92. Chapter 92

She hasn’t learned yet how to not leave hickeys, and Maggie doesn’t really care.

At all.

Because when Alex’s lips leave hers, she always whines, she always moans, she always grabs at her in protest.

Until, that is, Alex’s lips travel down her jawline, to her earlobe – which always makes her scream and Alex chuckle softly, and, lately, breathe the beginnings of three word sentences into her ear – down lower until she’s pressing open mouthed kisses to Maggie’s throat, to her neck, one hand tangled in Maggie’s hair, the other pulling her body closer, pulling her body deeper.

Pausing to look up at Maggie, pausing to make sure, pausing to get the affirmation she needs to keep going – and receiving it, receiving it, because Maggie’s chest is heaving and Alex might love kissing her neck but Maggie loves being kissed like this – Alex never stops with her lips.

Her tongue always makes Maggie gasp and tug at her hair and scream her name, and the way Maggie’s knees go weak and the way she needs Alex to hold her up never fails to encourage Alex to pull back again, to check again, to receive renewed permission, and, getting it in the form of desperate nods and breathless, incoherent words, Alex nips and Alex sucks and Alex licks and Alex smiles into Maggie’s neck because god does this feel like home.