SWEET

She loves seeing him like this - completely flustered, affected by her, the fašade of suave millionaire stripped away leaving simply the man who loves her. Who is in love with her, body and soul.

Following his gaze to the bowl of whipped cream between them, she allows herself a small smile.

He clears his throat. "Did you- did you want me to put that on the nightstand as well?"

Chuckling, she shakes her head and leans forward. She dips her index finger into the bowl, swirls it around a bit, turns her head to let her eyes meet his. "Actually, I thought we might find another use for this."

"Another use?" he asks, voice an octave higher than usual. "Aside from eating it, you mean?"

"Oh, I never said we wouldn't be eating it," she husks. "I just think the cake has enough frosting, don't you?"

His eyes dart toward the already forgotten tray and the half-eaten slices of rich, chocolaty goodness that she'd prepared for him. She smirks, watching as he studies the plates for a moment.

"Yes," he finally says. "Yes, I think you put on just the right amount of frosting."

As he turns back toward her, she moves closer. Surprise leaps in his eyes, and she can tell he barely manages not to jump away at the sudden, unexpected nearness of her.

"You on the other hand," she rumbles, pointing her whipped cream covered finger at his chest, "could use a little more frosting."

He smirks. "I'm not sweet enough as it is?"

She hums low in her throat, watches as his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. "Plenty sweet, but this is mocha-flavored, and you know how I like my coffee."

Not waiting for an answer, she swipes her finger across the tan skin at his clavicle, the narrow swath left bare by the open collar of his dark green shirt.

"Kate," he gasps, his hand rising to cup her elbow, tugging her closer.

She leans in, needs no further help from him to close the distance between them, her mouth covering his warm skin, tongue scooping up the rich cream. The flavors mingle on her tastebuds - coffee and sugar and cream and Richard Castle.

His large hands claw at her sides, fingers clenching in the thin fabric as she works her mouth at the exposed part of his chest and then trails upward across the muscles of his throat until her teeth can scrape against the tender skin just below his ear.

"Delicious," she whispers, one hand braced on his chest as she takes the soft lobe of his ear between her lips, laving it.

He whimpers, actually whimpers, and she can feel his heart racing under her palm.

"Good-"

Whatever he was going to say gets cut off, her mouth covering his.

He doesn't hesitate to let her in, has never hesitated since that first night, and she's grateful for it. Grateful for the way he takes from her and gives back in return. Grateful for the way he blends his strength and tenderness, firm strokes and soft teasing and all the things that drive her crazy.

Her fingers walk across his chest, one hand at his side, bracing her weight while the other commences work on his buttons.

She's an expert at this already - undoing his buttons blind. It's too hard to break from his mouth until she has something else to replace it.

His tongue strokes against the roof of her mouth just as she finishes the last button, and she presses against him, the smooth slide of the sheer fabric between their bodies drawing a moan from her lips. He smiles into the kiss, releases a little puff of air that might even be a laugh.

Reaching behind her with her now unoccupied hand, Kate uses two fingers to scoop up another dollop of whipped cream. He's far too distracted to notice, not with her teeth rasping against the slight stubble at his jaw.

She arches, fusing their mouths together swiftly, drawing a guttural grunt from him as their middles meet too. And then she presses her fingers to the slight dip in his abdomen just above his belly button.

"Cold!" he cries out, his spine curving involuntarily away from the sensation, forcing his hips harder into hers.

She groans at the pressure but drops her mouth from his chin where her lips landed when he jerked against her.

His gasp of surprise mellows to heavy panting as her lips trail down his neck to his smooth chest, detouring from the center to slick her tongue across one flat nipple before continuing on her path. He inhales sharply when she reaches the cream, sucks it into her mouth with an obscene slurp.

"You're going to kill me," he murmurs as she nips at his skin.

His fingers skim against her forehead, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and she looks up, finds a heady blend of lust and worship swirling in his eyes. She presses her lips to his flesh, soft now, whispers against his skin. "I hope not."

He leans down then, but doesn't kiss her as she expects he will. Instead, he curls his body over hers, and she's not entirely sure what he's doing until she feels his fingers at her thighs, hooking under the scalloped edges of the light purple lace.

Slowly, the backs of his fingers brushing gently against her the whole way up, he pulls the garment over her body. She lifts up, makes it a little easier for him, stretches her arms over her head.

Her hair billows around her as he pulls it away, and when she meets his gaze again, a deep purple thong her only covering now, his eyes are on hers, all dark mischief.

He lunges toward her, presses against her until she rests on her back with his hips nestled securely between her thighs. His body rising above her, braced with one arm, she sees his other hand dragging the curiously untoppled bowl of whipped cream up the bedspread.

"Your turn," he whispers.

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