His first glimpse of her was through a forest of waving hands that dropped like felled timber when somebody in the front of the room asked a question. She started talking about skeletal structure, explaining the difference between bone and cartilage, and he zoned out in favor of just looking at her. Her hair shone in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, and she gestured gracefully as she made a point, her eyes flashing with passion and intelligence.
He knew the instant she spotted him. Her eyes lit up with surprised pleasure, and she broke into a brilliant smile. He wanted to rush forward, but he held his ground and settled for a smile of his own, a small wave of his hand, and a nod. She was working. He could wait.
While she answered questions he let his eyes roam the crowd. They were a well-behaved bunch, eager for her attention but willing to wait their turn-nothing like sports fans. His gaze tracked to the head table and settled on Todd Richardson. Dressed in a coat and tie, clean-shaven, and with his dark hair neatly trimmed, Todd appeared every inch the professional he was. He was good for Bones, helping her maintain a balance between two demanding careers. Booth respected that.
As if sensing he was being watched Todd glanced up. Booth nodded. Returning the gesture, Todd reached for something on the table in front of him. A moment later Booth felt the telltale vibration of an incoming text message. Taking out his cellphone, he glanced down. And grinned.
How's she doing?
Amused, he looked back up at Todd, saw the quiet humor in the other man's eyes, and gave a quick thumbs up before returning his attention to Bones.
She wore a peach-colored scoop-necked blouse today, along with one of the chunky necklaces she loved so much. Her full skirt swirled around her legs when she moved, and she wore simple, open-toed sandals on her feet. She looked like she belonged on the beach or in a sunny park filled with kids, balloons, and maybe a dog or two. It was a lighter, softer side of her that he rarely got to see.
Bones concluded her talk, and Todd got to his feet as she accepted a round of applause. While he poked and prodded the audience into line, she sat down, took a sip of water, and picked up a pen. She was going to be tied up for at least another hour, so Booth wandered off to explore.
It took a some time to settle on what he wanted, but Booth finally chose two books for Parker, an "Don't mess with the boss" mug for Cam, and a set of those stick-figure-family decals that were all the rage for Angela and Hodgins. He even found a chewable book for Michael. By the time he returned to the signing Bones was finishing with her last fan. Booth waited until the man stepped away, book tucked protectively under one arm, before finally crossing to her side.
Ignoring Todd, he dropped his bag of gifts on the table and pulled Bones into his arms. He held her close, his cheek resting against the dark silk of her hair as he closed his eyes and just … breathed. Her head settled against his chest and her arms cinched tight around his back, and for several long seconds neither one of them moved. When her grip on him eased he drew back to frame her face with his hands.
"Hi, beautiful," he said softly. "Miss me?"
She snorted and gave him a half-hearted shove. "Not at all."
But he saw the lie of it in her eyes and had to fight the urge to reach for her again. Instead he summoned his self control and took a half step back, wondering how long he'd have to wait before he could get her alone someplace.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Oh, you know-" He shrugged, fighting a smile. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood." At her dubious expression he relented. "I talked Hacker into giving me a week off. Thought maybe we could rent a car, drive up to San Francisco together."
Catching her sidelong glance at Todd, Booth reached out to shake the younger man's hand. "Good to see you again."
"Back at'cha." Todd smiled warmly. "How was your flight?"
"Five and a half hours in a glorified tin can," Booth said. "What's not to love?" He shook his head. "But it got me here."
"That's all that matters."
Booth's gaze tracked back to Bones. He watched her gather books into a pile, her hands moving over the task with easy efficiency. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it is."
He glanced up to find Todd watching him. They shared a look of understanding.
"So," Booth said, changing the subject. "This was it for today, yes?"
"Not just for today," Todd said. "We're finished here in LA. Next signing's on Saturday up in San Fran."
"I thought you had one more stop here." It had been in her itinerary, which Booth had long since committed to memory.
"At Borders." Todd nodded. "Cancelled. Store went out of business." He reached out, stilling Bones's hand against the stack of books. "Why don't you let me finish up here," he said.
"Are you certain?" Bones asked. "It would be inconsiderate of us to leave you with all the clean-up."
"I'm sure." He gave Bones a look that made Booth raise his eyebrows and cast her a curious glance. "Besides, I imagine you and Mr. Booth have some catching up to do."
"Drop the mister," Booth said. "Every time I hear it I look around for my grandfather."
Todd laughed. "Will do."
Bones still looked doubtful "Are you sure you don't mind the extra work?
"No problem." Todd gathered up the pens Bones had used, tapped them into neat alignment. "I'll see you in San Francisco," he said. "And don't worry about canceling your train ticket. I'll take care of it."
Moments later Booth guided Bones out of the store, his hand at the small of her back, sunglasses firmly in place. The parking lot was busy, packed with morons who were too busy playing with their I-crap to watch out for pedestrians. He had to pull Bones out of the way of oncoming traffic twice before they finally made it to his rental car.
As he'd expected, she grinned when she saw it.
"'66 Mustang," she said, running her hand along the fender. She looked over at him, an impish sparkle in her eyes. "Gonna let me drive?"
He should've known she would remember. Bones remembered everything.
"No, I'm not going to let you drive," he said. "And this time you can't use Cullen to get your own way."
She huffed at him, but he could tell it was only half-hearted.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, as he pulled into traffic.
"Not for food," she said. "Besides the hotel has excellent room service."
He glanced over, caught the look in her eyes, and felt his body tighten in response. "Sounds like a plan," he said, reaching over to capture her hand with his. "Which way?"
They were quiet for most of the trip, but Bones never pulled her hand away, and the occasional brush of her thumb against the back of his wrist made him push down on the gas pedal a little harder. At the hotel Booth parked the car, collected his duffle bag, and followed her inside. She stood close to him on the elevator, her shoulder brushing against his arm even though they were alone. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she removed her necklace and dropped it into her bag, exchanging it for her keycard. Had he been younger and less concerned about propriety, he might've made a move on her then. As it was, the air between them vibrated with tension, and the short walk down the hall to her room felt like it took minutes instead of seconds.
He waited impatiently while she unlocked the door. Inside, he caught a brief glimpse of curtain-framed ocean before he heard the door swing shut and found himself pressed back against it, his hands and arms and thoughts filled with Bones, her soft contours and familiar scent distracting him completely from the view.
Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his shirt, sliding across his chest, running up his arms to curl around his neck. He kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue and drawing a low, hungry groan from the back of her throat. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he locked her lower body against his and slid his other hand under her blouse. He searched out the front catch of her bra, flicked it open.
"You," she said, dragging her mouth free, "have very skillful hands."
"So ... do ... you," he gasped, his head falling back against the door and his breath hissing between his teeth as her hands found the catch of his jeans, released it, and pushed them down over his hips, following the fabric with lips, teeth and tongue.
"Shoes," he managed. In his hurry to toe them off he almost tripped over his jeans. She dragged her fingernails up the inside of his leg, stopping just short of his crotch to sketch a series of tantalizing circles against his skin.
"Problems?" she asked, her eyes glinting with humor.
He shook his head, kicked shoes and jeans aside, then dropped to his knees beside her.
"No." He pushed her blouse and bra out of his way and cupped her breasts in his hands. "No problems at all."
Bending his head, he kissed the top of one breast, then smiled at her sharp intake of breath.
"God," he said. "You are-" He captured a nipple between his teeth. Sucked gently. "-So hot."
Her hips bucked, her nails digging into his back. He nipped again. "You like that?"
"Yes," she said. "More."
His hand dropped to the curve of her waist, slid past the flare of hip and thigh, and dipped under the hem of her skirt, dragging it up and out of his way. He traced a path back up, paused at the edge of her panties, then eased the tip of one finger across the thin cotton barrier that separated him from her heat.
She said his name on a whimper, the intensity of her need making his body ache for hers. Locking his arms around her waist, he pulled her down with him onto the rich, deep carpet, but in a flash of catlike grace her leg came up and across so that she was straddling him instead, her hands pressed flat against his chest. She shifted her hips back, forth, and then back again, her expression so unabashedly sensual that it made his mouth go dry and set his heart racing in his chest.
Her eyes met his. She wanted … Something. He didn't know what it was, but it didn't matter.
"Whatever you need," he said. He was hers. No questions. No doubts. "Anything you need, baby." He dragged her mouth down to his, kissed her hard, released her. "Anything."
Without answering she got to her feet, pulled off her panties, and tossed them aside. He caught a glimpse of pubic hair before she sank back down, and then she was straddling him again, her lower body hidden by the fabric of her skirt. Holding his gaze, she reached under the billowing cotton, freed his cock, and then he was sliding inside and-
Sweet Jesus she was wet.
He grabbed her hips, thrusting deep despite his determination to let her set the pace. When she fell forward he lifted his head to capture her mouth, wrapping his arm around her waist, dragging her body tight and hard against his own. Holding her still, he drove his tongue deep into her mouth and felt the faint vibration of sound as she moaned again.
She pulled away, braced herself with her hands against his chest, and lifted up, waiting there for an endless moment before easing back down with a long, low hum of pleasure that had him all but begging for mercy. Watching her face, feeling what she was doing without being able to see it … He couldn't … Couldn't keep still.
He lifted to meet her. Fell away. Again. And again.
Without warning she reared back, face lifted toward the ceiling, eyes closed and back arched as she adjusted her angle. She was moving fast now, and he kept one hand at her waist, steadying her, lending her balance, and slid the other under the fabric of her skirt to seek out the sweet spot that made her body tremble against his. He circled it once. Twice. Three times. Her thigh muscles quivered. Tensed. And suddenly she was falling, helpless against the onslaught of her orgasm. Wrapping her within the protective circle of his arms, he held her close while the tremors rolled through her and then slowly subsided.
Minutes passed before she pushed herself up, but her hands lingered on his chest, and she gave him a rueful smile. "I'm not … patience isn't something I'm good at."
He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you hear me complaining?"
She laughed, and the sound of it-carefree and utterly feminine-made his cock throb. Instantly her laughter died away, her expression turning predatory, seductive. Lowering her head, she pressed a row of tiny, nibbling kisses along his jaw. He shifted restlessly, felt himself pulse again, and bit his lip against the urge to thrust.
"How about we take this party to a bed?" he suggested.
She didn't argue, instead getting to her feet and offering him a hand up. As soon as he was vertical he pulled her in against him, her breasts flattening against his chest as he bent to kiss her. She pushed him away, laughing.
"Bed," she said, shaking an admonishing finger. "Remember?"
"Right." He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. His boxers followed an instant later. But when he reached for her she danced away and scrambled onto the bed, where she perched on her knees while she took off her blouse and bra, dangling them in one hand for a moment before letting them drop to the floor. Wearing only her skirt, she propped her hands on her hips and gave him a challenging stare, head up, shoulders back, chest thrust forward-a queen, surveying her domain.
"See anything you like?" she asked, and then yelped as he tackled her, bringing her down to the soft mattress and making her gasp against his hungry mouth.
God, she tasted good. Her nimble lips knew exactly what to do with his, and her tongue and teeth drove him crazy. He tore his mouth away from hers and stared down at her, memorizing the look in her eyes, the dusky smile, the color that flooded her cheeks. Hot didn't even begin to cover this woman. She was fire.
He went in for more, determined to taste every inch of exposed skin, to tease every nerve ending until she begged for release. His lips slid over her neck, across her collar bone, down one arm, lingering on the sensitive flesh at the inside of her elbow and again at her wrist. Then back up and over to her other arm, repeating the process. Only when he had her squirming beneath him, her breath coming in fast, hungry little gasps, did he attend to her breasts, laving each one with his tongue, nipping at her with his teeth, making her shift and buck against him while she made those soft little keening sounds that drove him wild. She'd stopped laughing long ago, but her hands were busy, kneading his shoulders, running through his hair, tracing the edges of his ears and jaw. It was a race to see who would cave first, whose need would outstrip patience and demand satisfaction.
As if reading his mind she shifted underneath him, tugging at the fabric that had gotten trapped between their bodies, bunching it up and out of the way as she bent her knees, and suddenly he found himself poised at her entrance. He felt her hands on his hips, saw her open her eyes to lock on his.
"Now," she said. He was helpless to resist. He pushed forward and in, taking his time, savoring the advancing rush of heat and the welcoming pulse of her inner muscles. But when his eyes would have closed she stopped him, her hands tightening on his arms. "No," she said. "Look at me."
It was an intensely intimate moment. With his gaze locked on the brilliant clarity of hers he pulled out, then eased in again, lifting her hips so that he could push deeper, then holding there for a moment before drawing slowly back. In again, and out. Faster. Her hands still on his arms, his hips and hers finding a natural rhythm. And then he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, could only follow the instinct that drove him forward. Harder. Faster. Higher. Until he flew off the edge of the cliff, his body pushing into hers one last time as he found his release.
When it was over he collapsed beside her, chest heaving. "Fuck." It was language he didn't ordinarily use around her. It was also the only word he could manage.
She laughed softly. "Oh, yeah," she said. She sounded proud of herself.
With a quiet snort of amusement, he reached for her hand. Twined his fingers with hers.
"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
Her head snapped toward his, her eyes wide with alarm. "I hope not."
Laughing, he pulled her into his arms, felt her settle against him. "It's just a figure of speech, Bones. Don't panic."
She blew out a breath, smacked him lightly on the chest. "That was mean."
He trailed a finger down her side, lingering at the soft outer edge of her breast. "Was it?" he teased. "Was it really?"
He felt her exasperated sigh more than heard it, but since she also wrapped an arm around his waist and nestled in closer against his side he didn't take it personally. Instead he pressed a kiss against the top of her head, smiled, and closed his eyes.
When he woke up some time later the room was lit by the pale glow of the moon, and a glance at the clock told him it was well past midnight. Bones had rolled over, presenting him with the satin-smooth expanse of her back. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers down her spine and slipped out of bed instead. Moving as quietly as he could he located his underwear and pulled it on. Then he crossed to the window to stare down at the deeply shadowed beach.
His life should have been perfect in that moment. And it was, mostly. He had an amazing kid, a fantastic job, and the most incredible woman he'd ever known was sleeping just a few feet away. Even better, through some fluke of science or mystery of nature she was carrying his child, a child they'd agreed they would raise together. So yes, his life should have been perfect.
And yet …
He wanted more.
And that made him a greedy, selfish bastard, didn't it. He had so much. Why couldn't he be satisfied? Why couldn't it be enough?
He loved her. Dear God, did he love her.
But he couldn't tell her that. He didn't have the guts.
It had been so easy to say it to Hannah, but he was starting to understand that he'd given her the words without ever truly giving her his heart. Eight letters. Two spaces. A string of interconnected sounds without any real meaning. That's what he'd given her.
It would be different with Bones. With her it wouldn't be just letters, spaces, and sounds. With her it would be everything, the last piece of his heart handed to her on a silver platter. Those words were all he had left, and if he gave them to her, gave her that power, and she ran ...?
Even the thought of it, the possibility that it could happen, was enough to make his chest ache. He'd offered her thirty, forty, or fifty years, and not only had she turned it down, she'd run halfway across the world to get away from him. Now he wanted to promise her everything. Could he survive if she ran from that, too?
He looked over at her. Her skin was silvered by moonlight, her hair dark against the pillow. Would their child be a little boy with her love of science and his people skills? Or a little girl with his love of sports and her clear, penetrating gaze? He tried to picture his future family on a picnic in the park or grilling steaks in the backyard while a puppy played at their feet. But the image wavered, as if he were viewing it through rain-washed glass.
With a sigh he turned back toward the window, looking out at the beach without really seeing it. He knew what he wanted. He wanted a real family. A home. A shared bed and a shared history and stories he could tell his grandkids. But he still didn't know if that was what she wanted.
And if he'd learned anything, it was that the surest way to lose Bones was to hold on to her too tightly.
Maybe he shouldn't have brought up marriage that day at Union Station. He'd seen the hesitation in her eyes, had known exactly what it meant. But by then it had been too late, and his only defense had lain in rapid retreat and a determination not to bring the subject up again.
But he still wanted it.
Could he build a life with her without the foundation of marriage? Could he live with that compromise? He honestly didn't know.
There was a soft rustle of sound, and a second or two later her arms snaked around his waist.
"Hey," he said, folding his arms over hers. "Did I wake you?"
"No." He felt her shake her head against his back. "My stomach did."
"Hungry?"
"Very much so."
He freed one arm to arc up and over her shoulder, bringing her in against his chest and holding her close. She nestled into him, soft as a kitten, and he dropped a kiss against her hair.
"I could order something from room service," he offered.
"Mmm." She yawned widely and burrowed deeper into his shoulder, making him smile.
"What are you hungry for?"
"Omelette," she managed around another yawn. "Orange juice. Sausage …" His eyebrows rose. That was new. "Fresh strawberries."
They took turns showering while they waited for the food to arrive, then ate at a little table by the window. He stole one of her strawberries, narrowly avoiding a sharp poke from her fork, and she drank most of his orange juice. Afterwards she tossed him his shirt.
"Let's go for a walk," she said.
"Bones …" He glanced over at the clock, raised his eyebrows at her. "It's two a.m."
She blinked. "I don't see why that matters." With a sweep of her arm, she gestured toward their empty dishes. "I can't sleep, not after eating all that food, and we've already had sex."
Amused, he advanced on her. "We can do that again, if you'd like."
She took a step back and reached behind her to pick up the key card. She waved it at him, then tucked it into the pocket of the cargo shorts she'd pulled on after her shower. They were fastened, he noticed, with a large safety pin.
"Later," she said. "You should get some sleep. You've had a long day. I'll be fine alone."
"Bones, no. Wait. I'm coming." No way was he letting her go out by herself at this hour. No way in hell.
He grabbed a pair of shorts from his duffle and tugged them on, then shrugged into a t-shirt. Neither of them bothered with shoes.
Five minutes later they were splashing through the surf, making their way along the quiet, deserted beach. He reached for her hand, and she smiled over at him, lacing her fingers through his.
"Happy?" he asked, watching her.
She considered it for a moment. "Yes," she said. Her eyes met his. Held. "Yes, I am."
He squeezed her hand, and they walked on in companionable silence, stopping occasionally to point out the running lights of passing boats or look up at the few visible stars. Bones talked about tide pools and showed him how to tell if a sand dollar was alive or dead. He told her about the first time he'd taken Parker to the ocean and about the swimming holes Pops used to take him to as a kid. And later, as they started back toward the hotel with his arm wrapped around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder, they talked about the baby-about nursery colors (She lobbied for black and white. He wanted pastels. They compromised at primaries.), and names, and what they would do when she went back to work.
By the time they got back to the room they were both yawning. They brushed their teeth side by side at the sink. Then he went to untangle the sheets while she took her vitamin and brushed her hair. He was already in bed when she came out. She was naked, her stomach softly rounded with the baby she carried, and when she crawled into bed he drew her into his arms. He stroked her back, felt the light press of her lips against his shoulder …
And smiled as he closed his eyes.
*x*x*x*x*
Brennan woke to bright sunshine and Booth's arm flung across her stomach. The sheet had settled low on his hips, stimulating a familiar response low in her belly. She'd noticed a marked increase in her libido as her pregnancy progressed, and she wondered if that was strictly due to hormonal changes or if some of it might be due to the intensity of her feelings for Booth. In the past, her sexual interest had varied inversely with the duration of her relationships, but with Booth the opposite seemed to be true. It was a surprising, and thoroughly enjoyable, discovery.
She sketched an abstract figure-eight against his skin with her fingertips as her thoughts strayed to the baby. Angela's adamant insistence that Booth had a right to know about the fertility treatments and Todd's conviction that Booth would be angry if he found out had left her feeling more conflicted than ever. What if he was more than just angry? What if he responded the same way he'd responded to Hannah's rejection? Maybe she could have handled that if it had happened the night she told him about her pregnancy, but now ...?
She couldn't risk it, couldn't watch him walk away the way she'd once watched her parents walk away. Besides, she'd reached the conclusion that their child needed two parents.
Booth was the father of her child.
That was the important thing, the only thing that mattered.
That had to be her priority.
A glance at the clock told her it was almost ten, which meant almost one for him. They hadn't gone to sleep until almost dawn, but Booth had had the foresight to put the do not disturb sign on the door, so she needn't worry about the housekeeping staff. They had five days together. Five days until she had to be in San Francisco for her next signing, and he had to catch a flight back to Washington. Right now they were alone. In bed. And they were naked. Surely she could find better ways to occupy her time than worrying about something that might never happen.
She let her hand drift lower, observing his body's autonomic response with interest. She stroked gently, almost tenderly, fascinated by the strength of her own physical reaction to the simple act of touching him. Already her body was preparing itself for sexual activity, her nerve endings becoming more sensitive, her vaginal tract growing warm and moist.
He'd started to respond to the slow strokes of her fingers, his corpora cavernosa beginning to fill with blood. Seeking better access and a clear view, she pushed up to sit beside him, crossing her legs and letting the sheet fall away from her body as she continued stroking.
It didn't take long for Booth's penis to acquire an admirable tumescence. She stroked down its length, then back up again, and smiled in satisfaction when she felt it pulse. Releasing it, she shifted down to explore his inner thighs with their coating of springy hair before gently cupping his scrotum and letting the weight of his testes settle against her palm.
The pressure of his hand on her knee startled her, and she looked up to find him watching her, his eyes hooded and dark.
"Good morning," he said.
"Afternoon for you," she pointed out, smiling. "Your internal clock is still on eastern time."
"Whatever," he waved that off, his gaze pointedly following her hand to where it still rested between his legs. "A guy could get used to waking up with a beautiful woman's hand on his junk."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "I find that colloquialism very distasteful," she said. "I prefer to use proper terminology."
When he raised his eyebrows at her, she demonstrated.
"Scrotum," she said, closing her hand gently around it. "Testes-" with the tip of her finger, she traced each one. "And penis." She circled his glans with her thumb and forefinger and nodded in satisfaction when his hips shifted restlessly. "Yours are quite impressive."
He snorted a laugh. "You have such a way with words, Bones."
"Thank you." Pleased by the compliment, she slid her hand to the base of his penis and squeezed lightly, aware that Booth found the sensation pleasurable.
"Jeez …" His hand tightened on her leg, and his eyes closed, confirming her theory. "Keep doing that, and you can call them Larry, Moe, and Curly if you want to."
"Why would I want to personify your genitalia?" she asked. She'd known other men who'd done that, and she'd always found the practice puzzling.
"Never mind Bones, just …" he grunted, his hips jerking in response to the measured pumping of her hand. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
She complied willingly, eager for another opportunity to experiment with various methods of direct penile stimulation in her continuing quest to determine which were most effective at bringing him to orgasm. She studied his reactions, making careful mental notes about those combinations of speed and pressure that seemed most pleasurable.
"Bones."
He only used that tone when he wanted to be certain she was paying attention.
She looked up. "What?"
"Stop thinking so hard," he said. "Just … Go with your gut."
She shook her head, but before she could argue he reached down and stilled her hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he sucked the tip of her middle finger between his teeth. At her gasp, he smiled.
"See?" he said quietly, releasing her. "Don't analyze. Just feel."
The instruction puzzled her. She wasn't sure she knew how to 'just feel.' Still, it seemed important to him, so she nodded doubtfully.
"I'll try," she said.
"That's all I ask." He relaxed back against the pillows, hands at his sides. "I'm all yours."
She felt uneasy when he said things like that, even though she knew he was being metaphorical. It made her feel accountable for his happiness and well-being to an extent she'd never before experienced. The responsibility of that weighed heavily on her, despite knowing they were having a child together-a child that would bind them to each other in very real, concrete ways for the rest of their lives.
Setting that issue aside, she looked down at him, considering. She'd never participated in sexual activities without the clear goal of mutual orgasm-and a corresponding strategy-so now she found herself at a loss.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He was watching her, eyebrows raised.
"I …" She hesitated, biting her lip. "I don't know what to do."
She half expected him to laugh. After all, she was an experienced, sexually active adult. But he didn't laugh. Instead he looked … dismayed? Distressed? But that couldn't be right. She must be misreading him.
He reached for her hand. "You don't haveto do anything, Bones."
A generous suggestion, considering the size of his erection.
"You don't understand." She tried to explain. "It isn't that I don't want to," she said. She hadn't felt this uncertain since that first time with Michael, and even with him she'd proceeded with clear intent. "It's that I've never-" She cast about, searching for a way to explain. "-I've never flown by the hem of my pants before."
She thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was subdued. "Seat, Bones. It's seat of your pants." Serious again, he took her hand in his. "And I'm sorry to hear that. Everybody should try it at least once."
"But I don't …" She floundered, oddly embarrassed. "I don't know where to start."
He did smile then, but softly, the way she sometimes caught him looking at Parker when he thought no one was watching. "Here," he said. Unfolding her fingers, he pressed her hand flat against his chest. "Why don't you start here. And remember. Think with this." He reached up, tapped the center of her chest. "Not this." Another tap, this time at her temple.
She lowered her gaze to where her hand rested against his chest. She could touch him, wherever and however she wanted, without any definitive goal in mind. It was an intriguing prospect. She let her hand slide over him, closing her eyes to focus on the shifting textures beneath her palm-the hard ridge of bone, the firmness of muscle, the vulnerability of his abdomen. She circled again, widening her sweep, fitting her hand to his side, the shape of his clavicle, and the curve of his chest before returning to his stomach and smoothing a leisurely path up the center of his torso, then settling again just over his heart. She felt its beat, strong and steady, and opened her eyes to find him watching her.
With the tip of one finger she traced the circular scar on the right side of his chest.
"I still remember when you got this," she said. "I thought …" The memory still had a surprising ability to upset her. "I thought I'd lost you."
They'd only been friends then. Good friends, yes. But still ...
His fingers closed over hers. "I'm okay, Bones."
She blinked back unexpected tears. Damned hormones.
"I'm okay, and I'm here ..." He squeezed her hand. "And I'm not going anywhere." He pulled her head down to his and kissed her, his lips moving gently over hers. Chest aching, she swallowed hard. Straightened.
"I'm being ridiculous," she said. "I know."
"No." He shook his head. "You aren't. Remember Kenton?"
Dogs. She remembered the dogs.
"That was my fault," he said softly. "I trusted him to keep you safe, and he tried to kill you."
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know …"
He shook his head. "The point is I almost lost you then, so I understand how you feel." He reached up, bracketed her face with his hands. "I do," he said. Then, more slowly, his eyes holding hers. "I really, really do."
She didn't know how to respond, how to put words to what she was feeling. It was all too much, too intense, too overwhelming. Was this really what love was? This all-encompassing … thing? But it was such a small word. Four letters. A trio of phonemes. A single syllable. How could something so simple even begin to convey something so … So big.
In the end she didn't say anything at all. Instead she kissed him. She kissed him for a very long time. She kissed him until her knees started to ache and she had to stretch out beside him. His arms came around her and he kissed her back. She felt his fingers in her hair, holding it back from her face, and she felt the roughness of his legs against hers and the pressure of his chest against her breasts, and the throb of his erection against her stomach. She kissed him until it wasn't enough anymore and she had to fill her hands and her arms and her body with his strength.
She caught his hand, lifted it to her breast, and murmured her approval against his mouth when he gave it a gentle squeeze. Arching into his touch, she traced back up his arm, over his shoulder, and on up to his face, feeling the sandpaper prick of his beard against her palm before sliding back down his arm and tangling her fingers with his once more. He lifted their joined hands, pushed, and she rolled to her back without arguing, still kissing him, still touching, hunger and need outpacing cogent thought.
When his mouth left hers she murmured a protest, then murmured his name when he nuzzled her neck, and murmured it again when he kept going, past her neck and her clavicle to the top of her breast and beyond. His lips trailed moist fire in their wake, making her shiver, each point of contact setting more nerve endings alight. She felt the heat of his mouth as he circled her left breast, painting a spiral that ended at her nipple and made her gasp. Electricity shot through her, and no amount of science could keep her from imagining a direct link between her nipple and her clitoris. He shifted to her right breast, still holding the left, one thumb brushing over the nipple again and again while he painted another spiral, drew another gasp.
She felt helpless. Out of control. Heavy with want and close, too close, to an orgasm.
She tugged at his shoulders, his name little more than a whisper, but he took his time, working his way back up to her neck and dipping his tongue into the hollow at its base, freeing another moan as she pushed her head back into the pillows and bared the vulnerable arch of her neck to his mouth. She wanted to give. Needed him to feel as simultaneously languorous and restless as she did, needed to make him shift and groan and beg the same way she was shifting and groaning and begging.
She pushed at him, and he rolled to his back. His arms came around her again as she leaned over him. He said her name, and the sound of it, low and guttural, sent another shock wave through her system. She lifted her head for his kiss, and he met her in a frantic dance of lips, teeth, and tongues. She pulled away seconds later and dragged her lips down, retracing the path her hands had followed earlier, circling his torso twice, soothing his scars with the tip of her tongue, nipping gently at his nipples until they hardened against her lips.
Moving on, she trailed her lips over the center-line of his body. Down the middle of his chest. Between his ribs, across his stomach. A brief pause at his navel, a dip and swirl of her tongue, and her reward-the tensing of muscles, the sudden sharp jerk of his hips, the sound of his gasp. Onward then, until she finally reached his penis. No. Cock. Her body warmed at the self-correction, an unexpected reaction that she would think about later. Not now. She wasn't supposed to think right now.
She licked her way up his cock to its tip, holding it firmly at the base. Reaching up, she laced her fingers through his and felt his free hand against the top of her head, alternately stroking and tensing. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could, then licked her way back up, letting her teeth graze the head and smiling to herself when he bucked and groaned.
"Jesus …"
She did it again, swirling her tongue over the sensitive skin as she fellated him, employing everything she'd ever learned about male stimulation-the proper application of lips, tongue, teeth, and hands-to drive him higher. Her teeth flickered over his skin and her hand massaged the base of his penis, sliding now and then to his testes. No. That wasn't right. To his balls, before gliding back up.
"Bones …" He ground out her name, and she knew he was fighting for control. "Come up here, baby." She felt his hands on her shoulders, felt him pull, and let him slide free of her mouth as she crawled back up his body, licking and tasting at his skin, all heat and fire and hunger. He pushed her to her back
"My turn," he said, his mouth hovering over hers. He nipped at her bottom lip, but smiled and shook his head when she tried for more. "Relax." Another nip. "Feel."
As she had done earlier, he took one of her hands in his, intertwining their fingers as he moved down her body.
He was gentle with her. Tender. And there was something about the way he touched her that felt … somehow … more. It was something she only ever experienced with him. Something she didn't understand. She couldn't explain the difference, couldn't define it, her vocabulary woefully inadequate to the task.
A sudden sharp nip of his teeth shocked her into a gasp, her eyes widening as she met his gaze. He smiled an apology, laved the slight injury with his tongue, then shook his head at her.
"You're thinking again," he said softly.
Abashed, she laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." She gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm trying, but …"
"Mm." He looked skeptical. And amused. "Let's see if I can help you out with that."
He lowered his head again, and she hissed out a breath, unable to control the thrust of her hips when he sucked her nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it, his eyes on her face. Apparently satisfied with her reaction he let her go and turned his attention to the rest of her body.
It felt like his mouth was everywhere at once, and she squeezed his hand, her heart racing as he worked his way down her body. When his tongue found her clit it was all she could do not to scream. She writhed on the bed, shoulders and hips and legs moving as she tried to get closer. He licked again, just the tip of his tongue. Hard. Fast. And she whimpered. Every muscle in her body quivered and strained. He licked again, then dipped his tongue into her vaginal canal. Desperate for more, she bucked up. But he pulled away. Frustrated, desperate, she fought for control, her voice coming out on a thin whine.
"Please," she begged. "More."
His answer came in a series of long, hot sweeps of his tongue, then a flicker of its tip, and finally, a slow, tantalizing thrust into her vaginal canal. She had to stop him. She was too close to the edge. Too high. And while she very much enjoyed achieving orgasm through oral sex, she didn't want that now.
She pushed up on her elbows.
"Booth …" He lifted his head. Their eyes met. "Make love with me."
Make love. Her word choice was deliberate. Despite their active sex life she'd never before made this particular request, and she knew by the deepening intensity of his gaze and the way his fingers tightened around hers that he'd noticed the change. She waited apprehensively for his reaction, her pulse racing with nerves as much as arousal until slowly, without breaking eye contact, he nodded.
He worked his way back up her body with frustratingly methodical care, planting heated kisses along the way, making her squirm and pull at his shoulders in impatience. And then, finally, he was there, his lips finding hers, brushing over them once. Twice. He kissed the corner of her mouth as she slid her hands up his arms, across his shoulders, and around to the back of his neck, bringing his head down to hers for a longer, deeper kiss as she tucked her feet behind his knees.
She felt him brush against her and shifted her hips, sighing when he settled into position. She loved this part, with the head of his cock just beginning to ease past her entrance. In, but not really. Out, but not quite. He lifted his head, breaking the kiss, and she fought the urge to end the agonizingly delicious anticipation with a quick, hard thrust of her hips.
With her hands at his waist she lifted toward him and felt him slide in. Slow. Easy. Deep.
"Feel," he whispered, his mouth at her ear as the weight of his body settled onto her, pushing her into the mattress. "Just-" He drew back. Eased in again. "-feel."
She welcomed Booth's weight, knowing that on a word from her he would draw back and set her free. Booth would never hurt her, would never ask more of her than she was willing to give. And she loved him. So much that she ached with it.
She brought his head down to hers, kissed him deeply, taking her time, and felt his hips begin to move in tandem with her tongue. Slow. So ... Very … Slow. The effect was intensely sensual. His lips eased away from hers, and she felt them graze her jawline as he lowered his mouth to her ear without stopping the leisurely movements of his hips.
"This is how you make love, Bones." His voice was low, gravelly with emotion and arousal. "But it isn't just this." She heard his breath hitch in his throat. "Every time I touch you." Supporting his weight on one arm, he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, down the side of her neck, and out across her shoulder before returning his hand to the mattress. "Every time I kiss you." He pressed his lips to her temple. So tender. So gentle. "It's all making love, Bones. Every bit of it." He smiled faintly. "The truth is, when it comes to you, I don't know how not to make love."
He made it sound so simple. So clear. But nothing she was feeling was either simple or clear, so she settled for nodding as she met his long, smooth strokes, an effort that became increasingly difficult as her muscles coiled in on themselves and all she could focus on was how good he felt and how much she loved watching his face when they did this. He was getting close. It was there in the trembling of his arms and in his heavy-lidded gaze. She felt herself respond. Struggled to listen to what he was saying.
"Do you remember what I said to you?" he asked. His cock throbbed deep inside her body. She mourned its loss as he pulled back. "About two people becoming one?"
She remembered. She'd argued that it wasn't possible. Without warning, his hips snapped forward, hard, and she gasped.
"I'm going to show you." He was fighting for control. So was she. "I'm going to prove it can happen."
She managed another nod. She wanted him to be right, wanted to be that close to him.
"Prove it," she challenged, her voice little more than a whisper as she arched her back and pushed up to meet him on the next stroke. "Show me."
He paused. Dropped his head. Kissed her once. Hard. Then he lifted his head and drew back and suddenly she didn't want him to go slow anymore, didn't want his caution or patience or whatever the hell he called what he was doing.
"Faster," she urged, her voice breaking. "Please, Booth." She matched action to words, no longer trying to control the movements of her own body. "Please." She said again. "Fast."
He did as she asked, his hips thrusting harder against hers as he increased his pace. "Still," he gasped. "Making ..." He drove in. Hard. Deep. "... Love."
She wanted to laugh. Couldn't. Instead she reached down, wrapped her fingers tightly around the base of his cock Squeezed. And watched his expression change as he grunted softly.
"Again."
She did. And felt him throb deep inside her. He pushed her hand out of the way and used his own thumb to rub tight, hard circles against her clit as he continued to thrust against her. She couldn't … couldn't catch her breath. Couldn't think. Could only …
Feel.
This was it. This was what he'd meant. What he'd been trying to tell her all along. She dragged her fingernails across his skin. Whimpered. They were almost there, breath heaving. Hearts racing. Their bodies ...
Feel.
She was dimly aware of his voice, of his body. She knew instinctively what to do, how to move to drive him-them-higher. She didn't have to think. Not with him.
"That's it, baby." His voice sounded strangled. "That's it." The words were rough. Broken. Their pitch climbing with the approach of his orgasm. "Come with me."
She drew back when he pulled out, rose to meet him when he slammed back down. And still it wasn't enough. Still she wanted more. He kissed her without slowing down, more teeth and tongue than lips. No softness. Only heat. She didn't know where he found the self-control to join his mouth to hers. Didn't care. Then his body went rigid as he reared back. She felt the first gush of his semen against her cervix, heard him groan.
And followed him over the edge.