A/N: You blew us away with your response to the last chap! Even if most of the reviews were to threaten to Gormagon us if we didn't update soon:) Is amazing who the suggestion of smut brings out of the closet...ya little pervs. Hee. We lurve you anyway, and hope that you continue letting us know your thoughts. Since you were so sweet last time, we wrote this chap extra-fast, just for you!

He was capable of very little thought, but the one he managed was practically screaming.

This was all her fault.

Damn her for being so pushy, and damn her for being so insistent. Damn her for being so beautiful and so brilliant and so sexy... and damn him for being unable to resist her.

Her scent filled his nose, strong at the junction where her throat met her shoulder as he swiftly lowered his head. He heard her gasp as he grabbed a fistful of her hair to expose her skin, and he opened his mouth hotly against it, sucking frantically, tasting her as his hand thrust into her shirt, groping for her breast.

And suddenly her own fingers shot into his hair, curling tightly, and he realized he was about to have his head snapped back, and possibly receive an elbow to the jaw. And so he dragged his tongue one last time along her collarbone, clenching his eyes shut tightly, trying to memorize every detail.

She moaned.

And that one sound, that one moan - it was all it took to propel him back into oblivion. She arched her back, pushing up into his hips, into his hand that held her breast, and she was holding him to her, not pushing away. His other hand shot out in search of the back of the couch and missed, and he fell forward with her, tumbling over the back and twisting until he landed on top of her on the cushions, feeling the breath whoosh from her lungs.

Her hands flew up to grab onto him but he caught them in his own, pinning them firmly above her head as he straddled her. He dipped down, his face only an inch from hers, his breath touching her cheek.

"You want to know why I won't talk about sex with you?" he rasped. "Huh? You want to know?" He pushed his now prominent erection against her pelvis, watching her eyelids fall to half-mast. "This is why. Because I don't want to 'talk' about sex with you, you got it?"

A smile twitched at her lips, despite her shortness of breath. "Your line, right?" she taunted, her chest heaving beautifully beneath him, the lace of her bra visible where her shirt was now missing several buttons. "This is about that damn line." She rolled her hips against him, her blue eyes flashing as he bit back a growl.

"God, you make me crazy," he hissed. "You make me want to -"

But she arched up again, smashing her lips against his, and he hardly had time to open his mouth before he felt the urgent tangle of her tongue. Sweeping past it, he sank his own deeply into her mouth, his balls tightening painfully at the taste of her. A kiss. The inside of her mouth was hot, her cheek silky, and, finally releasing her wrists, he yanked at the remaining buttons on her shirt, exposing bare skin and lace.

Jerking back, he sucked in a much needed breath before he dropped his head to her breasts, his teeth nipping at the straining nipple beneath the fabric. She moaned, her hands flying to the cotton of his t-shirt, yanking at the hem, sliding her fingers beneath to race over his back. His tongue flew across the hardened peak of her breast before he tugged it into his mouth, sucking hotly, and her hands suddenly dropped to his ass, yanking hard, pulling him against her, her knees locking tightly against his hips.

Before he could move to the other breast, she slid her hands up to his waist and rolled hard with all her weight, trying to dominate. Not expecting it, he was unable to keep his balance on the narrow couch, and they went crashing to the floor next to the coffee table. This time he took the brunt of the fall, landing hard on his back, and she instantly straddled his hips, shoving his shirt up to expose his bare chest.

Everything. She's amazing at everything.

He'd known of course. It's why he'd tried so damn hard not to fall with her; there was no safety net to catch them part of the way down. They'd opened the floodgates, and he had no idea how to stop it.

She yanked hard, and he lifted his head and arms so that she could wrestle the shirt over and off of him, sending it sailing to the other side of the living room before bringing her open mouth to his bare skin, her tongue teasing and flickering as her teeth grazed his own nipple.

"You want to know why I push you?" she said suddenly, her mouth above his own, her eyes deep pools of navy, her hair wild as it fell over her shoulders. "Why I won't let it go? It's because I want you to lose control, Booth - because of me."

One hand flew to her hip and the other shot out, knocking the coffee table several feet backwards to give a wider berth. Rolling hard, he again had her flat on her back as he struggled one handed for the button on her jeans, the other supporting him above her. He wanted to feel the heat of her, to slide his fingers between her legs - to finally touch and taste and feel the one woman he'd wanted but never allowed himself to take. She bit his shoulder sharply, pushing up from the oriental rug, and he could barely breathe he was so turned on, so hot and hard and crazy for her. He yanked at her button impatiently, clumsily, and it suddenly popped off. He heard it hit the glass top of the coffee table, rolling, and for some reason, it brought him back for a moment, the breath returning to his lungs in a rush, his eyes opening widely.

And when he looked down, his partner was beneath him, her chest heaving. One breast was exposed where he'd tugged the lace cup of her bra free, nipple hard and straining, and the skin of her chest and throat was pink where his five o'clock shadow had scraped against it. Her lips were swollen; damp from the assault of his own mouth, slightly parted as her eyes met his.

Oh, god. What were they DOING?

The 'ping' of metal button against the glass contrasted sharply with the other sounds that had been filling the room-their gasping breaths, the sucking of his mouth against her flesh, the soft moans and grunts as one of them surprised the other with the raw need behind their actions-and it seemed to shock him out of his urgency. His hotly exploring fingers stopped their journey, his intense grinding against her ceased, and looking up into his wild face she wanted to scream at him, but instead she drilled her eyes into his defiantly. He wouldn't. He wouldn't start this and then walk away. He couldn't.

A string of expletives left his lips, any eloquence he had previously possessed leaving him. "Fuck, Bones... I... we... I..." He looked panicked. "I'm sorry."

What? The first honest thing he had done with her all day, and he was fucking sorry? Anger, propelled by her rushing blood, her pounding heart, flooded back into her.

"You refuse to talk to me all the way home. You try to make me feel like I did something wrong for revealing a personal fact. You accuse me of all sorts of things. And now, the thing you're sorry for is kissing me?"

The guilty look on his face told her that yes, that was exactly what he was sorry for.

Frustration at him, at herself, at this entire ridiculous situation ran through her. Angrily, she gave his bare chest a shove, and struggled upright again, yanking her bra back into place over her breast, pulling her shirt back into place before she realized it was futile without the buttons to hold it there. He was on his knees, rubbing his hand dazedly through his hair, and if she weren't so incredibly pissed she might have laughed at his still-present hard-on (that he had just been pressing against her) straining at his jeans. He spoke. "I think I should..."

She wouldn't even let him finish. "Go. Just go." Standing, she snatched his discarded shirt, which was barely clinging to the edge of the coffee table where she had tossed it, and she hurled it back at him with a twinge of regret being felt through her fury. Fuck him for looking better without it.

"Bones..."

"I swear Booth, if you say another word, I'm going to scream." She meant it. She was literally sure she wasn't able to tolerate hearing about his 'line' tonight, hearing about all the reasons they shouldn't be doing what they had just started to do. And she wasn't so clueless as to NOT know that was exactly what was going to come out of his lips. After he had touched her. After he'd made her look like a fool for revealing that she wanted him.

His mouth opened, but the flash in her eyes must have made him reconsider.

With one last scathing look at his shamed face, she crossed her arms and turned around, refusing to watch as he put his shirt back on and grab his things. She heard, rather than saw, his hesitation.

"Go."

In a moment she heard her front door open and close, not gently.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she surveyed the room, the pillows on her couch askew, her coffee table pushed halfway across the room, several of her buttons scattered on the floor. Her loins throbbed, reminding her of everything that had happened just five fucking minutes ago.

Her next move came to her thoughtlessly, without contemplation. Her jeans, buttonless now, gave away easily as she fell onto her sofa and thrust her hand in to touch the near-embarrassing wetness of her panties. A swipe of her finger to her swollen sex brought a gasp to her lips. She had been so ready to be touched.

Looking down her body she saw the spot where her bra was wet from his tongue. The threads hanging from her shirt where he had torn it apart. The flush of her skin from arousal and from his demanding attentions. Her fingers moved faster, and her breathing, never quite having reached normal since their encounter, increased again. It took just a moment until her body spasmed and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut hard against and because of the memories.

See? I don't need you, you bastard. Not one little bit.

Sighing and shaking slightly, she sank into the cushions. She had had her release. It had been all she wanted. All she needed.

So why did she feel almost as incredibly empty at that moment as she ever had in her life?

Making his way through the front door, he watched his wife slowly shed her jacket, slipping it from her slim shoulders. In the low light of the foyer her hair was shining, and when she turned, so were her eyes.

"What do you think they're doing right now?" she asked quietly, a smile against her lips as she turned towards the main staircase. "Booth looked like he wanted to strangle Bren when they left."

Jack couldn't help grin in response, following her up and down the hall towards the bedroom she was no occupying without him. "I bet they're duking it out right now."

A wider smile stretched across her face, her eyes lit up like candles as she paused outside the doorway. "God, I hope so - otherwise I'm starting to believe we'll all go crazy along with them."

She looked so beautiful he could hardly help himself. Stepping closer, he cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips across hers gently. He hadn't thought it through, hadn't expected her to respond. In truth, he'd expected her to pull back, her eyes full of sadness, her hands holding onto his where they pressed against her face.

But she didn't. She kissed him back; tilting her head, she deepened it, her own hands settling on his waist.

God, he'd missed her. It had been weeks since they'd touched one another this way, and he could feel himself start to tremble as she gently pulled back, taking in a deep breath. "Why did you do that?"

He swallowed, his eyes falling again to her mouth. "I missed you," he admitted quietly. "And I was just -"

She kissed him again, and his hands fell to her hips, backing her gently into the frame of the door, luxuriating in the feel of her against him and the small sigh that escaped her. The kiss lasted for several moments, her fingers curling into his hair, and when he finally broke free again, he dropped a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder and she shivered.

"Angie," he whispered. "We should -"

"I meant what I said tonight," she said in a soft voice, pulling his head back up to make him meet her eyes. "That I wanted us to be about more than simply having a child - that I wanted this to be about us again."

"But we're -"

"Together," she whispered. "For now." Her eyes burned into his, her cheeks flushed pink. "You want to walk away tonight, Jack? Or do you want to be with me?"

"To be with you," he choked out. "But I'm just afraid that -"

"Then take me to bed," she said gently, pressing her hand against his cheek. "Our bed - not some guest room down the hall."

His eyes roamed her face, looking for some sign that she wasn't sure of this, but he found none. Her eyes were bright, but she was relaxed and open and... Angela again. The Angela he desperately loved, that he'd desperately wanted to marry and spend his life with. And so he nodded, reaching gently for his hand, winding it in hers.

And they turned together, walking silently down the hall towards the room that had, for weeks, felt empty without her.