A/N: As I'm sure you've noticed, I've taken a three-month writing break. A mild case of writer's block, plus some frustration with the characters, plus the long university summer break have kept me away from pen and keyboard for a long time, but now I'm back! I hope you've all had a terrific summer, and I wish us all a fantastic new season of Castle!

Please enjoy! (And don't maim me for ending the chapter where I did. I'm already writing the next one...)

Lina

The cuff closed around his wrist with an almost obscene click; the leather was smooth and warm against his skin. He was sprawled diagonally across the bed, his naked body an "X" marking the spot; a kinky Da Vinci circle.

"They open without a key," Kate formally informed him as she tugged on his arms to make sure he was secured to the bedframe.
"I just have to press here," she added, making sure he was watching as she explained his restraints to him, her brow knitted in concentration.

Safety first.

He nodded in understanding.

"Now…" she said, satisfied with her work, the concentrated crease in her forehead smoothing out as she brushed her hands down his bare chest.
Her gaze flickered up and down his body and she bit her lip, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, they were several shades darker than he had ever seen, the highlights of the New York City streets below them dancing on her pupils like glittering orbs in the night sky, her tongue peeking out to soothe her bruised lips.

A red scarf was slung across her shoulder like a waiter's towel and she tugged on it with a flourish. It snapped down, whipped across his chest, and Rick struggled out a breath between his tightly closed teeth.

She chuckled; a throaty, lovely, daring sound.
"Getting scared, Ricky-boy?"

It was all he could do to shake his head and huff out another breath.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, sincere now, and he found her gaze and nodded.
"Safeword?" she whispered as she straightened the red silk in her hands and leaned forward on top of him.
"Apples," he choked, and she nodded solemnly before her face broke into a huge grin.

"Here's to hoping you won't use it."

And all went black around him.

Her mouth is against his hip, her hand in his hair, then suddenly a wet tongue on his chest, and how did she…? How can she…? Where is she even? – but he can't see a thing and he can't move his hands to check where she's positioned herself and it hardly even matters because damn, his nervous system is screaming at him from all over the place.

She takes her time with him, but not really. Her moves are calculated but unexpected, and his need for her is building fast, fast, but she doesn't give him anything, doesn't give in, even when he grunts her name and thrusts his hips into her.

"Easy, tiger," she teases, her voice so close to his ear but everywhere in the room, and god, how can he be so disoriented, so insensitive all of a sudden, just because she took his sight away, his hands, his movement, and fuck her tongue is lava and he doesn't even make sense in his own head anymore.

Her knee brushes his erection and he almost weeps, needy and so far past gone that it should make him feel uncomfortable, but she knows him, knows what she's capable of doing to him, and he gives it all to her, gives himself to her. She hasn't even really touched him there, hasn't done anything at all that should get him this aroused this fast.

She's illegal.

He'd arrest her for it, but as it is, he's the one in handcuffs.

He can't do anything but let her torture him.

'Remember that you asked for it,' she'd warned him, and suddenly her threat makes sense.

He wouldn't change it for the world, though.

It's exhilarating. She feels powerful, like a vixen, like she runs the world. Rick's body is taut beneath hers, all quivering muscles and sweat-dampened skin. He strains against the cuffs, but she knows he wouldn't want her to take pity on him, wouldn't want her to stop.

He's enjoying this. His moans and sighs - and the muttered insults that she's sure he isn't even aware he's saying out loud – are telling her that he is enjoying this.

So she keeps going. Keeps giving. She tries not to bear too much of her weight on one spot of the mattress, so that it doesn't dip and give away her position, so that her next move will come out of nowhere for him.

She's enjoying this, too.

She revels in the surprised sounds he makes, the sharp intakes of air, the clenching of his muscles when she touches him there, presses here, kisses all over the place. He's so responsive that she has to fight down her own reactions, has to keep her own sounds inside, the quivers of her thighs under tight control so she can keep up the teasing.

Moisture is running down the inside of her bare leg, and she's not ashamed of it. He has the maddening capability of driving her insane, always has, in and out of bed, and she's fully aware of it. The feeling of his skin underneath her hands makes her heart speed up, the lifting and falling of his chest causes thrills to chase each other down her spine, and his sweet, tangy scent makes her head spin around and around.

His pulsing erection is inviting, unmistakably inviting, but even as she licks her lips, she closes her eyes and bends away from him.

When she opens them again, her head is clearer, more focused.

"Rick?" she rasped, her voice farther from him than just a second ago.

"Yes," he cried out, his throat dry, his lips swollen from his own bites.

"Do you want to come?"

He laughed a single note of mirth and desperation both.

"Yes. Yes, please."

"Then you need to make me come first" she demanded, a sensual version of her interrogation voice in place. She scratched her nails lightly across his stomach and the heat pulsed inside of him, bursting through his veins and searching for redemption, bright spots dancing in his black field of vision.

"Anything. Anything, Kate," he breathed, his arms tugging at his leather bindings once more. "How?" he struggled out. A sly smile tugged on her lips, bloomed in her eyes.

"Lay still," she instructed him.