The world twists on a pivot and Castle's shoulders and ears are suddenly surrounded by warm pillows and Beckett smells. He's looking at the marbled paint swirls of her ceiling when she bends over him, her eyes dark and smoky, lips pink even in the limited lighting. 'Little glimmer of colour around her throat as she sways, moves, and Castle has to force himself to breathe when she begins to slide, the little molten ring dribbling down the center of his chest.

He closes his eyes and rocks his head against the pillow, fingers scattering over her shoulders, needing to ground himself in her. He grabs the end of the belt and helps her pull it through the loops on his trousers. It lands with an expensive clunk on the floor.

The weight of her hips on him is enough to make him crazy. He follows the path of her hands, slipping his larger fingers over hers. They fight for a couple of seconds, his blunt nails over the backs of her palms, but they're ostensibly in it for the same thing: the zipper of his pants. He shrinks his shoulder on the mattress and chases a touch up the inside of her thigh.