The prologue and first six chapters of this story are Co-authored by kimmiesjoy and demuredemeanor, beyond chapter six is written solely by kimmiesjoy.

Thank you for reading.

Prologue

She's gonna be my Midnight Queen.

It's dark, darker than it should be, the overhead street light has been broken and shards of forgotten glass crunch under her heels as he backs her into the wall.

The cold New York brick is harsh at her back, cutting like icy fingers through the almost sheer material of her black tank top. The thin straps clinging to the grooves of her shoulders now, she has recently tugged them into place, but every so often they slip.

He pushes her, guiding her backwards with his hands at her hips, fingers hot pin pricks on the narrow grooves of her pelvis, moving further until they reach the wall. He notices the strap slip again, the slow progression her hand makes towards sliding it back up. He catches her as she reaches for it, stopping her.

Her eyes lift, bright sparks in the near pitch-black alley that dart to his lips, to his eyes as he hooks the thin piece of cotton under his index finger and slides it back onto her shoulder, settling it over her now very visible bra strap. Black cotton like the tank.

He thumbs the material above her skin, catching the absence of street light in her eyes.

She doesn't need it.

She's luminescent enough.

But, leaning closer, he sees instead the reflection of the skyline, the city lights and its lively hum dancing across her pupil, contrasting her iris, speckling the brown with hints of gold and red.

She's humming too.

Unable to resist, he slips his thumb beneath the material again, under both layers as they caress her shoulder, running the pad across her silky skin.

She's warm.

She's not really. It's a trick of the light, or lack thereof, because what she really is, is tingly. Chilly from the breeze and the fact she is wearing next to nothing, but where his fingers brush the cotton away from her skin there is a blaze, roaring infernos of heat.

She shivers, a gentle shudder that racks her body from head to toe and stutters through her chest, even vibrates the strands of her hair.

His hand stiffens as he feels the ripples pass through her and he lays it flat against her skin, presses his heated, soft palm to her shoulder, flat over her deltoid, no longer trailing, no testing movement.

He just holds her.

"Are you cold?" His voice is gravelly, husky in a way that causes his breath to gust past her cheek. He watches her eyes close as she leans into it, the feel of his exhale hot against her skin.

He does it again. just because he can now.

"Kate?"

Her fingers move and take him by surprise, rising between them to catch his t-shirt, fisting her hands just inside his jacket (leather, she'd insisted). He feels her nails trail as she recoils, sliding to the edge of the shiny material, the soft, supple leather finding her fingers as she clings to it, suspended weights at the base of the zipper, toying.

He exhales again, measured, steady but then she drops it, abrupt, sudden.

Her hands are slipping underneath, sliding again, wrapping around him. Has she always had nails? How has he not noticed the nails she's now digging into his skin, through his t-shirt as she climbs, crawls?

That's what he's thinking? Really?

When she can finally drag her eyes open, lifting her lids to meet his gaze she tilts her head back, rests the base of her skull against the alley wall as she breathes out on a smile.

"Not cold, no." Her free hand climbs higher, mirroring the first, slipping up his coat to rest against him. Her fingers firm over his chest and hip as she pulls him closer, bringing the warmth and heat with him. "Not now."

Her eyes are over his shoulder, focused on something he can't see, but her fingers are tight against him and he remembers why he's here, realizes she does too.

She makes a noise, shocked as he crowds even closer, not missing the fact her face is at his neck.

"Castle," she hisses, trying to catch her breath.

"It's fine just..." His voice cracks, he smiles. He's pressed so close and she doesn't need to ask more.

"Oh."

His head drops, his brow pressing at the naked edge of her shoulder and he huffs a laugh across her skin, it's not an embarrassed laugh, it's resigned, he won't curse his body for reacting to her.

It's natural, her and him. Chemistry.

She doesn't wriggle anymore, just falls still pressed against him, the tingles of his laughter dancing across her skin, making it hard.

"Oh!"

Her laughter is a silent shake as she bites her lip, it's all very hard. Her hands deep beneath his jacket, seeking his warmth, seeking him now, unexpectedly, catching her off guard.

But it doesn't, not really. She wants him as close as he wants her. She wants to be as near as she can be.

"More." She feels bad for asking it of him, it's obvious his control is at a knife's edge anyway but this was his idea, and she enjoys pressing his buttons just a bit, the way he does hers.

He doesn't argue, more than willing to dive in, lift her a little higher, hand slipping over her thigh to hook her leg around his waist. His fingers are firm at the cusp of her dark denim shorts, the too short shorts in the still too cold weather, but he loves how exposed she is when dressed like this.

How open her face is when he touches her.

He's shocked when she arches into the wall, letting him grope her hooked leg, and then he's the one gasping, grip tight at her hip and thigh as she kicks off from the ground and anchors herself firmly around his waist.

He feels her heels hook, and lock, dragging his pelvis firmly into hers as she's perched there. His weight keeping her upright, pressing himself against her. He hears her exhale, feels it against his neck, ragged breath, like she doesn't care that her mouth is open against his skin.

A gruff noise rips from his throat, and she giggles, presses her face to his ear and whispers, teasing and conspiring.

With him and against him.