The hand at her side turns, drawing the warm weight of her breast into his hand. Beckett's a beautiful woman and he'd be lying if he said he never imagined her like this (if it even needed saying) but imagining an seeing are two different animals entirely. In the dark, half light of the lamp he sees a constellation of freckles across her skin; a smooth cafe ole birthmark stamped on the inside of her breast, the skin a half shade darker than the rest of her. Her mother's ring on its chain lies between on her breasts like an insignia. He brushes the fine silver links with the tips of his fingers, hand sliding up to cup her cheek and draw her in for another kiss.

God, what he wouldn't do to protect her. She'd be mortified to know that he spends half his time admiring her and the other half trying to find ways to keep her away from the heartbreak she's made her constant companion. She doesn't need protecting. She doesn't need to be saved. But if she needs help forgetting, even for a little while, Castle is there for her.

He shifts his thigh between her legs, drawing his body out over hers, hands shifting over her breasts, belly and hips.