Undercover Lovers #21: Let's Just F*** It Out

So this was supposed to be a sex scene (it IS the third week) but I just couldn't do it so it's an...almost sex scene. I'm just glad that I managed to write 1.5K for this scene. I've been having problems writing in order when it comes to Morbid Curiosity so I'm going to try writing the scenes that come to me rather than the next sequence. See if  it helps the flow. I just hate introducing characters, it's one of my least favourite parts of writing. And maybe that's come from too much fan fiction writing but I'm not about to worry about it while I'm in the midst of a writing program that's more about the word count than the content. I just need to get words on paper.

And if some of you aren't following the @JuNoWriMo handle on twitter, you really should because four times a week I host Writing Sprints and there are, I think, nine other writers who host sprints. It's lots of fun.

Well anyways, let's just get to the scene. See? Impatient.

The door shook as Kate Beckett slammed it behind her. The air around her was steaming and Castle had nowhere to go, trapped against the island countertop while his girlfriend stalked towards him. “What the hell was that today, Castle?”

“I was just trying to”

“Try to what; get yourself killed?” There were toe to toe, breathing the same hot air, same heart racing – though Castle was pretty sure they were beating for different reasons at the moment.

“Trying to protect you from getting killed. Or do you not remember the gunman holding you hostage.”

“Yes I remember. I remember that he was lowering his weapon until you barged in with my spare weapon, waving it around like you were a cop.” She almost smacked him when she raised her hands in a mocking rendition of Castle’s heroic entrance.

“No I’m not a cop but I am your partner. You can’t just leave me in the car anymore.” It didn’t work when he was her shadow and it certainly wouldn’t work now.

“The killer was after you. I couldn’t exactly have you in there with me when we confronted him.” She was really mad at him, he realized. He had to break the tension and get her mind off of his screw up today. His thoughts turned to something she’d whispered in his ear when they were fighting over who ate the last piece of birthday cake.

“Really that’s what you’re going with?” His pants fell to the floor and her eyes followed in surprise. She met his eyes with his hands still around his waist, challenging her. The fire in her chest dropped to her gut when she decided that she was going to play along.

“What else is there?” He didn’t blink at her acceptance. Just bent to pull his socks and shoes off and fling his pants in some random direction that he hoped wouldn’t get in the way later.

“This isn’t about me being a target. This is about you not trusting me anymore.”

“You think I don’t trust you?” Be bold, Kate, she smirked as she tugged at the collar of her purple blouse, tearing it open and placing her hands on her hips.

He stared blatantly at her chest in a hungry leer, admiring the black cotton bra that had kept him sane all day. Now it was no longer needed. Now he’d get to ravish her. He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it towards his pants. “You don’t trust me in the field anymore. Not with a weapon.”

“Because your track record with firearms is so good.” She ripped her shirt from her body, flinging it to the side while she unzipped her pants. Oh he was loving this. “Your aim is terrible.”

He tilted his head, admiring her ass when she bent at the waist to toss down her pants. “Was that a double entendre?” She shot up with a suspicious look in her eyes.

“You think everything is a metaphor for sex.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her task of removing her socks and shoes. “You are so immature sometimes.”

“And you’re no fun.” He tried and failed to unbutton the pesky little buggers on his purple dress shirt until she stepped into his space and looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“I’m no fun?” She ripped his shirt open and he jumped when she leaned in closer, tossing it off his shoulders. “You’re always begging me to entertain you. I’m not your private dancer.” With a smirk and single, practiced flick of his wrist he unclasped her bra, pulling it off with a tug and a fling over his shoulder.

“Could have fooled me.” He glanced down at this goddess powerhouse staring at him like any moment she was going to devour him. He was still debating whether or not that was a good thing. She was just…glowing with beauty. Was she using a new lotion? Was the lighting really funky in her kitchen? He didn’t dare look away to check so he settled on the notion that she was his own personal angel, bared before him in all her glory save for a strip of black fabric against her creamy skin that he longed to touch.

His barefoot Greek goddess with her brown waves piled high on her head and her shoulders rolled back so her chest was open and deliciously inviting. How he longed to taste her flesh with his tongue and teeth. To tear the last barrier from between her body and his eyes and worship her body slowly while she writhed on satin sheets, her moans an unearthly chorus of pleasure. Now he was getting sappy when all she wanted was to jump him and ride him until she saw stars – that much, he knew. He was such a girl.

“You are such a guy.” She decided, shaking her head as her hand came around to his neck and pulled him down for a mouth-watering, forget your name kind of kiss. He stuttered a moment before pulling her up on her toes, pressing their bodies against each other by sheer force of nature. How did she read his mind like that? It probably wasn’t that hard. She read him like a Sunday morning newspaper. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Fool that he was, he pulled her back just enough to take a breath. “So to be clear, we’re done fighting, right?”

“Shut up.” She bit his lip, dipping her hands into the back of his briefs to pull him flush against her body, the meeting of flesh pulling a gasp from both of them.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He smiled into her kiss, tasting her tongue and finally, finally, placing his hands on her breasts, squeezing on sighs from her. One hand abandoned its quest to rake through her hair, pulling out pin after pin until he had a handful of everything but her brown tresses. The damn thing was still in a ponytail. He pulled back when he reached behind to place the pins on the countertop. “You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She smirked, pulling the elastic binding away and releasing the wave of chocolate gold into the world. He really loved her hair. Especially when he got to run his fingers through it and pull her close enough to smell her shampoo; vanilla and honey. “Well I wasn’t expecting to have to do a strip tease when we got home.”

“Oh honey everything you do is a tease.” He dipped low to nip at her neck and collarbone, dragging out his favourites sounds from her wet, open mouth.

“And you mm you ah never tease, right?”

He bit her flesh and her right knee gave in but she recovered by scooping around his neck and licking his shoulder, making him jump. “I never tease, detective.” He sucked harder, pulling her tightly against him with his wandering hands.

“What do you call dropping your pants in the middle of our discussion?” She cupped his shoulder blade, letting his larger frame just envelope her. His warmth, his scent, his sex.

“You call that a discussion?”

“Irrelevant.” She bit and soothed and continued the pattern until he finally found the voice to continue.

“Following your advice, of course.”

Were she of sound mind, the humming in her head would have been background noise but her hands dropping deep into his underwear to sneak them off should have been the first clue that she was too far gone to follow his train of thought. “And what advice was that?”

He nipped his way up to her ear, biting her earlobe before whispering into her boiling skin, aching for his every word. “Let’s just fuck it out.”

She pulled back in shock, hearing her words echoed back in light teasing tones. “Oh you” the rest of her retort was swallowed by his lips and tongue and fingers slowly bringing her over the edge against the counter, then the couch and finally the bed – not quite satin sheets but it didn’t matter with the way she was screaming his name. She returned the favor with tongue and teeth and luscious red lipstick that didn’t stay on long enough to figure out when she’d had time to put it on.

Lying in bed later, sweaty and sated, they agreed not to continue their “discussion” until they were out in public. If only for the sake of her sanity. And his shirts – that was the third one she’d ripped this month. Not that he would bring it up, ever. Whatever his goddess wanted to do, he would gladly obey, if only to see her rip her shirt open in the middle of the kitchen. This was one fight he would be replaying in his head for a while. Skipping the sappy parts of course; his writer brain could fill in whatever details it wanted, but it couldn’t get rid of the vision of Kate Beckett when all she wanted to do was throw things around. “So hot,” he whispered as she suddenly appeared in his view, straddling his hips with a tigress smile on her lips, her claws bared for whatever flesh she could sink into. Yeah, he was good with whatever she wanted to do.