A/N: As the rating indicates - this is M content, people :). I didn't want to start right in the middle of things, so I included the end of chapter 31 in here. If you're very impatient and do not care much for re-reading things you just had your eyes on last week, you're welcome to skip to the third section of this!

"Stop it," Kate chides in that breathy, laughter-filled voice that makes it okay to keep going, makes it okay for him to slip his fingers under the hem of her coat and brush his cold wet fingertips to the small of her back. She squirms, her hips dancing as she leads the way into the hotel.

"Castle," she hisses, a little more warning to it this time. He drops his hand with a sigh, tries to be good. Despite the winter clothes, the thick coat and sweater, he's very much soaked - his fault for forgetting how stubborn and relentless Kate Beckett can be. If her shivering's any indication, she's not faring much better than he is.

But oh, it was worth it. He can't remember the last time they had such innocent, mindless fun.

He smiles and nods to the friendly guy at the desk on their way back to the room, pauses to shake hands with a couple who were in the steam room with him and Kate last night, and when he finally catches up to Beckett she's already got the door open, is waiting on him with a crooked smile. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes without you making friends, huh?"

He chuckles and gives a little shrug - can't help it really, it's in his nature to mingle. Her eyes are laughing at him when he walks past her and into their suite, and he's taking off his coat when a sharp pinch at his ass makes him jump. "Beckett!"

"Really, you're gonna play it indignant? I thought you were a man of the world, Castle. Hundreds of conquests and all that. You telling me it was all an act?"

He turns to her, assessing her face, trying to decide if there's anything behind that playful look. "Not an act, no," he says anyway, going for complete honesty because it's worked for him before. "Sometimes I wish it had been. But I just - hadn't found the right person yet."

"Is that so." There's a kind of hum to her voice that betrays her amusement. He steps a little closer, encouraged, enthralled by her deep, quiet tones.

"You might've heard of her. Amazing woman, bright mind, sharp tongue. Killer cheekbones. During the day she's a detective with the NYPD, and at night-"

"Castle," she cuts off, a subtle threat to the word.

"At night she comes home to me," he finishes, the words catching in his throat. "Teaches me how to be a better man. Doesn't sound like much when you say it like that, but I can assure you, it's a full-time job. Probably takes a lot more out of her than chasing criminals, although I guess you could also say it's more rewarding. Definitely includes more sex, well - at least, I hope-"

He never gets to say the rest of that sentence, because while he was talking - blabbering away like the moron he is - Kate's unzipped her coat and stepped into him in one fluid move, shrugged off her jacket even as she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

He kisses her back, more of a stupid reflex than anything else. Her lips are cold but her tongue is warm, slippery and clever against his own; he breathes through his nose and the smell of her unfurls in his lungs, wet snow and perspiration and underneath a faint whiff of her shampoo, fruits and something sharper, something purely Beckett. He's vaguely aware that she's pushing him towards the bed, making him sit down and straddling his lap, but he's too busy exploring her mouth and untangling the threads of her scent. It's only when she pushes his coat off his shoulders, pulls his sweater over his head that he comes back to himself.

"Kate," he gasps, his eyes opening again, his chest tight.

She brushes her lips against his, so soft, her fingers tingling at his nape. "Shhh," she says. "We're okay. All good."

She slips a hand under his t-shirt, splays it on his bare stomach; her palm is cold, damn it, but he can't deny it does it even more for him. His abs shiver and contract at her touch, along with other parts of him, and he closes his eyes and tries to find the strength, to remember why-

Her teeth nip at his collarbone and he jerks, whimpers, feels the purposeful weight of her in his lap. Oh god, oh god. "Kate." It's more of a growl this time.

"I want you," she whispers in his ear, a little desperate, a lot determined. "Castle. Only you."

Fuck. Her hands run over his chest, warmer now, and she slowly peels the t-shirt off him, her mouth pressing hot and wet around his nipples. He clenches his jaw and suppresses a moan, can't do anything to stop her erotic undressing of him when she's towering above him like a goddess, taking everything she wants.

She takes off her own sweater, her long-sleeved shirt; he stares at her exposed skin, the delicate jut of her collarbones in the tiny tank top, and he wants to cry. His hands are resting loosely at her thighs until she takes them in her own, brings them up to her waist like parenthesis. She cradles his face, the touch of her fingers feather-light. "Castle," she murmurs, kissing his lips, trading breaths. He can hear the plea in her voice, the brimming desire, and it speaks to some deep, primal part of him.

"Are you sure," he rasps, can't help himself. He feels her huffed laugh, her smile against his mouth, and she nibbles at his bottom lip.

"Yes," she says.

So he closes his eyes and he slides his hands under her top.

Having him touch her - having his fingers trail fire across her bare skin - she can't seem to keep her eyes open. They slam shut without her permission, everything made more intense by the darkness, every whorl of his fingertips, every brush of his mouth. Sounds climb her throat and sneak out of her lips - raw, keening moans that don't sound anything like her - and Kate arches, lets her head fall back, her hips instinctively rocking against his. She feels him reach for the clasp of her bra, feels the fabric loosen and fall away, and then there's the hot press of his mouth right there at her bullet scar.

Shit, Castle.

She wants him to move. She wants to dry hump against him until she's satisfied - anything will do at this stage, really - but no. No. He's going to worship her, of course; he's going to adore every inch of her and make her chest burn with unshed tears.

She shuts her eyes tighter and pushes a harsh hand to the back of his neck, presses his face between her breasts. But he won't obey her silent command. He keeps it slow, gentle, keeps her body burning with ever-brighter need.

So she bites her bottom lip and slides her hand down, down to the zipper of his pants and the thing she wants more than anything. Castle jerks and gasps into her skin when she cups him, instinctively finding the touch that used to drive him crazy and apparently still does. She chases his mouth, kisses him sweetly even as she works button and zipper open, strokes her thumb to his underwear.

He curses against her lips, his voice so rough, almost a sob. The power she has over him, the strength of the connection between them is enough to make her giddy. Her blood thrums with a sharp flare of want, the need to feel him, have him, be one with him, and she presses her palm into his erection, lets her fingers curl.

"Kate, Kate," he chants, breaking away from her mouth. His eyes are closed, his face twisted in something that looks more like agony than pleasure. She eases her touch, turns it to a caress, but still he won't look at her, still his breathing is like a drowning man's.

"Rick," she murmurs, calling him back to her. She brushes her lips at his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. He shivers deeply against hers and she withdraws her hand completely, skims his abs instead. "Pants need to come off," she says, nuzzling his mouth. She lifts up and gets off his lap, setting one foot after the other down on the floor, trailing a hand at his knee in invitation.

He opens his eyes and watches her. In the last, fading glimmers of daylight she can see love and arousal play out on his face, but also more hesitation than she'd like. Kate releases a breath and reaches out, laces their fingers. "What," she says, barely a question.

He blinks, looking for a moment like a little boy caught. Then he pushes himself off the bed, stands tall and broad before her, and he does the one thing she didn't expect: he pulls her to him for a tight hug.

It does something for him, being able to hold her like that, cradle her close; it loosens something in his chest that her purposeful, seducing touch couldn't. She's a little stiff against him, surprised probably, and he's got to be killing the mood but he just can't let go. He buries his nose into her soft hair, the smell of her skin, strokes his thumbs to the small of her back and commits this moment to memory.

Kate Beckett half-naked against him, warm and real, glorious.

"I love you," he says, hears his own voice breaking. Kate lets out a startled breath at his neck and suddenly her arms come up around his waist, claiming.

"Castle," she rasps. But he's not looking for an answer; he's content just speaking the words. Only problem is, now that he's started he can't keep the rest from tumbling out of his mouth.

"Just don't leave me again. I can't do it without you, Kate. I can't. I tried, but I just - it wasn't - I wasn't me anymore. I can't be me if you're dead, Beckett."

"You can," she says fiercely, lips moving against his skin. "And I'm not. I'm here now. There won't be any leaving, Rick."

"Promise me," he asks like a stubborn child, like a selfish man ignoring three months' worth of therapy. Kate's fingers dance at his sides, gentling, and he resists the urge to take the words back, to be reasonable again.

He can't be reasonable when he spent a year and a half thinking she was dead and now he's finally holding her in his arms again, her softness of her breasts against his skin. If he's going to give her what they both want, make love to her - risk his heart all over again - he needs an assurance of some kind. He needs something.

Kate's hands are stroking his shoulders, up and down, up and down, and after a moment he realizes what she wants and he releases her, gives her a chance to move back and look at him. Her face is determined, her dark eyes alight with a love that cuts right through his chest. She lifts up and pushes a solid kiss to his mouth, strong and certain, and then she drops back to her feet.

"Always," she tells him.

He's such a beautiful man. The way his face lights up, the joy that bursts out in his eyes, the smile that parts his mouth. It leaves her breathless and propels her up on tiptoe again, their bodies aligned and his heat so close, his lips giving under hers. He wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand curling around her neck and threading through her hair, and the arousal that had dropped to a mere hum in her veins immediately turns back to a full-fledged song.

Castle nips at her bottom lip and drags a moan out of her, strokes his tongue into her mouth. Her hips rise eagerly, her whole body yearning for more, more contact, more of him, and she feels his hand trail across her side to the zipper of her pants. Yes, yes, she thinks, trying to create space between them, help him along. But he growls and crushes her back to him - oh, the delicious pressure - and so she just pants and lets him do it himself, distracting him with kisses peppered along his jaw.

He grunts and shivers at her touch, but he does manage to yank the pants down her thighs. She does the rest while he watches with dark eyes, reaches for her the moment the black fabric falls to the floor. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs against her cheek, and his hand finally finds its way to her nipple, makes her gasp even as he slides a thigh between hers. He's still wearing his jeans - damn it, Castle, what the hell - but she can't deny that the friction makes it even better, the rough fabric pressed to her delicate skin.

She digs her nails into his upper arm and tries to ride the sensitive overload, the burn of his mouth at her neck and the dance of his fingers at her breast, the hard thigh she can't help but grind onto. She wants - she wants him, wants more than his elusive, elaborate teasing, but the words - she can't quite get a grip on them.

He must know, or more likely he wants the same things as she does, because he spins them towards the bed, walks her back slowly. She mewls when he lifts her up to lay her down on the covers, his hands hot and sure around her ass. He deserts her then, long enough for her frustrated eyes to open and seek his; she sees him push down his pants, get rid of his socks, and anticipation swirls inside her. Rick catches her looking and gives her that crooked, sexy-as-hell smile.

He's still in his boxers when he climbs onto the bed, comes for her. Kate takes his kiss, opening up for him and winding her arms around his neck, but too quickly he abandons her mouth, wanders down her chest. His lips - oh, oh, his tongue is exquisite, a blazing gorgeous thing, and Kate writhes and moans, only barely holds off on the begging.

When his fingers skim her hip, the line of her underwear, her breath catches.

The world stills.

"Kate," he calls softly, his voice so gentle. "Look at me."

Oh. She blinks her eyes open, props herself up on an elbow. He's kneeling between her legs, his hands resting on her hips, and the patient, loving look on his face makes her swallow.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, stroking his thumbs over her dark cotton panties.

She stares at him for a few seconds, uncomprehending, until she realizes what he's doing.

Asking her. Asking for permission.

She nods twice, slowly, because the words won't come. All gone. Castle looks like he's holding out for an actual answer though, damn him, so she clears her throat, drags the word out of her lungs. "Yes."

He leans over her, his face so serious, slides his fingers underneath her panties. She lifts up her pelvis to help him, can't help a shiver at the touch of his hands. His eyes glance back at her, noticing, seeing too much, but still he finishes pulling the piece of fabric down her legs, off of her. Then he strokes a light finger to the place where her leg meets her hip, making her tremble again, her eyes slamming shut on a wince.

Shit.

"My mouth?" he asks. The suggestion, the words, his voice - it all washes hotly over her, burns away anything that isn't arousal.

She grunts out some kind of agreement, giving up on coherence and articulation. They understand each other in bed, always have, and she knows that he-

Oh, yes. Oh fuck, yes.

Kate whimpers at the faintest touch of his lips, the warm impressions of his breath nearly doing it for her. She's dropped back down to the pillow, is vaguely aware that her body's arched up towards him, seeking, wanting, needing. It doesn't matter now, nothing matters but Castle and his mouth, his filthy, beautiful mouth that is not doing anything it should be. He's skimming the taut line of her abs with his lips, light kisses at first and then harder presses, glimpses of tongue that drive her insane, leave her gasping for more. Lower, Castle, come on-

She might have said the words out loud, because he does move down. To her thigh. She could cry in frustration, but then his mouth opens at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and he sucks, slowly, leisurely, making her squirm and curse at him. Out of nowhere it hits her - where his mouth is at, what he's been doing - oh shit, Castle. Kissing her scars?

He is. He really is. It's the reminder of the bullet wound he's making love to now, licking and gentling the skin, cradling it like a precious thing, and she just - she can't-

Kate shuts her eyes tighter, but it doesn't work. She can't keep it from leaking out of her, her absolute love for that man and the way he cares for her, cherishes her, would do just about anything for her.

She's raw and naked against him and the moment he abandons her thigh, pushes the flat of his tongue against her, she shatters apart without any warning, the jerks of her body like great sobs of relief.

Rick lifts up on his elbows to watch her face clenched in ecstasy, her pink open mouth, lashes so dark against her cheeks. Most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

He presses his mouth lightly to her hip, drifts up her body to kiss the rise of a breast, the jut of her collarbone. He gives her time to come down, drawing mindless patterns across her skin with his free hand, and finally he brushes his lips to hers. "You okay?" he murmurs, a tug of concern at his heart when he finds her eyes closed still.

The scent of her is overwhelming, an exotic tang of sex and sweat that is exactly like his memories.

Kate's mouth curls into a smile. It's a rather stunning one, opening wide and showing teeth, and when she opens her eyes they're full and brimming and it's all for him. Because of him. "The word okay," she says in a voice that's dark and throaty and downright sinful, "does not come anywhere close to describing how I feel right now, Castle."

He grins at her, more relief than pride really, and nuzzles at her cheek. "If you have more appropriate words, Kate, feel free to share."

She bites playfully at his bottom lip; he groans and she releases him, a sharp flick of her tongue that makes his insides jump. "Show you instead," she says, and before he knows what's happening - how - she's flipped them over and she's the one on top.

His hot, bad-ass detective.

Kate kisses his mouth deeply, drinking from him before she sits up, and his heart - seeing her back to her leanly muscular self, the proud flare of her breasts, the mess of her curls falling over her shoulders - it nearly does him in.

"Kate," he rasps, a warning. He's not sure what she has in mind, but he's already strung so tight he won't be able to take much more. She trails her fingers down his chest, bows over him to lick at his nipple. Her hair tickles and his hips buck, nothing to be done for it. "Kate." Pleading this time.

"I love you," she murmurs, and his skin ripples with her touch, her words. "Rick. I love the way you look at me, the way you see me. The real me. Not the police detective, not the victim, not the woman who fell from that bridge. Just me."

Her hand trails over his ribs and abs and waist. When she finds his cock and curls her fingers, the groan he makes tangles with her own small, heartbreaking sound of need.

Shit. It's torture, the sweetest kind, but he's not - he's - Kate-

"Not gonna last," he manages to get out through gritted teeth, the last word ending on a hiss when her thumb strokes the head of him. She gives another gentle squeeze and then lets go, leaning all the way into him again, his cock trapped between their stomachs. His blood pounds.

Her kiss is soft, a touch of lips and tongue, the exact opposite of her words. "I wish I could take you in my mouth. Feel you on my tongue. The sounds you make, Castle, when I take you so deep-"

He keens - probably the exact sound she had in mind - and he wraps his arms tighter around her, as if by pressing her into him he might somehow get what he's longing for. "Enough," he grunts. "Enough teasing." Or he's gonna come at just the sound of her voice.

"Never enough," she says with a hint of a smile, but she does move back, settling on her knees even as her fingers find him again.

She's watching him and he's watching her, their connection so strong, almost palpable, and she gives him no warning at all - only a minuscule intake of breath, the slightest flutter of her lashes - before she sinks down onto him.

Castle lets his head fall back with a moan, overwhelmed, the sensation too much, too good. She's incredibly wet and fits like a glove around him, tight and burning and glorious; he forgets to breathe and lets his eyes drift shut as she comes closer, takes him deeper into herself.

"Castle," she breathes when their pelvises touch, when he can't tell anymore where she ends and he begins. He opens his eyes. Kate is motionless above him, her face drawn in concentration, eyebrows knit. Worry surges up in his chest and he pushes himself into a sitting position, tries to ignore the delicious friction that burns right through him.

Beckett parts her mouth and gasps, eyes flicking up to his in something like wonder, nails scratching at his chest; it hits him that she's - that it's not discomfort she's experiencing. Oh. "Don't move," she says, lashes fluttering like she's right there already, poised at the edge. "Fuck, Castle, don't-"

He looks at her, stunned, joyful, so very in love with her in that moment, and slowly, slowly, he smoothes his fingers over the curve of her ass. She arches a little and then shudders, clenching her teeth; he grips her waist and uses whatever small leverage he has to inch back, shallowly thrust into her again.

Her body stiffens at once, eyes flying open in surprise, and it takes only the brush of his thumb at her clit to make her come apart around him, a clutch so intense that he's sucked into the storm with her, the brilliant rush of pleasure wiping everything out.

Kate lies on her side under the covers, an arm thrown across Castle's chest, her nose brushing his shoulder. Her eyes are closed but she's not asleep. He might be though. Her arm rises and falls with each of his deep, even breaths, and he's been quiet for too long. No way he's still awake.

She exhales and lets her lips wander around the curve of his shoulder, the hard ridge of bone and muscle. There's something miraculous about being able to do just this, lying in bed with him, their legs tangled, her breathing in time to his. She smiles to herself and feathers her fingers at his side, tempted to wake him for another round. The shower stall is nice and wide, could easily accommodate two people. She hums at the thought, lets the fantasy unfurl in her mind: the slide of hot water down her body, Castle's skin glistening with it, his eager hands and eyes and mouth.

Her stomach growls, cutting right through the delicious, erotic vision, and Kate huffs a laugh. Right. They did skip dinner. It must be, what, eight or nine now? She could technically roll around and check her phone, but... huh. Actually. Where is her phone? Oh, probably somewhere on the floor. Wherever her jacket landed.

She smiles and snuggles closer into Castle's side, lets out a content little sigh. She'll let him sleep some more; dinner can wait. This right here - this is what she's been craving all this time.

Rick makes a soft grunting sound and twitches in his sleep, his knee bumping into hers under the covers. The touch is intimate, familiar, and it makes Kate close her eyes, choke up a little with it. How good they can be.

Whatever he wants, she thinks. Whatever he wants, a life with her, a house, little kids with her eyes and his smile - she'll never be able to say no to him. She'll never want to say no to him again.

This is the man who's brought light into her life, who gave her hope with his words years before they even met. The man who loves her.

And they've lost enough time as it is.