Little Black Dress

"I'll just be a minute," she says, entering her apartment, leaving Richard Castle alone to close the door.

Castle takes a moment to watch her exit the living room, turning a corner leaving him standing iron clad in tuxedo, carefully hanging onto the moment as she walks from his presence. She is a vision in her strapless, tight fitted, black dress, leaving not much to his imagination, and everything to his desire.

When he had invited her to accompany him to his book signing party, she had demanded there be no presents as before, no lavish dress. She had insisted she could dress herself, and in Kate Beckett fashion she had done it to perfection, with not a single strand of hair out of place, carrying herself in such a manner that Castle seemed to be continually picking his jaw from the floor. He could not turn his gaze and thoughts away from her the entire evening, finding it difficult to pull his hands from her body. He would utter a small groan when he had to draw away from her to sign a book, to give a speech, all in all coming back to her when it had passed.

True, on occasion her back would straighten and she would pull from him slightly, but at the steady motion of his hand she would succumb and relax to fit in tightly beside him. He would notice her look around, her gaze falling on the other women in the room, their eyes turning to her envious. Quietly they would talk to one another; Castle, the envy of their desires. This pleased him, more than any other longing gaze he had ever received; for Beckett was his that night, and he was not going to let his Nikki Heat out of his sight.

So when Beckett received the urgent call, and turned into him whispering, "There's been another murder, I need to go," Castle, without hesitation nodded saying, "We'll slip out the back."

She had told him she needed to change, her high heeled stilettos, incapable of treading across soggy terrain. And as the rain outside falls in sheets across the city of New York, Richard Castle finally takes steps across her living room to her mantle picking up a photo frame. In it a young Kate Beckett smiles uncontrollably as her mother, hair cascading across her face, reaches out, tickling her. Castle can't help but smile placing the photo back in its place, turning the frame with a gentle finger.

Out of the corner of his eye, through partially closed door, he notices. Turning his head he sees her, standing with her back to him, hands fumbling at the top of her zipper, her clasp, unwilling to release. As if by another force he is pulled from his location, quietly stepping across to her door opening it, releasing a small creek.

Her hands stop in their motions, aware of his presence as he draws nearer to her backside.

Without saying a word he reaches up to her hands carefully pulling them from their work, letting them fall to her side. His fingers turn to the clasp, pulling it apart. He takes a moment, his hands gently resting on her back before continuing.

As her head lowers, her hands are brought together in front of her. He draws his attention to her zipper slowly lowering it, his fingers trailing behind, her skin rising at his touch. He is careful not to catch her dress, as new skin is revealed to him, her bare back, her lacy panties.

He finishes his work, his hands pulled away from her skin, drawn to his hair. He sighs turning, walking from the room, leaving her alone standing still. Kate Beckett raises her head letting out a held breath, silently willing her heartbeat to slow.

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