September 15 2011

BONES

I'm smiling when I put my key in the doorknob then turn it. I've come to quite enjoy coming home to my apartment knowing Booth's on the other side of the door.

"Bones is home!" He greets me effusively, something else I've found I like: Someone looking forward to me coming home.

I drop my keys in the dish on the credenza, kick the door closed with my heel then toss my briefcase on a chair. Something smells good. Really good. My stomach growls loudly enough that I glance towards Booth to see if he heard. I haven't had any morning sickness. Just the opposite. I feel famished from the time I get up until the time I go to bed and sometimes during the hours between.

"What are we having?" I ask.

"Eggplant parmesan, roasted squash and salad," he relays. My stomach growls again and I know he heard it this time by the way he's grinning at me. Turning he tugs open the door to the fridge, then closes it. "And caprese salad as an appetizer," he announces, setting the plate on the counter. Reaching for a decanter of balsamic dressing he's made, he pops the lid and drizzles it over the mozzarella, tomatoes and basil leaves, but doesn't stop there: He grabs a fork off the counter, cuts a health slice and feeds it to me.

I hum my pleasure.

"It's delicious," I compliment around the food in my mouth. He leans in and taps a kiss to my lips, undaunted by the fact I'm chewing.

"I thought the little guy might be demanding a snack right about now." I gave up on the he/she battle a couple weeks ago, realizing it was just another way for him to tease me. Of course, I could be feeling generous because I'm distracted… and not by the food. My eyes feast on the man standing before me, who's currently cutting off another slice of the salad and offering it to me.

It's so good.

But my mouth is no longer watering over the thought of food. It's all him. The dark gray FBi T-shirt he's wearing emphasizes the soft sculpting of his shoulders, arms and chest, hinting at the taut muscles that lay beneath. Muscles I long to feel… to watch… contract as he drives is body into mine, over and over again. I want to rip off the pair of black jersey shorts he's wearing. I want to feel his thighs, his torso, meld to mine and I want to feel his large hands touching me, teasing me, holding me. I want to taste his breath against my lips then cooling that spot on my skin his mouth has dampened.

My eyes drop lower.

But first I want him to take those socks off.

"Hungry, Bones?" He catches me unaware and my head jerks up so I can look at him. His head is tilted and his lips pursed, a sign he's amused by me and the way he eases another piece of salad past my lips only confirms that. His eyes tell a different story, however and it's a story I no longer pretend isn't being told.

"Ravenous," I confirm, closing the distance between us and grasping the bottom of his t-shirt in my hands. "But not for food," I clarify, just in case. "Do we have time?" He leans over so I can divest him of his shirt, then glances at the timer on the oven while I tug the tails of my blouse out from beneath my pants and my fingers skim down the front, releasing buttons as they go.

"That would depend on what you want: A quick trip to…" he wags his brows at me "….mind blowing pleasure, then dinner will be ready just about when we're done; if the entire tour, with multiple layovers—" My lips mold to his and, as I strip off my blouse and bra, I walk him backwards until he's trapped between the counter and me. I hook my thumbs around the elastic of his shorts and boxers, then tug them downwards. "I guess I have my answer…" he murmurs against my lips.

We part only long enough to yank off the rest of our clothes. He closes in, kissing me with abandon and melding our bodies from chest-to-thigh, one hand splayed between my shoulders, the other cupping a cheek of my buttocks, keeping me close as he turns us. In a flash, I'm being lifted off the floor and sat on the counter. My head falls back naturally, his lips leaving mine to chart a course down the column of my neck.

I've learned something these last months with Booth: There are men, like Michael that are great at sex, getting you to where you want to go expediently, but are perfectly fine with you found yours, I found mine, I commend myself on a job well done, I think I want a snack, do you want a snack? The sex might be good while it lasts but it's a snack and that's all it is.

Then there are men like Sully, men who specialize in playful, fun sex. They'll help you find your way a couple of times, usually in a couple different ways. Afterwards, they prefer to hide under the covers with you, joking and laughing, kissing and teasing, as though they've found the fountain of happiness in sex. That happiness, though, is contagious.

There are men like Pete: Plain, straight, textbook sex. He kisses the number of times he thinks is required, he touches you in all the right places but for far too short a time and he'll get you there… most of the time… even if it requires a little extra manual stimulation to do so. But if you want to get there all-naturally, so to speak, and especially if you want to get there more than once, be prepared to put your back into it because you're going to not only have to take control, but do all the work, too, while he lays back and enjoys.

Then there's Booth. Fun and spirited sex, slow and languorous sex, teasing and drawn out sex, hot and hard sex… It doesn't matter what kind of sex it is, he's fully invested and I don't mean in just the sex, I mean in me. Just like in the field when we work, in bed he would never consider leaving me behind or to fend for myself. He devours me while at the same time treating my body like fine china…

Like now…

His lips still at the top of my right breast, his thumbs tracing the undersides of both, cautiously, like a whisper caressing my skin, he pulls back to look at me.

"Bones?" He's asking if my breasts are too tender for his attentions.

"Touch me," I implore, weaving my hands through his hair and drawing his lips back to mine. I pour myself into the kiss, holding nothing back from him. By the time the tip of his thumb flutters over my nipple and his hand gently cups my breast, the kiss has changed in intensity, in nuance, in texture. As our heads list side-to-side, changing the angle of the kisses we share, our eyes often catch. I know what I've said, often and emphatically in the past…


"It's a myth that a person's intentions and desires can be seen in the eyes…"


The last time I'd bandied about that belief, Dr. Lauren Eames' pilot had challenged me not to see his feelings for her in his eyes…

And I found I couldn't.

No more than I can deny what I see in Booth's eyes when he looks at me now. It's a look that makes me feel warm, happy; it's a look that makes me feel safe, wanted and needed; a look that tells me just how much he desires me; it's a look that makes me secure in the knowledge he loves me, that I made the right choice the night I'd risked what had felt like everything at the time, to tell him I'd made a mistake turning him away.

"Booth," I murmur his name against his lips. Without a word, his hands grip my hips and drag me to the edge of the counter and lift my legs around his hips. Only then does he end the kiss. His eyes fastened on my face, he takes his erection in hand and, lining himself up, presses in slowly until he fills me completely. The puff of my name from his lips harmonizes with my uttered sigh of his name. I fall back on my elbows and arch my back, my breath already short and hard.

Those eyes I once claimed were unable to transmit desires and intentions, capture mine and hold as his body moves within mine. I'm still held in disbelief when I feel the emotions conveyed there: Longing, pride, gratitude, happiness, trust…

And love. Most especially love.

He drags a splayed hand downwards from the neck to the apex of my legs. I arch even more fully, as he'd hoped, my breasts with their hardened peaks all the more on display. That hand slips behind me to support my back as he leans over and draws a nipple into his mouth. The look in his eyes, the steady cadence of his hips and the touch of his hands proves all I need and I call out his name as my body contracts around his in orgasm.

His body shakes from the strain of fighting off his own release. I have no doubt I'll have a second climax, the hormones flooding my bloodstream and the man panting against my breast at the moment guaranteeing it will come and likely quite quickly. That's not good enough for me as I want him and arrive at that crest together this time.

Before the final quake from my orgasm leaves me, I separate our bodies and slip to the floor. Once on my feet, I turn to face the counter and, softly gripping the edge for balance, part my legs invitingly with a look back over my shoulder at him. It's a position he can never resist since it leaves my body almost wholly open to him. He draws an arm across my waist, them lining up, presses forward slowly, entering me in small increments then pulling back nearly completely. It's a move he knows drives me crazy waiting for, anticipating the moment he'd brush against a sensitive spot or finally fully fill me. It makes me squirm, as I'm starting to now, from impatience. The lips he trails over my shoulders, and the spot where his mouth lays warms me when he chuckles, thoroughly satisfied with himself.

He forgets, I know so many of his secrets now as—

The hand on my abdomen begins to move slowly upwards…

Then he completely stills. I quickly grow impatient and decide he needs to be reminded that I, too, have some tricks up my sleeve when it comes to him. This time, with a wiggle of my hips, it is Booth gasping when his erection leaves he warm confines of my body. I spin, quickly. Cupping the back of his head, I land a decadent kiss on his lips, a kiss reminiscent of the one outside the pool house, where we'd stood in the pouring rain. The moan deep in his throat, a hand clutching the back of my neck and a hand palming my buttock marks the beginning of triumph, taking his erection in hand and guiding it back to me, the completion. That moan turns into the groan of my name as he instinctively pushes forward, all the way. Then, when my lips leave his to caress the spot beneath his ear, he's reduced to a helpless servant to his carnal drives. He devises a steady pace of fast deep thrusts intermingled with the occasional long slow one. I lift a single leg and anchor it on his hip, then it only takes the slightest tilt of my hips…

"Mmm, Booth, right there," I tell him breathlessly.

Our hands roam, touching and teasing. It's not long until our breath is coming in short, heavy gasps as we both hover on the precipice. Another kiss and we lean our foreheads against each other. My eyes close and lips part as my organism rolls over me. I feel Booth watching me, then he shifts, pressing his lips against my neck then shoulder, forcing his hips to continue their pace for me. It's not long before he wraps both arms tightly around me and he leans his head against my shoulder.

"Bones… Oh, God, Bones…"

His body stiffens beneath my hands then shudders hard. I feel the warmth of his body being poured into mine. It's a heady experience. If I'd known the sex would be this good… that we would be so good as a couple, I would have dragged him home with me after that rain-soaked kiss.

The thought doesn't catch fire. We would never have made it then. I know that. I wasn't ready. He was maybe too ready, just not for me.

Our bodies sated, we slide in unison to the floor, laughing. He leans in and kisses me.

"If I'd known," he puffs, "Being pregnant would make you want to jump me, regularly, I would have dragged you to that fertility clinic two years ago." I grin.

"Elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone in a pregnant woman's body coupled with increased blood flow to the genitals has been known to increases sexual desire," I acknowledge, reaching for my panties, "But given your physicality…" I rake my eyes over him from shoulder-to-toes "…stamina, creativity and ability, I'm not inclined to believe the pregnancy is the reason for my sex drive." I drop a kiss on his lips, then stand to wriggle into my underwear. Bending over I pick up my blouse, forgoing the bra for now. Booth follows suit, pausing in pulling up his boxers when the alarm on the oven sounds.

My stomach rumbles loudly in reply, drawing another laugh from Booth. Stepping behind me, he lays a hand on my abdomen.

"Let's get the little guy and mom fed, huh?"

With a kiss on my cheek, he turns his attention to finishing the meal.