lungs sucking in air, exhaling it, in short bursts, her entire body thrumming from the orgasm she had been on the verge of having in her sleep.
Castle. Holy. Shit. She had been- He had- They'd-
She felt the moisture seeping through her panties, the hot ache of being so close to release. Scraping a hand up her face, through her short hair, she sucked in a deep breath, and tried to compose herself. She tried to soothe the throbbing between her legs, calm her racing heart, and suppress her need for him.
The cold shower had done nothing to ease the pressure, lingering within her still it burned, even hotter now that the sun was descending, more intense than it had been at dawn. During the course of the day her want for him had fired through her, flaring up with every look he had thrown her, with every smile that he had sent her way, and with every glimpse of his ass that she stolen when his back was turned.
She tried not to fixate on his lips when he spoke about the case, tried to focus on the investigation, tried to keep from grabbing a handful of his shirt and dragging him to the nearest dark, empty, stairwell, where he would pop open the buttons on her shirt, press her into the wall, tug her pants down, press his fingers tight against her hips, and fill her completely. Where the sounds of their joining would echo around them, urging them on, until her shaking legs could no longer hold her up, and he was well and truly spent.
"You okay, Beckett?"
Kate blinked, swallowed hard. "I'm sorry?" she forced out, quickly flicking her eyes back up to his.
Castle extended his hand, pressed the back of it to brush her forehead before she could flinch, before she could duck out of the way. She stood stock still, and tried to breathe. "What are you doing?"
"You're hot," he told her. "You feeling okay?"
No. She was burning up inside, on the verge of exploding if she didn't find release soon. "Fine," she replied with a harsher tone than she had intended. She took a step back, away from his touch, and glared at him. "I'm fine, continue." She waved a hand at the murder board, and waited.
"I was saying, I think we should call it a day."
He eyed her in concern, and she realized she had completely zoned out. "Yeah, you're probably right," she agreed after a moment. "We'll pick this up tomorrow."
She watched him disappear into the break room, and ran a hand through her short hair. She wouldn't make it home. Too far. Bathroom. Now.
With long strides - because anything shorter would only increase the friction - she made her way purposely to the bathrooms. The room empty, she ducked into the nearest stall, and closed the door soundly. She leaned forward, pressing her palms against the door, and sucked in a calming breath. When that didn't help, she undid her pants and slid a hand down past the waistband of her panties, to her slick core.
She wasn't right. She was...off. He had noticed it all day, had put off asking her about it, knowing she would just brush his concern off, but when her skin had been too warm beneath his touch, and she had barely taken in a word he had said, he couldn't let it slide any longer. And he didn't buy her 'fine'. He knew women, at least well enough to know fine meant anything but. He had watched her exit the bullpen, had followed a safe distance behind her as she had practically jogged through the precinct, and when she had disappeared into the bathrooms he had followed, stealth-mode activated.
Only one stall door was closed, and he dipped his head, glancing down. The tips of her boots peeked out from beneath the stall, facing him, and he knew she wasn't in there for the usual reasons.
Slipping into the next stall, he popped his head over the top, all ready with a comforting word or two- and held his breath, shocked, staring dumbly at her back in disbelief.
One of her palms was pressed against the stall door, the other hand was down her pants; her head was tipped forward, her hips bucked, her soft moans…
"Beckett?" he croaked out.
She froze, and then lifted her head and turned sharply to look up at him. "Castle?" His name left her lips as little more than a groan.
She wasn't sick. She was horny. She was… oh God he wanted her. He dropped back down to the ground, and made his way swiftly to her stall. He pushed against the door, and the only resistance came from her hand pushing back.
"I can help," he murmured through the door. "Let me help."
He held his breath. Waited. And then the resistance keeping him out ceased, and the door moved against his palm. He pushed against it, stepped into the stall-
Her pants were refastened, and she was smoothing her shirt over the waistband.
"No," she replied, eyes avoiding his.
"Not here." Never once meeting his eyes, she grasped his hand in hers and strode past him, dragging him out of the stall with her. She dropped his hand before reaching for the handle of the main door out of the Ladies, but beckoned for him to follow.
She led him through the precinct, to the nearest fire exit, heart pounding, core aching, fingers still moist from her own arousal.
They stumbled through the exit, bodies crashing together, all hands, and lips, and tongues. The thrill of being caught swirled around her lust-addled mind as his tongue thrust hard past joined lips and brushed across the roof of her mouth. Her fists closed around his shirt, pulling him closer, tugging his body between her legs, pushing her back against the wall. Until she felt him, hard against her. Too many damn clothes still between them.
His nimble fingers unclasped her pants, his mouth working hers, and he yanked them down. He dragged his lips from hers and made short work of getting her boots off. She kicked an ankle free from the confines of the material, and worked to free him from his jeans. Taking him in her palm, she closed her fingers around his thick girth, and squeezed. His hips bucked, his cock twitched, and both were done waiting.
It was all so fast, so frantic. He spun her, pressed her body against the wall, and nudged her legs apart. One hand slid her panties to the side, the tips of his fingers brushing her clit, sweeping her arousal across her throbbing, swollen glans.
"Now," she murmured, desperation in her tone. She bucked her hips back, her ass brushing against him.
Lifting his free hand to cover hers, securing her hold against the wall, he entered her slowly, pushing in carefully, until she encased him completely.
She sucked in a breath as he pushed into her, letting it out as a low moan that sounded like little more than a subdued sob to her ears. He hit her sharply, so deep inside, her muscles stretched around his impressive size, and she was completely filled by him.
God, he felt good.
"Move," she pleaded, voice hoarse, her inner walls clenching around him to urge him on.
He pulled out slowly, before thrusting deep, all the way in, that sharpness so exquisite she could barely breathe.
With each desperate, broken, jerk of her pelvis, each rotation of her hips, the friction intensified, and burned her up inside.
It had to be fast; his thrusts shortened, until her chest bounced rapidly against the wall she was pressed to, and the slapping sounds of skin hitting skin followed in quick succession.
It built within them, the fire of release scorching them, until the friction became almost too much. They were urged on by the sound, the smell, of them, by the primal sensory overload of fucking in a dark, concrete stairwell, and the thrill of possibly being caught by co-workers any second. To be caught being thoroughly fucked by a man who irritated and frustrated her daily? If she was capable of thought in that moment she wouldn't be able to think of anything worse.
Thoughts. Words, images. Her brain. It all shut down, ceased to function...
Her orgasm gripped her; the tension, that had been building since before she even opened her eyes that morning, reached breaking point, and she came hard - her body shuddering as the waves of release washed over her.
He held her firm against the wall, steadying her, keeping her on her shaking feet, and pounded hard into her, short, sharp, quick, thrusts, until he reached his own peak - and shattered. He pumped his release into her, and then collapsed forward, breathing hard against her back.
He shifted slightly, his lips grazed her neck, and he murmured, "wow", into her hair.
She let out a soft sob disguised as a chuckle, and nodded, her temple lightly grazing the wall.
He eased out of her, his still-hard shaft brushing the mixed moisture of them across her ass. He swept a kiss across her nape, brief, cautious, and she felt his hesitation over whether that was okay. Was that allowed? Were they testing boundaries? Setting rules?-
"We should do that more often," he said in a low voice.
Oh. That was exactly what they were doing.
She pushed away from the wall, turned to him, bent down, and stepped back into her pants, slipped her boots back on. She was silent while she arranged her shirt, her eyes locked with his while he adjusted his own clothing.
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and gave him a salacious smile, before finally replying with a simple, "We should."
With those words, she saw the relief, the silent, joyful wonder, flash across his eyes, and then she turned on her heels, and left him alone on the stairs, still feeling his eyes on her - still feeling him moving inside her.
Castle watched her leave, and while his mind was reeling from what had just happened, one elusive answer hit him in flash of almost blinding clarity.
Nikki finally had a last name.