Title: Broken
Rating: It's still only T – bordering on M and will eventually be MA rated, which of course you will find on my website when that time comes!
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I'm borrowing them for fun and oh-so naughty things!
Author's Note: I know it's taken a couple of days for this to be up and I apologise for the delay. I'm feeling really tired for some reason and as soon as I sit on my bed all I can think about is sleep. Tonight I told myself I wasn't allowed to go to sleep until I had finished another chapter of Broken. So if you are reading this, I am asleep – tucked under my duvet dreaming of nice things (hopefully) and it would be wonderful for me to wake up with an inbox filled with reviews! Hint, hint. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed so far – the response has been amazing and I am very much encouraged!
B&B
I wake to Downtown FM playing a track from the 1980s, the guitar-heavy tune oddly reminiscent of my childhood. For the longest few seconds, as I gaze towards the window, my mind is absent of the burdens that weigh me down during the day. Halfway between being awake and comprehending - when I am waiting on that 'first thought of the day' Seconds tick by and I feel contented and then slowly the mood shifts, the delicate balance tilts and I wonder what that warmth is by my side.
And suddenly it all clicks into place; Booth, his amnesia, the breakthrough last night, his warm body lying next to mine beneath the duvet. Then I hear the soft heavy breaths he emits, still asleep. I am in bed with my partner - the man whose body I have longed for and imagined for years.
Turning over, I watch him - flat on his back he is not bare-chested as I had somehow imagined he would be. He wears an old red cotton t-shirt with a small hole in the sleeve. It's a favourite of his, I can tell, for the dye has long since washed out and the brand logo, whatever it was, is barely visible emblazoned across his chest. His hands are folded primly across his abdomen, as though he had wanted to ensure they didn't wander off on a trail all of their own, during the night. I smile, propping myself on my elbow. His face is devoid of expression - perfectly relaxed. He is a startlingly attractive man, who doesn't snore, it seems and who sleeps with his mouth closed. I think about my own sleeping habits and hope I don't sound like a wild boar at three am. The thought is enough to make my cheeks pink.
I'm fully dressed, too, in a pale yellow pyjama set I bought last summer for when the temperature soared to be hotter than hell. He undressed me and redressed me, I know. Preserving my modesty like the true gentleman he is. I smile again, dropping my head back to the pillow. It feels nice to indulge in this quiet reflection, wondering what he is dreaming and what thoughts might have went through his mind last night as he prepared me for bed. Did he see my asexually or... as I hope... did he see me as a woman?
I lie next to him, revelling in his proximity to me. It occurs to me that I've never really had such an emotional tie to a man before. I cannot deny that physically, yes, there have been partners who have been very much compatible with me. But on a more emotional level there has never been anyone who cared enough to look beyond the pure, rational scientist in me and see how I thought and felt as a human being. Except Booth – and now his memories have been stolen away so cruelly at a time when we were so very close to crossing that final hurdle.
"You look deep in thought." His voice startles me from the depths of my reverie and I realise only now that he has woken up and that he is watching me with curious dark eyes – the colour of black tea. "Anything troubling you?" He shifts to his side, tucking his hands under the pillow and we lie there, face to face, like age-old lovers sharing a leisurely Sunday-morning conversation. Except it isn't Sunday and we aren't age-old lovers.
"Thank you for bringing me to bed last night," I say after a moment. "I was more exhausted than I had realised." I can vaguely recall some animal documentary and then nothing. "I was going to take you to the Jeffersonian today and show you around." I give a long stretch that loosens out the kinks in my joints. He watches me closely and I sense a glint of lust in his eyes. I like it. "I can introduce you to everyone again." He nods politely but I can tell his interest is waning. I glance down and see that the top two buttons have come undone on my pyjama top and there is a certain indecency to how much flesh I am showing. Instead of hurrying to cover myself up as I would normally do, I pull my shoulders back and push my chest out, my breasts straining subtly against the material.
His eyes lower and I can see the conflicted emotions flicker across his face. Part of him wants to remain the perfect gentleman that he has been thus far and the majority of him wants to tear the clothes from me and test his theory about how much I respond to him. What he does instead, I can only assume, is a compromise. Booth shifts closer and removing his hand from beneath the pillow he sinks his fingers into my hair, his palm cupping the back of my head. His touch against my scalp – certainly one of my most easily stimulated erogenous zones – sends a shockwave of pleasurable tingles along my spine. With painstaking consideration he lowers his head and glides his lips across mine in a sensuous, teasing kiss. I can feel the tepid warmth of his breath against my skin and the soft tenderness of his mouth as he stills.
He is savouring the moment, drawing in the memory of this first tender kiss between us. He doesn't realise it, but I am too. Neither of us have ever shared a non-orchestrated kiss and one with such an erotic promise of things to come. My body is taut, his fingers releasing my hair to cup my breast in his palm, gently testing the weight of my flesh to his touch. My nipples tighten at once, his tongue parting my lips with the kind of expert skill that makes my knees feel unsteady. I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and urging him to touch me more – to explore every part of my body and leave no inch of me untouched, un-kissed.
I want to be made love to, to know what it's like to be pleasured and brought to unbelievable heights of ecstasy by this man. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to turn back now. Between my legs a hot pulse throbs insistently and I yearn for him. His thumb flicks my nipple through the yellow cotton, pinching and teasing it until I am sure my body is almost humming. Then I realise it's my own voice, purring encouragement as he kisses me.
When he pulls back my sex-dazed mind doesn't immediately comprehend what he is doing. I lie still, watching him through heavily lidded eyes half expecting him to remove his clothes before starting on mine. He doesn't. He kisses me again, briefly, tucking my hair behind my ears with a tender compassion that almost makes me cry. "What... are you doing?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"We have a history together, Temperance," he tells me softly. "Secrets shared and something that makes this-" he gestured to the space between our bodies, "so special. I want to know more about our life together, what made us feel this way in the first place, before I make love to you." I swallow my disappointment, forgetting entirely that although I can remember every meal we shared at the diner and every conversation we had over a cup of coffee and a cherry pie, he cannot. The only thing he has is the gut feeling that we shared something deep and meaningful. I smile at him.
"You take as long as you need," I reassure him, touching his face. "Let me have a shower and then we can get some breakfast before our visit." I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, collecting my belongings as if by default. My mind is still lost in his kiss, the effect his touch has on me physically. "You can change the radio over, if you prefer something a bit more modern." He reclines against the pillows, his arms tucked behind his head. He is semi-erect beneath the blanket and the knowledge of this gives me a little thrill. At least I am not the only one whose hormones are raging out of control.
As I step beneath the hot spray of the shower, I cannot resist touching myself. Within the privacy of my own bathroom I believe I am not committing any sin. I keep my eyes shut, imagining that it is not my own hands but his, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples, stroking my clitoris. His effect on me is too fresh in my mind and it takes only a matter of moments before I come, mouthing his name silently as I picture what he will feel like inside me, thrusting and calling out my name.
Washing off sticky nectar of my orgasm, I massage passion fruit shampoo into my hair, rinse it and towel off, dressing in my bathrobe. When I emerge the bed is empty and I am surprised to find the blankets smoothed and the pillows plumped against the headboard. The radio is off now and from my kitchen I can hear the sounds of breakfast in preparation. Wrapping my hair in a towel, I smile to myself. How easily could I get used to this easy domestication we've fallen into in just a single day?
I need to help him get his memory back so that maybe we have a shot at making a future together.
Banishing all sexual thoughts from my mind, I dip my hand into the memory box I have accumulated and remove Jasper the Pig.
Another day has begun and it's time, once again, the work on the healing process.
***
Well thank you for reading. I've given this a quick proof read, but I am really so tired and I've probably missed some errors. Please send me a quick review and let me know what you're thinking and if you're liking this so far!