Chapter 8

To say she fled would be an understatement. She was out of her seat, out the door, and in a cab in the blink of an eye. She didn't look back and she didn't want to. She needed to get as far away from him and his haunting words as possible. She stared out of the window at the light rain as it turned heavier. It was a night like the one when they shared their first kiss. She ended up in a cab that night too. Only then there was excitement at the possibilities the kiss opened up. Now, though, well, now her heart was barred to him.

It was useless to dwell on how her stomach fluttered and then fell as she sat down opposite him. The black FBI suit never failed to send warm tingles through her body, even as his hard expression froze her heart in place. His face was haggard with worry, shadows under his eyes and small lines where his brow knit together. She knew he felt guilty about happened between them and she wished for the millionth time she could ease his fears, comfort him. Just say one or two words, like 'It's ok' or 'don't worry, it was nothing." But it wasn't 'nothing' and the words she wanted to say always got caught in her throat. She couldn't ease his fears when her own threatened to overwhelm her at any second. That's why she's been so pathologically cheerful since they got back. She couldn't deal with what happened.

The cab turned onto her street and she let her head fall onto the window with a soft thump. She couldn't wait to get back to her nighttime routine, the only thing keeping her sane. Glass of wine, pj's, and writing till she fell asleep at her desk. Her heroine Kathy was getting quite a workout, although she couldn't stomach putting her back in bed with Andy. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from calling Booth if she did that. So she satisfied herself with making Kathy hunt through the humid swamps of Louisiana for body parts.

She locked her front door and dropped her purse on the couch, not stopping till she reached the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Pinot. She grimaced before she took her first sip, thinking of the wine at the restaurant, God-awful sweet and cloying. It tasted like sugared perfume. Why would he pick a restaurant like that? Did he want to make it abundantly clear that he didn't see her in a romantic way? If so, she swallowed the bitterness that coated her throat, he succeeded.

She downed the first glass of wine like it was a shot of hard liquor. She skipped the change into pajamas, it was more imperative to start writing, to lose herself and forget the night's events. She poured a second glass of wine and was ready to sit down at the desk when she heard the door buzz.

Frozen, wine glass tipped to her lips, she didn't know what to do. It was Booth for sure, but did she want to open the door and have the conversation she had just run out on?

No. Yes. Maybe. She forced herself to choose one. The answer was no, definitely no. Her hands started shaking as she put down her wine glass and sat at her desk, trying to ignore the incessant door buzzer.

The decision to not open the door to him was carving a large trench through her gut and she had to physically restrain herself by gripping the arms of her desk chair. She should be stronger than this. She should be able to open the door or at least talk to him through the intercom and tell him to leave her alone. She should be able to be outraged, to give him a piece of her mind. In her mind's eye though, she pictured him standing out on the her doorstep in the rain like some Bronte hero. She herself felt less like Jane Eyre and more like the Grinch. Her heart ached.

She reached for her headphones, the expensive noise-blocking ones and quickly flipped through her music, bypassing Foreigner, and heading straight to AC/DC, which she didn't even like, but figured would drown out any and all Booth-related sounds.

Ten minutes later, she had to admit it was working. She had the novel open on her desktop and had managed to write a decent paragraph about Kathy stumbling on another supposed "crocodile" death of a co-ed. She slipped off the headphones and picked up her wine glass, keeping her eyes on the screen, her foot still tapping to the beat of the song. The glass was empty so she rose to refill when she saw him standing there in the middle of her living room, soaking wet. He was perfectly still, but he look on his face was thunderous. His eyes were dark slits, his mouth a tight line and she could see his jaw grinding away as he worked to keep himself in check.

Neither moved, pulling the moment out till it seemed to stretch forever. Seeing him there, so angry, should have made her angry back, or at least afraid. Instead, it made her whole body lean into him with a yearning. He was so much like he was that night: authoritative, in control, dark, dangerous.

Bullshit, she told herself, shaking herself from her ridiculous daydream. She should rail at him for letting himself in uninvited or berate him for getting her nice wood floors wet. This was her chance to give him a piece of her mind she said she would. But when her mouth opened, she said in a voice that came out meeker than she expected, "Would you like a towel?"

He said nothing, looking for all the world like he could stand there all night, soaking the wood planks, letting his clothes slowly dry on his body. Anything to not budge one inch from his position, both physically and otherwise.

"Oh, for heavens sake," she growled and moved swiftly past him towards the linen closet. She stalked back and threw a towel at him, which he let fall to the floor. He didn't move, but his eyes followed her as came to stand in front of him. She crossed her arms and looked at him petulantly, "Are you going to stand there and drip all over my floors all night or are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"You know," was all he said.

She let out an impatient curse and picked up the towel and began patting him dry all the while talking to herself out loud. "Why bother having locks if anyone can just let themselves in at any time? And how about signals? Aren't people supposed to read the signals that you," she glanced up with fury in her eyes as she finished the sentence, "don't want to talk to them?"

She patted his jacket dry, and seeing he still would not take over, huffed loudly and knelt to attend to his shoes that were starting to leave watermarks on the wood. She dried the tops off then pulled his leg slightly, indicating he should step on the towel. He did so, his first voluntary movement since arriving ten minutes before.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, looking up at him from his feet. Any other words she might have uttered died in her throat as he glared down at her with glittering eyes. Suddenly the memory of being dominated and humiliated during their night together came rushing back to her, and she felt a tremendous surge of desire so strong that it stained her cheeks bright red and shot fiery sparks through her body. She stood and moved quickly to the other side of the room before Booth had a chance to blink twice.

"You have to go," she said, the desperation in her voice making it sound hollow and scratchy.

"No. I won't go. We are talking about this tonight, even if I have to tie you to a chair." Booth saw the flare in her eyes and decided to read it as anger, but really it looked more like desire. But that couldn't be, he thought. He'd better stick with anger. "Ok, not the best choice of words considering you were kidnapped and imprisoned, but dammit Temperance, I can't have you running away from this. I know what this is like. I can see how you are shoving it down, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending you weren't kidnapped, locked up and sexually abused. And that what I did to you," his voice trailed off. He looked away from her, shame coloring his features. "I mistreated you Temperance. You can keep up this charade of everything being normal, or you can tell me how angry and disgusted you were by my behavior and we can talk about it and hopefully move on." Booth felt rooted to the spot he was standing on, on the towel in wet shoes in the middle of the apartment of the woman he was in love with but had probably lost for good.

Brennan was pressed into a corner bookshelf looking like she wanted to find a way to squeeze herself between two volumes of 'The Essentials of Cultural Anthropology'. She wanted to say something, but her mouth and larynx refused to comply.

He continued, his heart lurching as he saw her cowering in the corner. "Anyone else would leave you alone. You know that, don't you Temperance. They'd say some shit about giving you time, about you working through your pain, organically," his mouth turned up into a sneer on the last word. "But I've been where you are. I know when someone needs to be left alone to process pain and when someone is running away."

He took a step toward her, disregarding the towel, threatening a new mark on the floor. "You're running. I know it. I can hear it in every fake laugh, every frantic movement. I see how you avoid my eyes and try to keep from touching me." He drew his hand heavily through his damp hair. "Temperance," his voice dropping to a whisper, "I never wanted to hurt you."

Her eyes closed and he saw her whispering something to herself. He thought he might be getting through to her, but when she opened her eyes, he could see nothing he had said had made a difference. She fixed him with a glare fitting of an irate hostess and squared her shoulders. So she had decided to fight back, he thought. Well, it was better than nothing.

"I think we should listen to the therapy professionals about this Booth. I've just been through a very traumatic experi..."

"Bullshit," he cut her off. If he even believed her for a moment, he would let her be. But her expressed distrust of mental health practitioners plus her automatic defensiveness let him know she was bluffing.

They both moved at almost the same moment. He towards her as she scrambled past; she heading for the bathroom, bedroom or anyplace with a locked door. She was fast, but he was faster. He gripped her upper arm and spun her around to face him.

He dropped his hand immediately with a frustrated groan. "I'm sorry, Jesus, Bones, I don't want to make things worse. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that." He looked away, prepared for her to run off. He'd let himself out, go get a drink somewhere. Maybe six or seven. And then quietly ask for the transfer to a new partner that he probably should have asked for as soon as they came back.

She said nothing, just remained standing in front of him with her eyes downcast. He couldn't help looking back at her with a hungry gaze. She was just so beautiful, even scared and vulnerable like this. Maybe even because of it. Hell, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was time to go.

"Bones...Temperance...I just...it's just..." He was having difficulty completing a simple sentence. He didn't want this to be the end of everything, their long partnership, the intensity that had grown between them. He took a long staggered breath and started again. "You know how much I care for you Temperance. I will be here when you want to talk. Whenever that is. And I am very sorry for everything I did that night, how I hurt you." He felt a lump rising in his throat and he turned to leave but stopped when he heard the soft voice behind him.

"It wasn't that."

When he turned she was standing hunched over slightly, studying the carpet. He didn't say anything or move, afraid he might scare her off like a nervous bird. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, turning away.

He crossed over to her swiftly and grabbed her arm. "No, goddammit! You want to tell me. What. Did. You. Say?"

She ripped her arm from his grasp but didn't move. "It wasn't you," she shouted.

"It wasn't me? It wasn't me that hurt you? So it's the kidnapping itself? Those men? I get that. We can work together on that." Her eyes were wide and fearful. His, he hoped, were gentle and understanding.

She slowly started to break apart, her voice falling with each syllable, nearly becoming inaudible. "It wasn't the kidnapping, or those...men. Yes, that was horrible and will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. But..." she choked up, "But you..."

He tried to wait patiently while she gathered her courage.

"You...you didn't hurt me." The deep breath she took filled her whole body for a moment with only an ounce of courage. "I liked it. I liked what you did to me, I liked when you hurt me." The awful weight of her words hit her like a ton if bricks and she slowly starting sinking to the carpet as if all the blood was draining slowly from her body.

He caught her on the way down and picked her up, taking her over to the couch, sitting her on his lap, both oblivious to his soaked-through clothes. When the tears began to flow he smoothed her hair and rocked her. The torrent and torment of tears lasted for several minutes before she tapered off, sniffling into his shirt.

She felt silly, like a little girl sitting in daddy's lap. She also felt humiliated. Now Booth knew the deep, dark secret she had discovered about herself. In no time, he'd be making some excuse to leave, then she'd have lost him forever. She felt tired. Bone-weary. She didn't realize how exhausting it was holding it in, holding herself away from him.

"Temperance," he whispered her name softly.

She looked up at him, her tear-stained face was hopeful, her eyes wide and glassy. What was it about a woman's tears that made men so amorous? Because at that moment all he wanted to do was yank up her skirt, rip off her panties, and fuck her into the ground.

Instead he leaned into her and captured her mouth in a soft kiss.

They broke apart panting slightly. He wanted to go further, wanted to sweep her up in his arms and take her to bedroom where he'd ravage her for days. But he knew they had to talk first. He nuzzled into her hair and whispered, "What part did you like the best?"

He could feel rather than see her blush, the heat staining his cheek. "I dunno..."

"Yes you do. Tell me."

There was no mistaking the authoritative tone he was using. She felt herself lean into him as she tried to answer his question. "I, uh, like being on my knees in front of you. I liked serving you. I liked it when you spanked me with the crop." She groaned, burying her burning face in his neck again. "Oh God, I'm such a bad feminist."

"Why? Because it's what turns you on? The bedroom is a different place than the rest of the world Temperance. It's more like your subconscious. It's about getting what you need rather than what you think you want."

She listened, and then was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "But what about those dog people? The ones you said were silly, that real sex didn't need games?"

His brow knit in confusion. "Dog people? Oh, the pony people you mean. I know what I said, but maybe I was wrong. I do know," he gripped her tighter, "that as horrible as the circumstances were, you turned me on so much that night. Seeing you, naked and vulnerable like that, at my whim, it turned me on more than I like to think about."

"Really?" She said, lifting her chin to look at him.

"Think about it, Bones. I shouldn't have enjoyed it at all. I've felt like a monster this last month. I thought you hated me."

She reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Far from it," she whispered. He turned his head and captured her mouth in a deep soulful kiss. His lips trailed down her throat to her collarbone where he sucked gently. "So what now?" he said nuzzling the back of her neck.

She swallowed hard. It was now or never. She had to tell him exactly what she wanted. "I don't have anything. You know, to spank me with." she blushed again, scarlet and completely adorable.

"I think we can figure something out." He leaned back and spanned his arms across the back of the couch and splayed his knees, making her shift to accommodate him. Sitting that way he took over most of the couch. She sensed she wouldn't be sitting next to him anytime soon. Just the sight of him looking so big and powerful made her knees weak.

"Take off your clothes."

She stood and peeled off her clothes quicker than she meant to, with more desperation than she wanted him to see. She stood in front of him, naked, with her eyes downcast.

He watched her as she undressed, trying to control his emotions. He loved her, wanted to please her, but could he do this? Did she really want this? Or was she still suffering the effects of the ordeal she had endured? Would he be making things worse?

Yet watching her, as she stood in front of him, exposed and embarrassed, he had to admit he was more turned on than he had ever been in his entire life. His cock had risen and was demanding attention. It was really the one in charge.

"Come here," he stated rather than asked. She took a tentative step closer. He gathered her hands in his and looked up at her.

"There's something there, right? Between us?" She nodded, lost in his eyes. "And this is what you want? She nodded again, another flush crossing her features. She struggled not to look away in embarrassment.

"Then kneel down and close your eyes." She did as she was told and for a moment savored the feel of kneeling at his feet. How could this small act of supplication make her knees so weak and her pussy ache?

After a long while, he spoke. "This is the way this is going to work Temperance. " He stroked the top of her head gently. "This is strictly a bedroom experience. Out of it I expect you to be the same brilliant, fierce, fiery, independent woman I've always known." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a smile spreading over her face.

But his face was stern. "Here, though, in the bedroom," he looked around at the living room, "well, metaphorical bedroom, I'm in charge. Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, unable to speak even if she wanted to.

"I promise to protect and care for you, but you will follow my every order without question. You are here to serve me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes." The insides of her thighs were wet now from his little speech and her pussy throbbed.

"Yes, Sir." he prompted.

"Yes, Sir." Uttering those words broke something inside her and she started to tear up. "I want this Booth. I want you."

He struggled to not just pick her up and gather her in his lap for another cuddle. Instead he grasped her chin and turned her face to him.

"I think we'll start with a punishment. So you are clear about my intensions. I'll make it light this time but in the future don't expect leniency. Understand? "

"Yes sir," she squeaked out, her nerves taking over her former resolve.

"Good. Climb up here. Ass up." He smacked the top of his thighs with the palm of his hand.

She moved onto his lap, her bottom resting on his thighs, with her feet and upper body dangling over each side. She was close to a rolling boil already; she knew it wouldn't take much to send her over. She tried to close her legs, certain he could now see how swollen and wet she was. She wanted him to touch her, but she knew she'd have to endure whatever pain he dished out first. She was afraid, but more turned on than she had ever been in her life.

At first he just caressed the pale soft globes sitting before him. Her skin was so smooth, unblemished. He could hardly believe he was about to mark it with his hand. The thought made him shudder with desire. He could already feel his cock poking up into her belly and he remembered how many times he got hard that night. Three? Four? All he knew was he could have taken her till he passed from exhaustion or had a heart attack, whichever came first.

And now? This was a dream come true. Literally. He had dreamt of that night often, replaying the events that actually happened. But one recurring dream was spanking her with his bare hand. He wanted to feel her flesh buckle directly under his blows. He wanted to mark her, make her ass bright red. He wanted to make her so sore she'd have trouble sitting for the next week and to remember whom it was who owned her, who had mastered her. He wasn't sure what was going on with him. Or with her. But something seemed to align for them. They had discovered at the same time that they were opposite sides of the same coin. Yang to her yin. Peanut butter to her jelly. Mated.

Without further ado, he brought his hand down hard on her buttocks, belying his intention to go easy on her. She winced, but didn't say anything. He struck again and felt her squirm.

"Be still," he commanded. "Now I think five blows should suffice this first time around. Why don't you count for me? The first two don't count."

Brennan's face fell as she thought of five more swats of his hand. She was unprepared for how much they hurt. During their night together she was so pumped full of adrenalin, she hardly felt it. Now the act was intimate and impossible to avoid. She was at his mercy.

He spanked her hard on her upper thighs. It stung so much she couldn't form words for a moment.

"Cat got your tongue Bones? I asked you to count." He sighed dramatically. "We'll have to start over. "

He began again and this time Brennan dutifully counted off. By the end her bottom was on fire and she had tears pouring down her cheeks. Booth softly rubbed her after the last stroke then dipped a finger between her legs. "Mmm, you are sopping wet, Bones. Did that turn you on?"

She nodded her head, her hair shaking around her. "Yes sir."

He slipped one, then two fingers into her tight channel, pumping languidly. She moaned and wiggled her ass. Her juices coated his entire hand as he moved back and forth in her. He felt her climax rising and he withdrew his hand. "No. You'll come when I say you can. It's too soon yet."

He wanted to draw it out and make her suffer. He wanted to drive her over and over to the brink and pull her back. But he couldn't stand not being inside her for another second. Hauling her up to straddle facing him, he unzipped his pants and impaled her on his cock. He slid in slowly, her tightness adjusting to his girth. Their eyes were locked during the long slow journey that felt as much like a first time than any other experience either had had. Her eyes were shimmering with love and streaked with shed tears. She looked glorious. When he bottomed out, he lifted her ass and thrust back into her. Her eyes closed and her head rocked back, the sensations too much to bear. She cried out, her climax hitting her hard and too fast, causing her to writhe and shudder on his lap.

His hand gripped her hips tightly as he made her ride him. He moved his legs further apart to spread hers more and he knew he was hitting her womb with every inarticulate cry of pain that escaped her lips when he thrust in. The surge of lust he felt knowing her was hurting her at the same time as giving her pleasure surprised him, but he was too lost in her to think what it might mean.

He captured her mouth in a tight kiss, then moved his tongue in to battle with hers. She tasted so sweet, her skin so soft and supple, the rising and falling of her hips driving him to the edge of ecstasy. He buried his hands in her hair and pulled back her head to run his lips down her throat and suckle at the place where her neck met her shoulder. She moaned and scratched his back with her nails, the sensations unbelievably intense and almost too much for her. His shoulders were broad under his dress shirt, broad and strong enough to hold her up and let her ride him. He was fully clothed and she was fully naked and the thought of it, the pure subjection to him had her creaming around him again, another orgasm so powerful she could only let out a small, strangled cry before collapsing onto him.

With a groan he pulled out and moved her to the rug, sheathing himself in her once more. He pulled her legs over her head in a wide V and fucked the living daylights out of her. His fingers found her clit and as she peaked again he roared into her, his cock bulging then bursting, as he thrust his seed deep within her. He wanted it lodged there. He wanted to own her inside and out.

He withdrew and released her legs, rolling her over on her side. Facing each other they said nothing, letting their hands do all the talking. Their eyes never broke from each other; a connection once established that could not be broken by anyone or anything.

She could feel his breath on her lips, making them tingle, and felt other tingles radiate down her spine to her core, opening herself up to him again. He sensed it and let his hand trail down to her pussy, stroking her gently.

Words weren't important anymore. They each knew what the other needed. He stroked her until she cried out again, keening into him, clutching his shoulders. Once she came down, he moved her onto her back and straddled her, guiding his cock into her willing and open mouth.

"Want to fill you with my come Temperance. Everywhere. " He thrust into her mouth as she tried to swallow him down into her throat. "Mmm…that's it, my little slave. You throat, your pussy, your ass belongs to me. To me."

All his talking was making her incredibly hot and she reached down to finger her clit, rubbing it furiously. He noticed and frowned, never losing his rhythm. "Did I tell you could do that?"

She tried to release him from her mouth, but he stopped her with his hands. "A nod will do." She nodded with his cock still buried in her mouth.

"You don't come till I tell you to." He continued his languid thrusts, loving the longing look in her eyes as he fucked her throat.

His thrusts increased in pace and she struggled not to gag. "Never let you go. Never," he moaned, his orgasm mounting.

"Now, Temperance, make yourself come now!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Her fingers pinched and rubbed her clit till she exploded along with him, the swallowing of his come making her peak a second time.

He stood abruptly and removed his clothes. "Stand," he ordered. He wiped a stray piece of come from her cheek and fed it to her. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom and placed her gently under the covers, sliding in next to her.

"You are my woman, Temperance. I know it's been a long time coming, but I claim you as mine. Do you want that?"

Her eyes teared up. "Yes, Booth. Seeley. Sir. I want that. I want you."

He pulled her in for a soft kiss then snuggled her up next to him, spooning her. He sighed contentedly. "Never let you go."

She smiled and let her eyes drift shut, sleep and peace finally upon her.

9&*%#

AN: first off, thanks for your patience. I know it took forever for me to post, but hopefully it was worth it. There might be an epilogue if I can get my ass in gear and finish it. But if not I'm glad you all were here till the end. Thank for your notes and words of encouragement, including the ones that repeated letters in succession. Like "Pleeeaase finish" or "Mooooorrrrreeee!"

AN: leave a review or drop me a line. I love you all.