Brennan's POV

I was woken by the phone.

"Pretend it's the ocean," I muttered. I felt Booth's chuckle against my back. His arm tightened around my middle.

I drifted back into blissful sleep.

It started ringing again.

"Goddamnit!" I snapped, then reached to grab my cell phone from the bedside table. I checked the number and then pressed Send to Voicemail.

"What if that was Cam?" Booth asked.

"It wasn't," I said. "It was my publisher. Besides, if it was Cam your phone would be ringing, too."

"True," he said.

I rolled over so we were face to face. I could tell he was smiling, even though I was too close to focus on him properly.

Last night I had made love. And Booth was right – it was so much more than sex. I couldn't describe in purely scientific terms the sensations I experienced as Booth had moved inside me. The physical pleasure was mingled with a deeper pressure of emotion. And as I uttered my own love my pleasure suddenly skyrocketed, as if the physical and emotional was the same.

Now, lying next to him, I could barely imagine an existence where my skin wasn't pressed against his, our breath didn't mingle, and our eyes didn't meet.

His grin grew, even though I hadn't said anything.

"What?" I demanded.

He propped his head on his arm. "I love you, Temperance."

"I love you, too, Booth," I said, laughing at his inanity.

He slung an arm over my hip and pulled my so I nestled under his chin. I could feel his morning tumescence, but I didn't think we were quite ready to start that, again. I had already woken Booth once in the middle of the night for a second round. We were both tired and blissfully achy. I breathed in the scent of his morning musk.

"What does your publisher want?" he asked.

"Ungh," I groaned, "my publisher wants an update on my book."

"Writer's block?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I've actually written everything right up to the last two chapters."

"Really? What happens?"

"Don't you want to wait and read it?" I asked.

"Why don't you want to give it to your publisher?" he countered.

I mirrored his position and propped myself up on my elbow. "Because I think I need to rewrite at least the last half, and I have no idea what should happen."

"What have you written?" he asked. He was still smiling a little, which made it difficult to focus, but my brain was capable of entertaining multiple lines of thought simultaneously.

"Andy and Kathy have a falling out when she flies to Southeast Asia to unearth a set of ancient remains. She gets called back to the United States to examine a set of remains for the Department of Defense. The remains have been shipped from Pakistan, and the implication is that they are the remains of the most-wanted terrorist in the world."

"Where's Andy?" Booth asked.

"He's assigned the task of helping identify the remains. And… he has a new girlfriend. Named Hallie."

Booth shifted, eyes troubled. "I thought these books weren't about us."

"They aren't," I said. "Because Kathy, heartbroken, never expresses her newly discovered feelings to Andy. As it stands now she's blown up by terrorists while transporting the as-yet unidentified remains to a different lab."

"You're kidding," Booth said.

"I don't kid," I answered.

"You killed off your main character?" Booth scoffed.

I waggled my hand. "Not necessarily. I was considering continuing the series with her as a horribly disfigured burn victim. A tragic character, somewhat inspired by the Phantom of the Opera."

"What?" Booth laughed. "The Phantom of the Opera? Holy shit, Bones, that's creepy, even for you!"

I grabbed my pillow and threw it at him. "I'd like to hear your version!" I snapped.

Booth tossed my pillow off his face and then rolled to his back, a thoughtful look on his face. I wiggled closer despite myself, resting my chin on his chest. I loved his chest. It was broad and beautiful, and when he wrapped me up in it I felt completely safe, like none of my past had ever happened.

"Maybe," he said, "instead of blowing up the van with the remains, how about the terrorists kidnap Kathy, with the ransom being the remains. Then Agent Andy can come save her."

"That would make Kathy look like a weakling," I complained.

He shrugged. "She could take out some of the terrorists. But once she's gone," he looked meaningfully at me, "Andy will realize exactly how much he still loves her."

I considered.

"That could work," I admitted, drumming my fingers on his chest. "But Andy wouldn't love Kathy if she was disfigured?"

"Of course he would," Booth said, "in fact he'd probably love her more because he felt responsible. That Andy – he has a white knight complex."

"Really," I chuckled.

"Yeah, but you know, I don't think it would be a bestseller. After the sex scene in your last book? Come on!"

He rolled me over and kissed me through my laughter. Eventually my laughter died down and I focused on the feel of his chest pressed against mine, the pulse in his throat threading beneath my hand, the tingle every time he brushed between my legs. My body deeply remembered the orgasms from last night, and though I had been more than sated, I felt stirrings in my abdomen.

"Seeley," I whispered. He bumped his nose against mine and gave another sweet kiss.

"Well, you know," he murmured, running his hand down my side, "I could at least help you with the sex scene after Andy rescues Kathy."

"Is that so," I said.

"Yeah, I mean, it seems like you have a few vibrators lying around. I'm sure we could come up with something original."

"Vibrator not needed," I grinned, and pushed him so now he was on his back. I traced a line of open-mouthed kisses down his chest, raking my fingers lightly over his nipples.

"Temperance," it was his turn to whisper. He tangled his hand in my hair and I lifted my head to gaze into his doe-like eyes. "Not needed," he murmured, and gently pulled me back up to his lips. As we kissed he slipped his hands down my back, kneading my muscles, sliding tenderly lower, and back up again.

"You sure?" I asked, breaking away from his mouth. He nodded.

I slipped my hand between us as a guide and then pressed myself against him.

"Oh," I said. My vagina was exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive after last night. There was nothing else like the sensation of being filled so completely. He was in me and around me, physically and emotionally.

I braced my left arm on the mattress and started moving. Booth groaned and stretched his arms over his head. I admired the view, smiling despite myself, and then slipped my right hand between us, just lightly stroking my clitoris.

"Is that good?" he asked, voice tight.

"Yes," I said, "it feels so – so good."

His arm came down, fingers barely tingling against my sides, and settled on my rising and falling hips. I felt a little burst of pleasure and closed my eyes, picking up the pace. Suddenly Booth's hand was on my breast, gently squeezing, thumb rolling across my nipple.

My labia burned with ecstasy and I gasped. I place more weight on my left arm and started rolling my hips in short rises and falls. I spread my knees farther and his penis pounded against my cervix with each fall.

"I love you," I said, and felt the corresponding thrill of pleasure. "Oh, God, I love you."

"I've made you a believer, huh?" he panted.

I laughed and deliberately contracted my vaginal muscles. Booth moaned, face flushing.

So close.

I pressed harder against my clitoris and then my orgasm arrived in a flurry of intense contractions, ecstasy thundering from my abdomen.

"Seeley!" I cried, and he bucked his hips against mine. Head thrown back, throat taut, he orgasmed, a series of quick thrusts that hit me hard and triggered a few more blissful paroxysms of my own.

I came down from the high, withdrawing my right hand from my clitoris to lend support. Booth's chest heaved magnificently beneath me.

"You know, Booth," I said, "you may have won me over on making love gently."

"Really?" he grinned. "And here I was looking forward to rough and passionate."

"Oh, liking one does not preclude the other," I said, then leaned in for a kiss. It was long and deep, leaving me breathless and a little dizzy. "After all, it's only Saturday morning."

"In a life of nothing but Saturdays," he said nonsensically.

I laughed and kissed him again, adding, "For the next thirty or forty years."