Title: Beyond the Fear
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Rating: M.
A/N: I am so enormously grateful for the reviews given to me for the last chapter! You have all been so kind and full of praise that I was compelled to write this chapter tonight. I know it does not tell you what time I posted this at, but just so you know, I got out of bed at half past midnight to write this. I hope you like…
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She rested her elbows on the railing, a comfortable silence wrapping around her as she listened to the surf one hundred and fifty feet below. She felt as though the world were empty, except for she and Booth and the occupants of the lone guest house in the near distance. It felt private and exclusive. She tilted her head, allowing the breeze to toy with her hair. It had been a lovely birthday, so far. Perhaps the most special of days in her whole adult life.
Behind her, the waiters had returned, clearing the table wordlessly, and only the clatter of crockery interrupted the whispering waves. Next to her, Booth was equally content, his gaze turned towards the two storey building, whose lights cast long, rectangular shapes along the grass. From here, the view of the surrounding land would be spectacular, come morning time.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" one waiter asked, touching her shoulder. Brennan turned, shaking her head.
"No thank you. Everything has been perfect." The deck heaters were off, and so high above the ground, she was suddenly very cold. Crossing her arms over her torso, she rubbed her hands over her biceps. With only her shirt, she was underdressed for an evening atop a lighthouse. Booth slid his arm along her shoulder, drawing her close to his body. She shifted, tucking herself against him, feeling far less uncomfortable than she imagined she would.
"Sir?" the waiter hovered at the doorway, his arms filled with crockery. "The boss has asked that you leave the lighthouse. Weather reports it's going to be a little stormy tonight." Brennan looked at the sky, realising for the first time that the moon had disappeared completely, and where the ocean had been spot-lit earlier, was now a velvet blackness.
"Sure," Booth said, urging her towards the door. "We're on our way down." With a nod, the waiter disappeared, his footfalls sounding through the column of the lighthouse as he descended to the ground, following his colleague. Brennan sighed, taking a last glance at the dark ocean. "Hey, Bones?" Booth said, turning away from the doorway. "We know that when we go downstairs… to the guest house… what's inevitable… right?" She was grateful that there was hardly enough light to illuminate her blush. She nodded. "Okay…" Booth said, encouraged. "Then… it's also inevitable that we're going to kiss…?" She nodded again, feeling a small chuckle rise in her chest at the pure adolescent awkwardness of it. "This seems like a fitting place…" she shuffled forward a few inches, tilting her face toward him, the lovely lines of her face relaxed and smooth. She young, carefree, elegant. Totally Temperance and not at all Dr Brennan. Her breath was soft against his cheeks, scented with coffee and caramelised passion fruit.
He kissed her softly at first, drawing her lower lip between his, tasting the exotic fruit of her skin and drawing the moment into his memory. She inhaled, opening her mouth to him, and he grabbed the incentive with both hands, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing the length of her body against his. Around them, the wind gathered, whipping her hair about their faces – an inconvenience they barely noticed. His tongue massaged hers, teasing her senses, stroking her lips. She sighed, the first sprinkling of fine, icy rain splashing against her shirt. She trembled a little, shifting closer, seeking warmth from him. His hands moved over her spine, to the swell of her ass. She arched forward, her belly brushing the hard, urgent ridge of his penis.
"We should go." she said, as a gust of wind almost rattled the glass. Booth nodded, taking her hand, somewhat disappointed that their kiss had been cut short. "And as far as first kisses go…" she said, as they stepped inside the lighthouse, edging towards the stairs. "I'm definitely not complaining." His grin was idiotic and she chuckled, beginning her descent.
When they reached the bottom of the lighthouse, the rain of was heavy, pounding against the asphalt parking lot, sounding heavy against his SUV in the distance. Brennan paused in the doorway, turning to the wooden memorial stand, detailing information of the structure.
"One hundred and fifty one feet high, two hundred and five steps," she paused, turning to Booth, "those poor men, carrying our food up two hundred steps…" she stepped closer to the plaque. "Beam range of eighteen miles… wow…" she sighed wistfully. "Such beautiful and proud structures… did you know that there's less than one thousand five hundred of these that are actually still used today?" Booth shook his head, slipping his arm around her waist. "Navigation systems have advanced so much, what with GPS, that they are simply no longer needed." His hand slipped under her shirt, stroking over her torso. "You're trying to distract me," she murmured, leaning back into him.
"Hmm…" he murmured in agreement. "Perhaps…" she wriggled back, finding warm solace in his embrace. When she turned in his arms, their chests together, a warmth enveloped her, making her heart swell. Being with him, like this, felt right. "Should we make a move…?" he asked, his lips brushing across her forehead, soft and reassuring.
"Yes," she said. "I'd like to feel my fingers again…" As if to punctuate her point, a cool wind blew inside, rattling the windows again. She chuckled, turning her face towards it, loving the salty coolness of it, and tempestuous and unpredictability of the impending storm. The slanting rain almost hid the guest house entirely and she sank deeper into his embrace.
"You're shivering," he said, his hands moving over her arms. Trembling with anticipation, she drew her fingers through his dark, soft hair, pulling his head down towards hers, their lips touching, cold and flavoured with the coastal sea air. She drew her tongue across the silken flesh, certain that if she could epitomise her perfect moment, it would be tasting the ocean on his lips.
"Lets go," she said, stepping into the rain, her shirt instantly soaked through. The icy raindrops pelted her skin and she felt her teeth chatter as they ran, their hands together, across the parking lot, past his SUV, through the garden gate and along the flower lined path to the guest house. She tapped her knuckles against the heavy wooden door, and listened as inside, feet shuffled towards her. Suddenly she wanted to be inside, eager to discover what lay ahead for she and Booth. He had taken the leap, inviting her for a romantic dinner that could not be interpreted as friendship. It was her turn to show that his feelings were returned.
"Booth?" the man who opened the door looked nothing like Sid, and he had none of the city-streetwise attitude. "Come in." Together they were ushered into the warm, brightly lit hallway. The interior radiated a comfortable luxury that instantly made her bones feel warmer and she sighed, lifting her eyes to the wall lights that cast an amber glow on the floor beneath her feet. "Sid said you might want to stay… too much of the vino?" Booth nodded, unwilling to divulge the truth of their reasons. "I have a lovely suite on the ground floorr. Recently refurbished when we had the lighthouse restored…"
"That's fine," Booth said, raking his fingers through his saturated hair. "We'd like that…" When he had signed his name, Sid's cousin passed a heavy brass key towards them, directing them down the corridor, to the last door. Brennan stood on her toes, careful not to make a sound, as the grandfather clock against the wall chimed half-past midnight. She felt guilty, keeping the proprietor awake so late.
Sliding the key into the lock, Booth waited until the bolt clicked open before he eased the heavy oak door inward, releasing a welcome scent of apples into the hallway. Brennan breathed deeply, luxuriating in the warm air that swept against her skin from the glowing embers in the heavy, black fireplace inside the bedroom. Behind them, Sid's cousin stood at the staircase.
"We keep the fire lit," he explained. "It keeps the cold out…" Booth nodded, his hand falling to the base of her back, encouraging her to enter. She stepped inside, admiring the two armchairs that were turned in toward the fire, the cotton gowns draped on the dark burgundy bedspread and heavy curtains that hid the cliff from her view. She sighed.
"I'm not sure what we're supposed to say," she admitted. "Or how we're meant to begin the inevitable…" Booth eased the door shut with a soft click, turning the key until the lock fell into place. She was effectively trapped inside, with nowhere to go, and she liked it. It was time that she faced the truths of their relationship without seeking a hiding place.
"We don't question it," Booth said. "That's always a good place to begin, Temperance…" she nodded, reaching for the cotton gown. "Get dried. We have all night."
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Booth was obviously contented to let his seduction last all night, for once she had towel dried her hair and slipped into the complimentary robe, he offered her a cup of coffee and asked her to sit with him by the fire. He drew the chairs close together and watched her for a long time, silent and brooding – his features darkly sexy and his eyes just barely twinkled in the dying firelight. She sipped her coffee, a fine Italian blend, listening to the crackle of the coals and the distant whoosh of the ocean.
"Have I said thank you?" she asked, turning her eyes to him. He blinked slowly.
"Several times," he said. "And you are welcome. You're worth it." She sighed, a warm contentment settling against her heart. She hadn't felt so special in such a long time, and it was almost liberating and definitely endearing to be someone other than Dr Brennan for once. She looked at him, not as a crime-fighting FBI agent, but as a man. A man who wanted to worship her.
"Booth," she said at last, setting her cup aside.
"Temperance," he echoed, and their voices sounded almost melodic in their musical whispers. She paused, their eyes meeting in a silent dance, as she explored the inner confines of his mind and he did the same to her. It were almost as though he were reading her, mapping her thoughts. "Lets not…" he said and she understood that he did not want to analyse their feelings. He wanted to take them for granted – something she never allowed herself do.
Shifting forward in her chair, she pulled a deep, apple filled breath into her lungs, and stood. Her fingers worked the tie of her robe, loosening the knot until it fell away. She parted the folds of her gown, exposing her naked flesh beneath. She saw him inhale, hold his breath, and she was encouraged enough to push the gown over her shoulders, where it dropped to the carpet with a soft thump. Temperance had no desire to analyse, either. Too much thought would result in the deepest, saddest regret of her life.
In the firelight, her skin was creamy, her breasts round and heavy, her hips shapely, like a dancer. Her long, slim legs shifted and his eyes meet hers again, his own arousal apparent beneath the robe he wore. He stood too, shedding his clothing and reaching for her as though he wanted to pull her into an erotic dance. She moved close, her slender fingers moving over his sides, and despite the warmth of the fire, gooseflesh rose on his arms and his flat brown nipples hardened. Fascinated, she dropped soft kisses to his shoulder, over his throat, touching the tip of her tongue to his Adam's apple, enthralled by how he swallowed hard against her ministrations. His pulse pounded against her lips and she slid her fingers over his abdomen, and his muscles flexed and tightened, yielding under her touch. She released a breath against his ear, and his lips parted in a soft, urgent sigh.
His hands slid over her ass, along her back, his fingers winding into her hair, the touch erotic and teasing, drawing her nipples into tight, aching points. She bent her head back, offering her throat to his touch, seeking the warm wetness of his lips. He touched the oasis of her clavicle with his tongue, sending a searing warmth, hotter than the burning embers in the hearth, through her body to her womb. She held him tighter, suddenly aware of the raging wind outside the window.
His touches were sensual, slow and easy. He held her as though he were in awe of her, and she felt adored and almost euphoric when his lips touched hers, his fingers curling around her breast, the heel of his palm brushing her nipple. She sighed his name, wanting to feel the hard length of his penis inside her. She wanted to surround the satiny flesh that she felt against her stomach, to know what it felt like to have his body make love to her.
Her hands slid over his penis, drawing a harsh plea from his mouth. She spread a pearly drop over the round, soft head with her thumb, fascinated at how this simple gesture encouraged another drop from within. Each time she circled the tip of him, his thumb flickered against her nipple, and her womb filled with warm wetness that filled the air between them with a sweet, musky scent. She had never been quite so aroused, so urgently anticipating the moment a man was inside her.
Circling his penis entirely, she stroked him, root to tip, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes falling against his cheeks. With each passing stroke, she quickened her pace, her left hand reaching to cup the heavy weight of his balls as they tightened, drawn against him with a frenzied need for release.
He reached for her wrist, his fingers tight as he pulled her hand away. She whimpered at the loss of his touch on her breasts, and her expression was entirely petulant. He pulled her close, merging their mouths together for a hot, open mouthed kiss that drew her tongue against his, filled with an urgent passion that Brennan was quite sure she had never felt before.
Behind her, the fire crackled as the coals split and her skin felt hot, bathed in the orange glow. His hands stroked her, over her back again, reaching her ass, where he cupped her, drawing her body upward, his penis brushing the patch of curls between her legs. She sighed, parting her thighs, wanting nothing more than for him to slip into her.
Taking her hand, he moved towards the bed, and when she sat, he peppered kisses along her shins, over her thighs, carefully avoiding the slick wetness. She spread her legs, offering him a teasing glimpse of the pink, moist flesh. He was quite sure he could not have imagined her to be as eloquently beautiful as she was, her spine arched, her breasts heavy and her nipples tight.
Kneeling between her legs, he eased the tip of himself inside her, slipping his finger into her folds, teasing the hard nub with the top of her finger, surprised at how ready she was. He arched his hips forward, sheathing himself inside her, surrounded by hot silk, her walls tightening around him as he thrust. Her lips murmured his name like a mantra and her thighs created a vice around him, her back arching as she bucked her hips, crazed and urgent, defiant of his wishes to be languid.
"I need you to take me," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. He winced, as she drew marks along his arm. With each stroke, his balls tightened further until he felt as though he would explode. She whimpered, soft insistent moans falling from her lips, her breasts swaying as her hips rose and fell, the scent of her stronger than ever. His finger massaged her clitoris, his thrusts filling her, and she mumbled a plea for release. "Harder," she begged, turning until he lay beneath her and she was astride him, her palms pressed to his chest as she rose and fell over his penis, crazed and lost in the fog of euphoria.
She bent to taste his skin, draw in the flavour of their exertions. Leaning back, she offered her breasts to him. He passed the tips of his fingers over her nipples, pinching the hard nubs until she cried out, convulsing around him, her entire body shuddering. His name was a drawn out syllable, spoken as though he were part of a religious chant. Her jaw slack, as though she were entranced. Beautiful enough, was she, that his own release followed, and his hips jerked, burying himself as deep as he could, groaning as hot, semen spilled into her body and he fell against the mattress, exhausted and euphoric, contented in knowing that the extraordinary woman whose weight rested on his hips, was filled with the essence of him.
"God…" he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her against him. She sighed, their bodies slick.
"Yeah…" she agreed, breathless, the effects of her exhaustion already taking hold of her body. She pressed her cheek to him, her eyes closing. He shifted, prepared to slip out of her body. Her thighs tightened around him. "Not yet," she whispered, her nose pressed against the bottom of his jaw. "Stay…"
He waited until she was asleep, her breathing slowed and soft murmurs rose in her chest, before he slipped from within her, regretting the loss of her soft flesh around him. Drawing the blanket around them, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing his chest to her back, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, their lovemaking.
Tomorrow, there would be much to answer. But for now, she slept. For now, she wasn't afraid.
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It's almost 3am… now surely that alone warrants some reviews?