Author's Note: And now for the smut. Enjoy!

What You Want

Chapter 2

Kate fell back against the wall, her skin still buzzing with lingering arousal, her entire body hot. What the hell had just happened? What had she been thinking? Stupid question. She hadn't been thinking, that was all.

She'd kissed him. She'd kissed Castle. Oh, he hadn't been behind in responding and kissing her back so after the first split second, who was the kisser and who the kissee might be debated but she wasn't good enough at lying to herself not to admit that she was the one who had kissed him first.

She hadn't meant to! She hadn't thought at all and she could barely remember when she'd last been so angry and she would have tried to break his fingers to make him let go of her wrist if she hadn't been so aware that they were in a public place and then he'd hauled them into a closet of all places! It hadn't helped her mood any and she'd been ready to flay the skin off him but then, he'd been standing so close, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his body and she could smell him, the heady masculine scent of him mingled in with whatever expensive cologne he must use, and he looked unfairly good tonight in his expensive suit, all tall and broad-shouldered and with that hint of scruff. And really, no one as annoying as Rick Castle was had the right to be so damn sexy but he was and she could swear she hated him at that moment except she knew very well she didn't really hate him.

And for just a split second, even in his anger, his eyes had darted down to her mouth and she knew he wanted her—wanted to do her, as he'd so bluntly informed her and she still could not quite believe he had said that to her face like that-and she'd felt an absolutely involuntary jolt of responding lust. And before she'd even realized what she was doing, she'd closed the couple inches separating them and shut him up with her mouth.

She'd kissed him and pressed herself against him and, well, ridden his thigh—and she'd agreed to have a drink with him and she wasn't naive enough or deluded enough not to know that she'd agreed to a lot more than just one drink with him tonight. No, she was going to have sex with Castle tonight.

She felt a hot wash of heat flood her entire body just at the thought, anticipation already making her skin prickle, her core damp. Holy shit.

Castle, the irritating manchild who could be such a cocky jackass (albeit one who had a very nice ass, a voice in her mind spoke up and she tried to shut it up). Except he wasn't only that and really, that was why she'd agreed to a drink and more. Why, in spite of everything, she'd felt her stomach drop with disappointment at the news that he'd received the official offer and would (probably) be leaving. She should have been delighted—would have sworn she would be delighted—but instead, all she'd thought was that she didn't want him to go. As annoying as he was, he was also… helpful. He made her life—her work, it was about work—more fun.

And he thought she was extraordinary. She felt her skin flush from more than just arousal at the thought, the memory, of his words, his look. He'd said he liked her. It should have been ridiculous—was ridiculous to react like this—made her feel rather like she'd been reduced to a teenage girl giggling over a boy liking her. And yet… It didn't feel ridiculous or silly. Somehow, coming from Rick Castle, the multimillionaire who, she had no doubt, could be with any woman he wanted, the words meant more. He really liked her, Kate Beckett, a plain cop who worked for a living and who certainly didn't fawn over him the way any one of his fans did. From the way he'd looked at her, lustful and yet somehow tentative and hopeful too, he really liked her.

She bit her lip but knew a smile escaped her anyway. He liked her and she—oh fine, she kind of liked him too. (Kind of?)

She pushed herself upright, glanced down at herself and straightened her dress, before she ventured out of the closet. And how ridiculous was that, to be making out in a closet. In a very public place. God, what that man could make her do.

She thought—hoped—she was relatively unnoticed as she slipped back into the party. At least there were no cameras around. She stuck close to the wall for a while before venturing further inside, heading to the bar.

She really wasn't looking for him—she wasn't—but her eyes got snared by him anyway, standing almost halfway across the room, holding court in front of a no-doubt admiring coterie of fans. He had neatened his hair and straightened his suit and now looked once again every inch the dashing playboy man-about-town—and she felt a little lick of doubt, insecurity, because how was it possible that Richard Castle, rich celebrity, could want her for anything more than just one night?

But then his eyes met hers and she felt almost pinned in place, felt the intent and the heat of his gaze even from this distance, her nipples tightening in automatic reaction. She might not understand how or why exactly but she was suddenly sure (again) that he'd meant what he said earlier. He wanted her. More than that, he liked her. This was really happening.

And she couldn't wait. (Oh god.)

The next hour or so seemed to pass in a blur. Kate spent some time chatting idly with Montgomery, Ryan, and Esposito (who commented "I think you forgot parts of your dress," in his role as her pseudo-older brother). She even found herself talking to—or really talked at by a few fans, who declared themselves thrilled to be meeting the real Nikki Heat and after they'd ignored her feeble protest that she wasn't Nikki Heat, she'd given up and simply resorted to nodding and smiling and making a few anodyne comments.

But all the while, she was always conscious of Castle, of where he was, felt whenever his eyes were on her.

So she knew when he finally approached her, turned to meet him. And tried hard not to let her eyes fall immediately to his mouth. Tried and failed.

She dragged her eyes back up to his but not before she saw the faint beginnings of a smirk. She wanted to kiss it off him. Later, she told herself sternly. "Nice party," she said as blandly as possible.

"I think I've played nice for long enough." He suddenly looked a little less certain as he went on, "Do you, uh, want to go somewhere else to get a drink?"

She didn't know why but she felt a little tendril of warmth sprout up inside her. He wasn't sure if she might have changed her mind. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of the cocky playboy thing was real or just an act.

"Sure, I could go for a drink," she agreed, biting her lower lip and noting the immediate focusing of his attention, the darkening of his eyes.

Somewhat to her surprise, he didn't touch her, didn't rest his hand on her back or lower than that, as he escorted her outside.

"Black Pawn arranged for a private car for me but I sent Alexis home in it. I figure we can take a cab."

"That's fine," she agreed, knowing her voice had softened a little at his mention of Alexis because the father side of him was the one she might like the most, was the side of him that had first made her question whether his cocky jackass act was just that, an act.

He hailed a cab and helped her inside. Before he could turn to her or give the driver a destination, she forestalled him by giving the driver her own address.

Beside her, she sensed Castle stiffen a little. "Kate, I wasn't—"

She shut him up by moving her hand to rest on his thigh, not touching him anywhere more intimate (not yet) and met his eyes directly, even though she felt her cheeks flushing. "We both know what's going to happen so why pretend?"

He smiled, his eyes lighting with sparks of lust and something warmer than that. "Whatever you say, Detective."

The cab started to move and even though she was severely tempted, in the interest of not getting arrested for public indecency, Kate kept her hand from wandering, just let it rest where it was just above his knee. And was thankful that he apparently understood because he didn't try kissing her or touching her intimately himself either. All he did do was close his hand around hers and then, slowly, very slowly, proceeded to trace her fingers with his, his touch light and amazingly erotic, sending jolts of heat streaking up her arm to pool low in her stomach. She gasped a little and suppressed the urge to squeeze her thighs together. Oh god, if just having him touch her hand was doing this to her, having him touch her more intimately might actually kill her. But she was going to enjoy every second of it.

It felt like a short eternity before they arrived at her apartment and finally made it inside. To the privacy of her own apartment.

Her door was barely closed before she trapped him against it, diving in to kiss him again, deep and hot, the way she'd wanted to since the first time they'd kissed earlier—the way she'd wanted to kiss him for a lot longer than that.

She swallowed his soft gasp of surprise and then he was sliding his hands down to cup her butt through the fabric of her dress and then further to grasp her thighs and it was her turn to gasp into his mouth as he lifted her into his arms. God, he was strong. How had she never realized how strong he was? And what did that mean for the muscles he must be concealing beneath his button downs?

"Bedroom?" he gasped.

"That way." She jerked her head to point down the hall as she wrapped her arms and her legs around him, stringing kisses along the line of his jaw.

She nipped lightly at his Adam's apple and he groaned and then got his own revenge as he let one of his hands slip from her thighs to slide between her legs. Oh god. She moaned as his fingers teased over the wet scrap of silk.

"God, you're so wet," he husked.

Any reply she might have made was lost on a choked cry as his fingers had pushed aside the scrap of her underwear and finally touched her skin, the wet center of her, almost but not quite where she wanted him.

They had finally reached her bedroom and he dropped her onto the mattress—or at least, he tried to but she didn't loosen her grip on him and he ended up toppling over on top of her as they landed in an awkward heap on her bed, one of his legs between her thighs, the bulge in his pants pressed against her lower abdomen.

She gasped and he groaned before he levered himself off of her, until he was kneeling on her bed. Still fully clothed, up to his jacket. Well, that wasn't going to work. She wanted him naked.

"Clothes. Off, now," she ordered.

"So bossy, Beckett." He smirked at her as he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside before discarding his shoes and socks.

She undid the clasp of her dress and managed to wriggle out of it, leaving her in only her necklace and the tiny scrap of navy blue silk that was her underwear. It occurred to her to be very glad that she'd decided to wear equally sexy underwear to go with her dress even if it had never occurred to her that anyone, let alone him, would be seeing her underwear tonight. He made a choking sound as he stared, his hands falling idle in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt.

And then in another second, she was completely naked, her necklace and her underwear gone. While he was still mostly dressed.

Well, fine, if he was going to be so slow about undressing… She lay back on her bed, letting her hand trail lightly down her stomach, past her navel, and down until she was almost touching herself, her fingers not quite brushing over her wet center.

He choked and then erupted into a flurry of impatient movement, making quick work of his shirt and then his pants and boxers. See what a little teasing could do as incentive.

She barely had a second to stare—which was too bad because he was well worth staring at—his chest broad and toned and solid, and oh, he hadn't been kidding at all about his claims being on the large side. Large. God, yes.

She had no more time to think or appreciate because he was crawling up her bed to her, his mouth immediately closing around her nipple as his hand cupped her other breast, kneading it and then pinching her nipple. She groaned and slid her hands into his hair to hold him in place because, oh god, the workings of his tongue and mouth on her sensitized nipple… He was good.

She released a little whine of protest when he released her nipple from his mouth, leaving a trail of soft damp kisses down her stomach, pausing to dart his tongue into her navel. "You're so gorgeous," he husked against her skin, his low, throaty voice sinking into her skin, fresh arousal tingling through her body.

"Cas—tle," she moaned, the two syllables of his name truncated by a little gasp she couldn't help as he chose that moment to slide his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing lightly, so lightly, over her wet center, but never quite touching her where she wanted, needed, him to be.

He slid further down, pressing soft kisses that could only be described as tender to the skin of her thighs, the faint hint of stubble on his jaw scraping along her skin. Oh oh god…

This wasn't just sex, she thought hazily, he was making love to her. There was too much care, too much tenderness, in his touch.

The thought had her managing to lift her head to stare down at him and he paused for a moment to dart his eyes up to her, and her breath strangled in her throat, something like fear touching her heart because even with all the lust in his eyes, there was also emotion, so much emotion that she was absolutely not ready to see…

And then his mouth was on her, between her legs, and her head fell back on a breathless cry. The first swipe of his tongue against her stole not only her breath but her sanity and she forgot everything else except for the workings of his lips and his tongue and his teeth and then his fingers pressing against her just right and she was writhing helplessly and crying out and just... done. She sagged back onto the mattress, limp and breathless, replete.

When she drifted back to full awareness, it was to find him lying beside her, one hand resting on her stomach, his hard length nudging her thigh. And the look on his face, in his eyes, had her breath and her heart stuttering in her chest all over again. He was looking at her as if… it wasn't just lust or liking but so much more than that.

"Kate," he breathed and his tone was too… awed. This wasn't the cocky playboy.

It was terrifying. And she suddenly couldn't bear it, had to distract him, change the mood.

She reached out with her hand to close around him, making his hips jerk. "My turn," she said, tossing him a smirk, before she made good on her word.

She cupped, explored him with her hand, stroked the length of him first with her fingers and then with her tongue, making him groan and pant. She licked and then took him into her mouth and sucked, curling her tongue around him, until he jerked and gently pushed her away.

"No," he choked, "inside you."

He started to shift as if to switch positions but she pushed him back and rose on her knees to straddle him. His hips jerked but before she could sink down, he caught her hips in his hands.

"Protection?" he gasped.

"I'm safe and clean."

"Me too. You're sure?"

He had a reputation and she normally insisted on protection but at this point, she was far beyond caring. And she trusted him. She didn't have a chance to try to consider the ramifications of that because his hips shifted again, his length nudging against her, and she couldn't resist any longer, sank down onto him, as he filled her, stretched her.

He groaned and she cried out. God, he felt amazing.

His hips were rocking up into her slowly, oh so slowly, and she couldn't bear how… careful he was being, so much care in his movements. She was afraid of letting him turn this into something much more like tender lovemaking than sex, something meaningful, and she took over, rising up and then slamming down again, moving faster, harder.

He met and matched her movements as they found a rhythm with an ease that shouldn't have been possible but somehow happened, their bodies seemingly attuned to each other.

His hands found her breasts, his thumbs pressing against her nipples, and she cried out, her spine arching as she pressed herself into his hands. And then Castle levered himself up as her hands found purchase on his shoulders, and the change in angle drove him deeper into her.

The coiling tension snapped and all she could do was cling to him, burying her face in his throat as she rode out the spasms of dizzying pleasure, only peripherally aware of his hips jerking beneath her as he followed her over the edge into bliss.

Castle slumped backwards onto the mattress and she followed, too spent to consider moving even if she wanted to.

Their chests were sealed together and she could feel the pounding of his heart in time with hers and somehow that almost felt more intimate than anything else, this sharing of heartbeats and sweat and breath. She felt him sift gentle fingers through her hair, the idle caress so very tender she felt a strange mix of terror and longing.

As the sheen of sweat dried on their bodies, their heartbeats slowing, something like coherence returned to her and she remembered that he was done with Nikki Heat, was leaving—wasn't he?

The thought had a tiny shiver going through her and they were close enough that he felt it and appeared to take it as a sign of discomfort, of getting cold, and he carefully shifted onto his side, easing himself out of her, even as he cupped her head to gently urge her to pillow it against his shoulder. And she did, even though she tried to tell herself she shouldn't, could not get too used to this sort of closeness if he was going to be leaving. He reached down to tug the comforter up over them and then resettled his arms around her, holding her tucked into his side.

This didn't feel like he was leaving.

"Are you going to leave?" Leave me was what she left unsaid.

"I don't have to. I told Alexis and my mother I'd probably be out tonight."

That hadn't been what she meant. She wondered how it was that their bodies could be so apparently attuned to each other, how he could know exactly how and where to touch her and she seemed to know how to touch him, and yet still be so bad at communicating with words. He was a writer and okay, fine, so she wasn't the best at talking about what she felt but she wasn't stupid either. They really needed to get better at talking with actual words.

"I meant, leave the precinct." And her, but referring to the precinct was easier, safer.

His body tensed just a little, no longer quite so lax beneath her. "I don't want to leave." He paused. "I haven't accepted the other offer."

"Are you going to?"

There was a pause and she felt a sense of déjà vu because hadn't they had this exchange already? But then he changed it. "Do you know what Paula, my agent, said to me at the party?"

Huh, what? She didn't know what his pushy agent had to do with anything, aside from the obvious that she'd been the one to interrupt them in the closet.

"No, what did she say?"

"She said that I should sleep with you and get you out of my system. And I—"

What? She stiffened, a chill spreading inside her, as she rolled away from him—or tried to because his arms locked around her, preventing her from going anywhere, and as she now knew, he was strong enough to win out when it came to sheer physical strength. She stopped fighting but kept her body stiff, kept as much distance between them as she could. "Is that what this was? Getting me out of your system?" she asked, her voice rising, becoming sharp. Because there was no way in hell she was going to show him how hurt she was. And clearly, she'd been imagining that the tenderness in his touch had anything to do with real emotions. He was just too good in bed, no doubt the result of all his experience, she thought bitterly. Probably every woman he went to bed with ended up believing he was in love with—wait, she slammed a halt on her thoughts. Why the hell did she care? She hadn't wanted him to be in l—to care about her, anyway!

"No! Damn it, Beckett, will you stop expecting the worst of me and just listen!"

Figures, even after having the hottest sex of her life, they still couldn't keep from fighting. She felt the prick of stupid tears in the back of her eyes and savagely blinked them back.

"What I was going to say was that I realized I don't want you out of my system. You're already in my system and I don't want that to change. I want you, I think I've made that clear." For the first time, humor tinged his tone, softening it.

She choked on something that might have been a laugh. Damn it, how did he do this, manage to make her laugh at a time like this? "Yeah, I did get that impression," she managed to say dryly. She'd gotten the impression that he wanted a lot more than sex too and she was starting to feel an ember of hope kindling.

"I don't know what's going to happen with Bond or with Nikki Heat but whatever happens, I don't want to leave you. I'm not going to leave you."

"Oh." She tried (and failed) to bite back a smile. The last remaining bits of tension in her body dissolved, leaving her once again pliant and draped over him. And since he'd admitted so much, she made an admission of her own. "I don't want you to leave."

"Good. I'm glad." His hand shifted to cup the back of her neck, urging her to turn her head and she did, allowing him to angle his head to kiss her. And for the first time, this kiss was soft, less about passion than the gentle intimacy of touching lips and exploring tongues.

God, he was a good kisser.

The kiss ended slowly as she opened her eyes to meet his, dark in the dimness of her room but she knew how impossibly blue they were.

"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow or whenever we solve the Sokol case?"

We. He really wasn't planning on leaving either the precinct or her. She couldn't help her smile. "Are you asking me out on a date, Castle?" Did this mean she was Rick Castle's girlfriend now? Ridiculous thought.

His lips curved into one of his real smiles, not a smirk. "Yes, I want to take you out."

She felt an absurd flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She just… liked him, maybe even more than she'd ever admitted to herself. And it seemed like he really cared about her. For the first time since they'd met, the idea of an actual relationship with Castle didn't seem ludicrous. Rather, the possibility, the hope, of it felt real, tangible. Oh lord, she wanted it, wanted him.

"So we can debrief each other?" she asked, quoting his invitation to her months ago.

His smile slipped a little as he recognized the words and, no doubt, remembered her response then. But everything was different now—well, okay, not everything because she had wanted him then too.

"Hmm," she lowered her lips to hover just above his, "why don't you convince me."

He huffed a laugh before he rolled her over, trapping her beneath the weight of his body, one of his legs sliding between hers, as he kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with devastating thoroughness before he moved on, stringing kisses along her jaw.

"Challenge accepted, Detective," he husked against her throat, nuzzling her neck with soft damp kisses, his lips and tongue somehow finding every sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch into him.

And her last coherent thought was that if this was what being Rick Castle's girlfriend was like, she could really, really get used to this—and enjoy every minute of it too.

~The End~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers!