Title: This is Life
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Rating: Look at the title of my chapter and work it out – M.
A/N: I am beginning to feel I have undertaken an emotional endeavour with this story, for sometimes, I feel as though I am on the outside, looking in, wondering how they'd feel if they really were in the situations I have put them in. I didn't have the heart to have Brennan say no – and I don't think she would have. I am fairly certain she'd have had doubts, played the thoughts over in her mind – but after everything that's happened… well… I get engrossed sometimes.
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"I feel a tingle down my spine, every time I think about it," Booth said, sitting on the edge of the window sill, the darkening December sky dropping another coating of snow on the extensive gardens outside.
"When you think about what?" Brennan asked, sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, a brilliant diamond and platinum ring catching the flames. Booth turned his gaze on her, hotly seductive and filled with lurid thoughts about what they ought to be doing, right at that moment. She felt goosebumps prickle her skin, and a smile washed over her features.
"Every time I think that you're my wife," he explained. "I keep telling myself over and over again, wondering if it'll ever sink in." She blinked, a twinkle in her eye as she watched him with naked love. There was no need to hide it. Not to anyone. She'd married him. Taken the leap, risked her heart and won. There was no doubt, now, as she sat in the elegant master bedroom of the fabulous house, that she'd made the right decision.
In the lounge, their friends drank merrily, with Zach perhaps a little too drunk on champagne and Jack openly leering over Angela. It felt nice, surrounded by their friends, to admit that life, with all it's hardships, had brought them together. It felt good.
"How did you know that I wouldn't stand you up?" Brennan asked, lifting herself out of the chair, prowling towards him like a stealthy cat. His interest was immediately aroused, and he turned, opening his arms to her. He unclipped her hair, watching as the fiery tresses cascaded forth, framing her raspberry blush cheeks.
"I didn't," he said, a fingertip tracing her collarbone, to the heaving mounds of her breasts, held tight by the pinching dress she wore. "But I was willing to risk it." She sank to her knees, gazing up at him in the same way an awe-struck teenager gazed at a handsome new boyfriend. She was besotted.
"You always say the right things," she said, stroking her hand over the hard, tautened muscle of his thigh, noting how it flexed beneath her tentative, almost hesitant touch. "So, are you going to take your new wife to bed, or leave her horny on the floor?"
Booth threw his head back, releasing a genuine laugh that rumbled within his chest, gruff and equipped with a pitch that made her muscles weaken and began a chain reaction of chemical responses within her body. She fingered the silken gold tie, pulling it away from his throat. He swallowed hard, surprised at the intensity in her darkened stare – and rendered speechless by the amount of brazen, desperate love he saw there.
She flicked the buttons on his shirt, one by one, lingering momentarily to pass her fingertips over the smooth, hard flesh she encountered beneath the cotton. He closed his eyes, pressing the back of his head against the window, content to bask in her sultry, exploring ministrations.
Parting the folds of his shirt, she examined each hardened line of his abdomen, watching in fascination as the muscles twisted and shuddered beneath the silken, bronzed skin, as if they were made hypersensitive by her touch. She smiled, delighted by this, pressing her lips to his belly, her nimble fingers unbuckling the heavy belt he wore, her palm grazing the stiff column of his erection, straining against his pants. She prolonged her own anticipation, for she wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the hot length of him, in her hand, inside her.
His fingers grazed the top of her breast and her body reacted to him, spearing jolts of unbridled need coursing through her, settling between her thighs as a warm pool of nectar. He shifted forward, sinking his fingers into her hair, the soft touches tickling her skin, making her light-headed with desire.
"Stand," he commanded and she was powerless to refuse, her legs watery as she got to her feet, arms by her side. He gave a lazy smile, resting his wayward hands on her hips and tilting her body, exposing the back of her dress and the smooth milky skin of her back. Passing his lips over the base of her neck, he unzipped the dress, all the way to the top of her ass, before the silk and chiffon dropped to the floor, exposing the entirety of her body to his rapacious eyes.
She turned and his lips touched her belly, his mind musing that, within the body of this magnificent woman, his child grew, conceived by moments of blinded passion and pure, unadulterated love. The thought made his heart swell and filled him with a different kind of passion – an insatiable need.
Brennan delved into his hair, cupping his skull and urging his roaming mouth upwards, praying that he'd take one of her heavy breasts between his lips and put her aching need to rest. She felt the familiar fire and it needed extinguished.
When he took a tumescent nipple into the furnace-like depths of his mouth, passing his tongue across the puckered flesh, her nails dug into his skin and his teeth nipped at her in punishing reprimand. Her hips rotated, stilled only by his sturdy hands as they explored her thighs, her buttocks, before his left hand reached up, massaging her other breast.
"Booth…" she said, stepping back, his mouth releasing her with an audible 'pop'. He admired the succulent red nub he'd created, and craved the taste of it once more. She stepped towards the bed, removing her underwear and standing before him, gloriously naked, unabashed and noticeably horny
When he undressed himself he saw the shimmering slickness of her own juices, coating her inner thighs and felt his penis jerk in automatic response to her. "Temperance," he growled, "Jesus Christ…"
She touched her own breasts, drawing a moan from within her lips, the sound urging him forward, pulling her into his arms, his mouth coming down on hers with the hardness desperation of a starving man. He laid her on the bed, parting her knees and dropping his head to explore the syrupy arousal that had gathered in response to him. He tasted her, encouraged by her moans, his tongue delving inside her molten depths until she trembled around his lips, sobbing his name.
He knelt over her, teasing her opening with his penis, watching as her hips jerked, seeking his warmth, an unappeasable need growing within her. Temperance wasn't content to have him feast on her. She wanted to sheath him, to surround him with the liquid walls of her womb.
When he delved inside, cupping her breasts in his hand, she threw her head back.
"Fuck…" she said, neither of them bothered by the headboard that banged against the wall, a sure sign of their frantic search for release.
"Yeah…" he agreed, her legs hooked around his waist, urging him deeper within her, until the entire length of him was surrounded by her molten hot walls, his pelvis hitting her clitoris with each rhythmic thrust. She sought out his mouth, pulling him over her, his thumbs drawing tight, firm circles over her nipples while her muscles tightened around him, milking him.
When he came, the heat of him drew her in, her orgasm bringing her voice to high octave, and he silenced her with a stifling kiss.
Breathless and engulfed in her arms, Booth sucked a breath into his lungs, catching the heady scent of their fevered lovemaking. "What the fuck was that…?" he said, his cheek pressed to the cushiony flesh of her breasts.
"I believe," Brennan said, her heart hammering against his ear, "that is called consummation."
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