hello, hello... :) thanks so much for all your patience, you guys (well, some of you... :)) i had a great time with my friend, and i was sad to see her go this morning, but i had to return her to her husband.

this next chapter will probably make quite a few of you very happy... it's not the end, however. i don't this story will be epic, by any means, but i'll probably have a few more chapters to deal with the issues i've brought up in the first three. hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think. xoxo mia

Chapter four.

The only lights in the kitchen casting a glow on them belong to the top of the stove and the cupboard above the sink, and Temperance wonders briefly whether or not he can see her blush. It is probably insignificant at this point – she is physically trembling, her knees wobbly and her breath slightly uneven.

"Which is it Bones?" he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Huh?"

Unaccustomed to feeling so out of control, she rallies bravely, raising her eyes to meet his and nearly loses her breath again. He is heavy-lidded, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. She can feel his breath against the side of her face, and his scent is making her feel dizzy. Soap, aftershave and something else; something strictly belonging to Seeley Booth – and it leads her mind immediately to sex and bare skin.

This is her partner. She knows him, she's eaten meals across from the table from him for over two years, has hugged him close, has cried on his shoulder. He's given her more in the last two years than anyone else has since she was a child. She trusts him with her life, she trusts him to take the information she pulls from the dead and to flip the tables on the people who so willingly take a life. And she trusts him with her family, with her secrets.

So why is everything suddenly changing? Why do his arms that trap her against him suddenly seem so fascinating, why is she suddenly trying to remember exactly how he tasted two nights before? The ferocity and the swiftness in this sudden and all-consuming attraction to him has left her reeling. She's wondered in the past, has watched and day-dreamed and considered what he would be like. But any fantasy she may have entertained is nothing compared to the real thing – he has her nonsensical and quivering with only a look.

Unable to decide from a distance how she feels and what she wants, she is shocked to find that all her confidence and strength that she prides herself on has evaporated, leaving her vulnerable and out of control. It is a new feeling, one she doesn't know how to process.

"Cat got your tongue?" he whispers.

She swallows, answering with the slightest shake of head. "I don't… I don't know what that means."

He smiles for a second, just a hint of amusement. His left hand lifts off the countertop and is suddenly against her hip, sliding just under the edge of her cotton shirt and pressing warmly against her side. It is a touch that, under any other circumstance between them, would seem innocent enough. But with the look in his eyes, she already feels as if she is stripped bare and begging.

"I asked," he murmurs, "if you were hoping I would kiss you."

He moves his hand up her side slowly, only a few inches, and she feels her breasts swell inside her bra, feels the cotton between her thighs dampen, and all she can manage is a soft, "Oh."

But Seeley Booth is a master of body language, an expert of things unsaid. And she knows as well as he does that everything but her voice is screaming "yes". He's taunting her a little, teasing, and if she had the ability to deny him, she would, but it's not possible.

Because yes, god, she wants him to kiss her.

Sliding back down her hip, his fingers wrap gently around the edge of her shirt just as he suddenly drops out of her line of vision, sinking to his knees, her shirt shifting across her skin as he peels it back.

And that's when she feels it, his lips on the skin of her belly. Her breath slips from her in a gasp, and she grasps the edge of the counter herself, he knees shaking. His mouth caresses her skin gently, his breath hot against her, his tongue fluttering lightly in her bellybutton for a moment, as brief as a hummingbird's wing.

He seems to know just when her legs might give out, because his arm wraps securely around her waist, supporting her against the tile. Pressing one more kiss against her hip, he rises slowly, pulling her tautly against him, her hips pressed to his, and she can feel him suddenly. She realizes, somewhere in the middle of the haze, that this is more than simply toying with her – he wants her too.

This pulls her back a bit, brings some strength to her limbs, and she finds her own fingers searching out his skin, sliding beneath the edge of his t-shirt, shivering at the heat beneath his clothing. He's so incredibly warm, and she craves it – she wants to feel it all up and down her body.

He looks a little surprised when she clutches the cotton in her fingers, dragging upward, and he lets go of her for a moment, allowing her to pull his shirt from his body, tossing it to the kitchen floor without a second glance.

She immediately presses back, craving contact, wanting his heat, and it seeps through her own thin shirt as she brings them back together.

She begins to tremble again as his hand slips between them, and within seconds and the flick of two fingers, he has her pants unbuttoned and is dragging down the zipper, the only sound to join their heavy breathing in the silent kitchen. His other hand is tugging her own shirt from her body, and she lifts her arms above her head, feeling as if she's being pulled inside out as the fabric inverts and lifts over her face.

He freezes for a moment, his fingers at the edge of her panties, holding a handful of cotton that had been her shirt, and she sees his eyes are on the tags around her neck, the silver settled between her breasts.

He drops the shirt, his hand reaching out for a moment, and he trails a few fingers gently over one of the silver discs. He obviously hadn't expected her to wear them, to put them next to her heart, and for a moment the part of him that had been leading evaporates, and his eyes seem to shimmer.

Her voice, unknowingly, brings him back. At the sound of his name on her lips, his body shifts, his shoulders straighten under her fingers and his hand suddenly slips under the edge of her underwear, his fingers trapped between her skin and her pants and she sucks in a breath as he rotates his touch. And his eyes – his eyes lock with hers, full of challenge and sex.

Overwhelmed by the boldness of his actions, her head drops to his shoulder, her mouth open and gasping against his skin, and one of his arms again wraps around her waist to keep her from falling as his fingers expertly slip over her skin, pulling her towards something strong and crashing.

"Oh!" she exclaims, and she suddenly presses a frantic kiss against the skin of his shoulder as her vision starts to blur. His own breathing seems to quicken at her kiss, and his hand slides from her waist up her back to cup her head and he tips her back, his eyes flashing and catching hers for only a moment before his mouth finally fastens onto her own, as she finally gets her kiss.

The thrust of his tongue combined with the strength and warmth of his fingers between her legs throws her over the edge, and she shudders and cries out against his mouth, one hand fisting in his hair while the other curls around the waistband of his sweatpants as her thighs clench, trapping his fingers against her.

His mouth continues his assault, his tongue sliding along hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. She feels like she's sinking, like she's drowning – there's a rush between her ears, and she presses fully into the kiss, holding on tightly so she doesn't fall.

He finally pulls his hand free, snaking it around to grab ahold of the counter and to push her tightly against it once again, and she presses her own hips forward, presses against him. Her head is still spinning, her heart is still racketing in her chest, and she wants this. Nothing has ever left her so dizzy and breathless, nothing has ever felt so human. The mountains she's scaled, the canyons she's crossed and the bodies she's unearthed – it all fades away, it all yields to the man in front of her.

His mouth slips from her lips to trail down her throat, to explore the dip between her breasts. Moaning, she slips a foot between his own, tilting her pelvis slightly, pressing her hip firmly against his erection and he groans. His tongue flicks over her straining nipple through her bra, and she cries out, her fingers tightening in his hair. Slipping his hand into the small of her back, he tips her, arching her back a bit further, and his mouth closes hotly over the tip of her breast, heedless of the fabric; no, using it.

She stutters, consonants bursting from her in a stream of shards, and she's calling his name, unsure of what she's even begging for. For Temperance, this is something she hasn't even had the ability to imagine – no experience she's had prior to this moment has given her any sort of way to prepare for what is happening. She flashes back to the diner, sees him shaking his head as he tells her confidently what it is that makes sex so good and she's suddenly willing to believe anything he would tell her regarding the subject. Because it's not just the way he's touching her, not just the things he's doing with his hands. It's who he is; it's what he's been to her in the past and what he's suddenly become in only a matter of minutes.

He has her other nipple in his mouth, teasing and suckling, and she wants suddenly, furiously to give, to give something. Her own hand slips between them, sliding down the front of his pants, cupping him in her palm, and he suddenly drops his head slightly, one arm still up and supporting them against the counter and he lets out a low growl, pressing against her, into her hand.

His hands are suddenly back at her hips, shoving her pants down over them, and he drops down, pressing a brief kiss on the newly exposed skin of her inner thigh while his fingers pull down the zippers on first her left and then right boot.

With her pants and shoes off, he stands, his hands sliding around her waist down to cup her ass and she understands immediately and jumps up as he lifts, wrapping her legs around his waist as he moves towards the doorway.

Unable to wait for him to initiate, Temperance kisses him, and his mouth accepts hers willingly as he makes his way down the hall towards his bedroom. When she catches his lower lip between her teeth, he turns suddenly, pressing her into the wall, and she rocks her hips against his and is finally awarded with a gasp from him.

"Oh, god," he groans.

"Booth," she manages to choke out. "Please…"

His eyes lift to hers, darkened with passion and shadowed by his own arousal. "Please what?"

She shakes her head, searching for the words. "Touch me, please…" She struggles, years of independence and fear battling within her for the briefest of moments, but it's too far past that for her to pull away now, and she locks her gaze with his. "Show me," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Please, show me what you meant that night…"

There's no question he knows what she's referring to, and his mouth grabs hers again as he spins and kicks his way into the bedroom, making it to the bed in a manner of seconds.

For a moment she is falling as he drops her to the mattress, and she reaches for him, fearful, not wanting to let go. She's still so undone, still lost, and she reaches for what she knows.

His skin and the feel of his mouth, it's new, but his scent is familiar and comforting. The way he touches her is previously unknown, but his voice, the sound of his breath, it's all the Booth she knows, it's the same, but altered.

He follows her down, tilting his head, kissing her deeply. Arching her back, she rises to meet him, her hands sliding over the skin of his back, winding around to whisper her fingers over his nipples.

She's never felt so scared, yet safe; never so trusting, yet surprised. She thinks as long as he doesn't let her go, she'll be okay. His body is something she wants to wrap herself around, hold tightly.

Her hands slip to his waist, reaching for the waistband of his pants, but he pulls his mouth from hers, kissing further down her body. He slips the strap of her bra from her shoulder, following it damply with his lips, and she shifts beneath him, her body humming.

This is Booth, she keeps telling herself. Your partner -- this is crazy, this is madness.

When he peels back the lace from her breasts, exposing her skin, she flushes from head to toe, and when his lips touch her bare skin, she nearly comes off the bed. This isn't sex, this is something else entirely – something that leaves her head spinning and her heart beating like a drum beneath her ribcage.

Moving even lower, his tongue flickers in the hollow of her hipbone, a kiss is dropped on the inside of her knee. For a moment she feels fear rise up in her chest, wants to stop him. She'll be laid out in front of him; vulnerable, exposed, and she panics briefly, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows. It's too much.

But he loops an arm around her thigh, holding her in place, and he's suddenly exhaling against the crotch of her underwear, as one blows on a pane of glass in the winter. It's almost more erotic than being touched, and she gasps, her head falling back. And then she feels his tongue, warm and wet through the fabric of her panties, and her elbows tremble as she struggles to support herself.

After a few moments he pushes the lace to the side, and she struggles again to clear her head. "Booth…" she says in protest. "I –"

His fingers still looped in the scrap of fabric, he rises up until he's hovering over her face, his lids at half-mast, stroking her lightly as he speaks. "Temperance," he whispers, and at the low tenor of his voice, she shudders. "You asked me to show you."

She holds her breath for a moment, and then nods, her blood racing. He captures her mouth in a deep but brief kiss before sinking back down between her legs, his mouth replacing his fingers and her whole body surges, one hand flying into his hair, the other grasping a fistful of sheet.

Breathless sounds fill the room, sounds she realizes she's making herself. She's teetering on the edge, about to fall when he withdraws, and she feels suddenly like sobbing. She's so close to something, something more than an orgasm, and she struggles desperately to control her breath and heartbeat as his hand suddenly disappears into her hair, wrapping the strands around his fist.

Her own hand slips past him, sliding over his firm stomach and inside his pants, finally feeling the heat of him. He's huge and hot in her hand, impossibly so, and she wraps her fingers around him and he jerks, dropping his head to her shoulder, gasping. When she starts to stroke, he nips her skin with his teeth, groaning, and she arches her body towards him, letting go to push his pants down around his hips.

The feel of him pressed against her sex is dizzying, and she cries out, clinging to him.

She has never wanted this so badly, and when she opens her eyes, it's still Booth that they fall on, the man who's stood by her side for years. He's the man who's taught her to reach out again, to lean towards another person, to laugh again, to cry. And now she finds he's teaching her still, leading her, because this is a road she's never been down, a road she didn't even have a map to before she met him. It's too much, too powerful.

He slips inside, just barely, and she shudders. Moving gently, he eases a little deeper the next time, still only halfway within her and her fingers flex, digging into the skin of his shoulders. There's a sheen of sweat over both of them, making their skin glow in the low-light of his bedroom.

He does this for ten or more strokes, until she's practically beside herself, and that's when he surprises her, when he thrusts deep. They both suck in a breath, and he pauses, a shudder going through his own body.

"Oh, god," he whispers, his lips falling to her neck, brushing by her ear. "I've wanted you…"

She wraps her legs around his hips, urging him closer, begging him silently not to stop, and he moves again, beginning a rhythm that feels more like a dance, like a choreographed waltz. He kisses her again, his tongue thrusting deep as his body does, and her whole body thrums and the edge she had been on minutes before returns in a flash of light behind her eyes. Again, she's frightened, losing control, without understanding. What is this…?

"Oh, god!" she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Look at me," he demands gruffly, his voice commanding. "Look at me, Temperance. You wanted to see, you wanted to know. Now open your eyes."

She does, and his blaze back into hers brightly, and she cries out, riding the rhythm of his hips, forcing him to move more quickly, to thrust more deeply, and his arms that support him above her begin to shake.

"Seeley --" she chokes out. "Oh..."

For a moment he almost looks surprised, there's a flash of it on his face, and then he's gasping with her, his arms collapsing and his hands sliding to her lower back, lifting her against him, holding her while he buries himself deep.

It feels like each cell rippling, like her heart leaps a bit further in her chest to try to press against his. Her eyes well and the tears spill, dampening her cheeks, trailing to her jaw. Her lids finally clamp shut again, her arms cling to him, her legs lock behind his back. Burying her face in the damp skin of his throat, she lets the churning rush take her.