There was a time, when you were a very young girl, that your heart was completely open. You remember how it felt. Like sunlight. To be secure in your world, in the family that loved you, enough to love in return without even thinking. Without even knowing an alternative. But that was so long ago, and your life since that time…
You know that his question is not just about sex. Wanting him—all of him. His question is so simple, and so is your answer. Yes. You do. But saying it is something else entirely. Saying it out loud.
You know that little girl is still as much a part of you as all the other parts of you. She's just as real as the woman you've become. But this moment… you feel your whole life teetering on a balance. If you walk away from him, you'll be walking away from the hope that you can change. That you can return to the open heart you were born with.
And the irony is, you thought you were so brave coming here tonight, to seduce him. But you realize now how little courage that took. To answer this simple question…it's the kind of real courage you're not sure you have.
Your face is painted with more makeup than you've ever worn, but it feels naked under his scrutiny. As if he can see your fear. You've never been able to hide anything from him. And you can't hide this either. No matter how you decide to answer, he'll see the truth on your face. That you want him as purely as you want survival. To live—not just to work, or even to learn. To live.
Please please please, take this chance, you will her silently. Her breath catches in her throat and she smiles the smallest, most timid smile. She shrugs her shoulders, looking more like a child than she ever has before and simply says, "I love you."
And this is all you'll ever need. The sweetest words you could never deserve, but God how long you've dreamed of hearing them. You know you're smiling like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. The luckiest fucking idiot in the world. You never dared to expect this. Never thought she'd say it first. You need to tell her…
"I—Temperance, you have to know, I—" your voice won't work. But she smiles and places her hand over your heart.
"I know," she says quietly. "I… I convinced myself you were just flirting, because it was safer to be angry with you, than to think that you might actually... But I know, Booth. I do."
If you can't say it, you'll have to show her. Even if your voice isn't working, your body is. You're boiling over from the radioactive coil of emotions she's swirled up since she arrived here tonight in this half-gesture of a dress and her come-get-me expression. You hope she's as ready as you are, because you're not sure you could step back long enough to do this right. You've already waited too long. You are really fucking tired of waiting.
So you shove all the shit off your kitchen counter and lift her on top of it, only vaguely aware of the crash of metal hitting the floor. It's her mouth you're concentrating on, her tongue, her taste. She's been the center of your world for so long that it's almost overwhelming, to finally be able to show her. You're just hoping you can last long enough to finish this.
It's probably too fast, probably too desperate. You can't help it. You have to get that dress out of the way. You need to see her skin.
You pull the top of her dress down until it's just her, in a scrap of red lace. Naughty lingerie—you should have known. As much as you want to enjoy it, it's just another barrier between you and her skin, so you grab it with two fists and rip. Sorry, Bones. Her breasts are pale, perfect, heavy in your hands. Even more perfect than you thought. Her cleavage smells like vanilla where you bury your face in her, groaning at the relief of it. Her hands are in your hair, holding on, as she arches her back. Her breasts are thrust upwards like offerings, and you take them into your mouth in turn, worshipping. She clasps your hand and presses it to her lips, covering the palm with urgent kisses before sucking your pinkie finger into her mouth and stroking it with her tongue. Oh God… she knows what she's doing.
Her head falls forward to your shoulder, nuzzling against your ear, whispering your name. It's like a balm to your soul, to hear her voice swollen with passion. You hear the clatter of her heels falling to the floor as you grab her behind the knees to pull her hard against your hips, parting her legs around you. You grind into her, forcing her to feel the hard-on she's tortured you with for the last four years.
The silkiness of her skin astonishes you—its texture is so different from yours. She's all smoothness and curves and warmth, writhing beneath your hands. So soft. You press your mouth to the base of her delicate throat, memorizing the rhythm beating there, and twine your fingers up and into her hair, cupping her head in your hands.
You're dizzy. Still can't believe this is actually happening. But you can't slow it—not anymore. You push her down on the countertop, already missing her lips on yours.
You slide your finger into the shadow between her thighs, desperate to find out whether her panties are as wickedly red as her bra. When your finger slides directly into the delicate, undefended wetness of her lips, your heart almost stops. Fuck. You have to bite your tongue to keep from coming in your pants. The thought of her with no underwear, under such a short dress. Standing right in front of you when you were sitting on the floor. "Oh my God, Temp," you hear yourself groan.
The naughty smile that lights her face goes stunningly blank as you explore the most secret parts of her body with your fingers, tracing the slick folds of skin to their crest, finding the sensitive button of her clitoris with your thumb. She gasps and rocks her hips into your hand, arching up off the counter. The look on her face is the sexiest thing you've ever seen, with her cheeks flushed pink and her tongue flirting the corners of her mouth. And then you look down at your own hand, fingers glistening with her moisture, and that's the sexiest thing you've ever seen. You insert your index finger into her possessively, nearly coming undone at the feel of her body clenching around you as you slide in and out. The soft moaning sounds she's making are driving you to the point of insanity and you have to get inside of her right now. You can't think anymore. You have to get your belt open. Pants off. Fucking zipper, come on!
It feels like the room, like time itself, is swirling. Everything in your being is focused on him, his fingers, moaning that is either his or yours—you're not sure. You want to look at him, at the new reality of your partner, but he has you pinned down with his clever fingers, and you're a puddle of helpless—oh—sensation. The rapt, absorbed look on his face when he slid his finger into you nearly pushed you over the edge. His chest, his wide shoulders, the soft fuzz of hair leading down from his navel. But you can barely keep your eyes open—your mind's a riot of synapses crackling like live wires. Everything's changed so fast. And yet, it feels totally right and appropriate that he's up to his knuckles in your body, playing you like a violin.
But it's not enough, so you beg. Please. Please. He's stopped just at the entrance to your body. You can feel the hot weight of him nudging into you. You look at him, knowing things will never be the same after this. Knowing you don't want them to be, that you're completely ready to let him in, in every way. And then the slide, pressure, gasping, so good, blotting out all thought. His eyes on you the whole time, and his face almost tragic with relief.
"Mmm, yes…yes," you sob. You tilt your hips to accept him fully, and his hands drag your body even closer until you feel dangerously open. Exposed, and vulnerable, and so completely safe. The electricity in your veins spits heat, building unbearably and ruthlessly, until your release grips every muscle in your body, lifting you off the countertop as if you're possessed, and you only hear the echo of what must have been your screams ricocheting off the kitchen walls. He pounds into you faster, recklessly, his head thrown back and the muscles of his gleaming torso clenched. You watch, fascinated by his strength, struggling to match his rhythm with your exhausted hips. He says your name like a mantra: "Temp, oh God, I love you so much, Temp, oh fuck…"
His climax is a shuddering spread of warmth deep inside you. The thought, oddly, pleases you, though it never has before. Makes you feel possessive, powerful. Making him lose control like that was even more fun that you'd hoped. And it's really too bad that all of your muscles have turned into limpid goo, because you want to touch him so badly you almost shake from it. The look in his eyes, the moment he opens them, is a trophy for you. You tuck away the image in your mind, to savor later.
The truth of what's just happened wraps around you. He's yours now. This fearless, earnest, honest man is yours. Somehow he thinks you deserve him. You're not sure, but it's a challenge you're eager to accept. You know you can be different now. Warm, open. There are so many things you want to show him, if only you had the strength to move.
For now, it's enough to lay here, get your breathing back, and stare at his kitchen ceiling. When you notice some small, orangish splash marks up there, you can't fight the laughter that bubbles out of you. Is that spaghetti sauce? For some reason, it's so funny. You can't stop giggling.
"What?" he grumbles, scowling at you, as he leans over you gasping for breath. "You're laughing? That's not good."
"Not at you. Th-there's food on your ceiling!" And you're laughing so hard there are tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. Even as you laugh, you know it's not funny, a paradox that makes you laugh even more.
Glancing up, he gathers you off the counter in one decisive sweep, setting you on your feet in front of him. "You… are so weird," he says lovingly, nipping your earlobe. "My brilliant, sexy little weirdo."
Still attacked by laughter, you can only gasp, "I don't know what's wrong with me!"
His smile lights with tenderness, which finally melts your convulsive giggling. "There is nothing wrong with you. There is so much right with you it's going to kill me." He dips his head into the curve of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin.
"I'm sorry," you explain. "I think I'm just overly happy."
"I feel like I'm drunk."
"Poor baby," he croons. "Too happy." You can't help but smile—somewhere along the way you got addicted to his teasing. And to his low voice, so close to your ear. He could tease you all day and it would only make you smile.
It's so easy to dissolve against the strength of him as he picks you up and carries you into his bedroom, your dress still ludicrously wrapped around your middle like a ribbon on a gift.
"Want some help?" he asks, as you attempt to free yourself from the remains of your clothing. His hands are gentle but skillfully fast as he peels the fabric off of you, throwing it to the side of the bed.
He lowers you gently, lifting your head to fan your hair out on the pillow, and collapses next to you, pulling you in close. Being surrounded by his body like this, the warmth of his skin, you've never felt so content. It feels…like sunlight.
You could stay like this, holding her, forever. Protecting her. Memorizing her. You've never felt like this about anyone before—never known it was possible. She's so amazing. And she has no idea. How brilliant she is, how kind, how courageous, how incandescently hot she is. It's a miracle that she's with you. That she loves you.
What a crazy night. For a while there… you thought you'd lost everything. Like your heart had stopped. Worse than being shot. Worse than being tortured. But then… this is the single best night of your life.
As if she can hear your thoughts, she purrs, "I think I did very well…seducing you."
You laugh. "So this was all part of your plan, Bones?"
"Well, maybe not all of it… but the general idea, yes. I had some other things planned…"
Now this gets your attention. "What other things?"
Even in the dim light, you can see her blushing. Blushing! After giving it up to you on a kitchen counter, for God's sake.
"I don't know if I want to tell you," she says coyly.
"Oh come on, Bones. Don't make me interrogate you."
She laughs, rolling on top of you and rising to straddle your hips. The sight of her wipes the smile clear off your face. Her skin is silvery in the light from the window, her hair billowing around her face like some ethereal spirit, her breasts… oh holy…
Her smile is slow and sinful. "I had this idea about my necklace…"
*Phew!* Okay, so I got the idea from the last reviews that this story has been very hit-or-miss. This is my first time writing smut, and I have to say… I had *no* idea how difficult it is! Serious respect for all of you who write smut so gracefully. For those of you that stuck with me to the end of this story, please drop any/all advice on how I can improve. I appreciate it so much. : )