Talented Tongue

a Caskett story

Richard Castle had a talented tongue.

This was something that Kate Beckett had always long suspected. Glimpsing the flick of his tongue as he wetted his lips had made her wet. His syntax, pronunciation, and oratory skills, the way he crafted words together made it obvious. The man was constantly talking. He just couldn't stop. He would go on for hours and hours if she didn't shut him up.

Yet now that they were finally together, Kate had discovered a far better use for his tongue and that gorgeous mouth. Not to mention, a far more pleasurable way to shutting him up.

She loved nothing more at the end of a long day, than to recline back against the pillows as he slowly peeled off her pants and underwear, teasing her with light, soft kisses across her bare thigh. She bit her lip, stifling the rising moan of want as he did so, pretending to resist his attempt to coax her legs apart. He'd glare up at her, and she'd smirk back, all playful and coy. But soon, she'd always surrender, opening up for him and his hungry mouth. He loved feasting on her. No other boyfriend had enjoyed that as much as Castle, and she relished in that, reveled in the joy and pleasure of being feasted on.

He would taunt her with a flash of tongue before diving in, taking her with his mouth. Using his tongue to best advantage, circling and teasing, flicking, flirting his way all over her nerves and core, making her squirm and gasp, whimper. All the little noises her pulled from her throat were new and fresh. She'd never felt this way before… with anyone.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Kate would cry it over and over, sometimes chanting his name, pleading with him, begging, debasing herself with her devastating need to be feasted on by him. Castle would stare at her with hungry eyes, a mischievous smirk touching his lips, before flicking his tongue out and wetting his lips, and then diving in for another round.

Kate would clutch at his hair, tugging on the strands, encouraging him on, rewarding him with a sultry moan, his name falling from her lips as he lathered his magical tongue over her weeping core. His hands would grip her long legs, keeping them parted, wider and wider, giving himself room to work. And boy did he work. Castle worked wonders between her thighs, and she'd lean back into the cushions and bask in the waves of orgasmic pleasure as he brought her to the peak again, and again, and again.

He made her see stars.

And when she was sated beyond belief, blissed out, barely coherent, Castle would climb over her rippling body, kissing her deeply, and then, after staring longingly into her eyes, full of love and affection, he would ram home, sending shards of pleasure pulsing through her veins, as he took her. She'd clutch his shoulders, rolling and rocking her hips in time with his thrusts, meeting him stroke for stroke. She loved his ass, the plump muscle under her hands, her nails digging into the flesh to coax him on.

Harder, Castle!

Faster, Castle!

Yes, Castle! Yes!

On and on, until she climaxed again and he was falling with her over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Kate Beckett had found her match in Richard Castle. Curled in his arms, in the sweet afterglow of their lovemaking, she knew that he was it. He was the only one for her. Her one and done. There was no other. And that made her brilliantly happy and almost giddy, as if the world was new. So when, on that fateful day, when he went down on bended knee, despite all the other things swelling around in her life, threatening to pull her this way or that, she knew, even if she had trouble voicing it after he asked, that her answer would always be yes.

originally posted on tumblr, accompanied by a NSFW photo, for CastlePornado: lordofkavaka tumblr com/post/180193158011