Part 10
Booth stood by the windows looking into the well-organized wardrobe. He'd opened both doors to see that the whole left side was devoted to… toys.
What on earth could he pick? Most of the objects were straightforward enough. Made to tease, restrain, sting or titillate. But a few things… Jesus, did another version of him really use that? Or—have it used on him?
As he stood there debating, he could bet that Bones was admiring his naked back.
He selected the safest thing he could find, and turned around.
Brennan lay watching him. Her pose looked a lot like the nude painting over the fireplace. But very very real.
God, he could look at her forever. The lamplight near the bed, and moonlight out the window, glowed gold and silver on her skin. Highlighting those long, strong legs. Shadowing the curve of her waist and breasts, and the muscles of her shoulder.
"Really?" she said. "So tame."
He glanced down at the item in his hand. It was a carved wooden dome a little bigger than his palm. Flat on one side, with a loop of fabric you could slide your fingers through, while the curved side was covered in rounded nubs.
"I didn't think you'd go for the massage hedgehog tonight."
"Massage hedgehog?" He couldn't help laughing at the term.
"What? You're the one who named it. Although its resemblance to an actual animal is vague at best."
Despite her complaint, she stretched herself under his gaze, her body lithe and indolent, her hands coming up to tangle through her loose, wavy hair.
Jesus, God. He couldn't help repeating it. Or asking for divine aid.
He found himself kneeling on the bed next to her. She met his eyes. "Whatever you like, baby."
His voice was hoarse. "Turn over."
She obeyed, and he marveled anew. At the view, of course. And her trust. She gave him the reins, and the power.
Just a massage, he told himself. Then she's got to sleep, so I can find Hodgins and get out of here.
He hoped his hands wouldn't shake. He started near the back of her neck, pressing the massager, then rolling it along her shoulders. Moving down her spine, he tried to let her reactions guide him. Her breathing, the tension of her muscles: where to linger, when to press more or less.
She pillowed her head on her arms, so he had a good view of her profile. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile on her lips. As he massaged down, to her lower back and buttocks, she murmured, "Harder."
That voice, on top of everything, made him crazy. If he went too cautiously, she might get suspicious…
He kneaded hard into her flesh, then drew back, looking at the pattern the wooden beads had left: a pink and white grid that quickly faded from her skin.
He wished it was his bare hand.
Still, he made a thorough survey of her body. And when he'd rubbed down her legs to his satisfaction, he had her turn over.
He could see the desire in her eyes. She'd slaked it fast, before, taking control for that first wild tumble. Now, it looked like slow-burning hunger. And despite the need to escape, he felt it, too.
This time he started lower, pressing the massager over her thighs.
"You're being so gentle today." She sounded languid and amused.
"Am I usually too rough?" He tried to make a joke of it. If they messed around with some of these toys, they must have safe words, right?
"No, not usually. More… boisterous."
"Well, if I ever get too boisterous, just whack me upside the head, okay?"
"I usually do. You know I like it that way. But…" She sighed, as he teased over her hips with the massager. "I can't be running the scientific community all day, and then keep giving orders in the bedroom at night."
"That's right." He played his role. "I'm in charge now."
Still, she watched him a little too intently. Was he acting that differently from his counterpart?
As he neared her breasts with the carved beads, she stopped his hand. "Are you sure you're all right? Don't you want to…?" Her nails dug into his skin.
What was she asking him? To let go? To be rough?
He stared speechlessly, feeling a surge of jealous, protective anger. What does he do to you? Why can't you be my Bones?
Finally he found his voice, and cast the massager aside. "I'm in charge," he growled. "And I don't always want to…" His hands descended on her breasts, while his lips found her neck. "…do things the same way. Got to keep you on your toes, right?"
He nipped at her skin, and she made a sound of surprise and pleasure in her throat. It was about the sexiest thing he'd heard.
Just for now, he would forget reality, and let the feeling take him.
Not rough. But not gentle, either.