While she's gone he's got his thumb against his bottom lip, trying to pin down her taste and sort it from the thousand-and-one other sensory things he's experiencing at that second. The impression of Beckett's body is still warm in the mattress next to him; he reaches out and fills the shape of her hips with his palm. Warm. Soft.

He hears old floorboards bending beneath small feet and lifts himself up on his elbow as she appears in the doorway. Moonlight shafts through a gap in the blinds; she looks timid. Castle can see the outline of her bare breast and the upright arm that covers it, her attempt at modesty.

His eyes are heavy with the sight of her.

"C'mere," he says quietly, turning out his palm.