225. Chapter 225

It’s one of those nights.

One of those nights when Alex comes home with extra bruising on her torso and a legion of ghosts screaming behind her eyes.

One of those nights when words won’t do, and neither will silence.

One of those nights when she needs Maggie, needs her open, needs her pliant, needs her willing, needs… her.

One of those nights when, if she were anyone else, her intensity would scare Maggie.

But Alex Danvers is not anyone else.

And Maggie loves her for her intensity, loves her for how she needs her, loves her for how, even when she’s ragged and rough and wrecked, she is also unfailingly gentle, unfailingly kind, unfailingly giving.

Unfailingly attentive, unfailingly careful to make sure that Maggie wants this, that Maggie wants her.

And she does, she does, she does.

She wants it when Alex kisses her mouth, hard enough to leave her lips swollen; she wants it when Alex sweeps one arm under her thighs and the other behind her back, and carries her bridal style to her bed, their bed; she wants it when Alex asks with her eyes and a growl in the back of her throat if she can strip her naked, if she can tie her ankles down, legs open, if she can cuff her wrists above her head; she wants it when Alex asks if she can gag her, if she can blindfold her, wants it when Alex puts her fingers to her palm and Maggie squeezes because when she can’t say green out loud, she needs to tell her with other signals; she wants it when Alex melts ice on her stomach and drips the frozen water onto her clit, wants it when Alex laps up her wetness and her muffled screams with her tongue; she wants it when Alex leaves her, just for a moment, writhing and whimpering helplessly, unable to speak or see or move, but fully able to feel Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex pulling back and checking in before slipping trembling fingers, steady fingers, inside her soaked opening.

Maggie wants it, wants Alex, so badly, wants to be entirely Alex’s, wants her entire being to just… be, for Alex, wants all of it, everything, so desperately, that she can’t tell when she starts to slip away, can’t tell when her body starts floating, when her words start slurring, even more than they normally would through a gag, when her body stops registering pain, stops registering anything but pure ecstasy and Alex, Alex, Alex.

She’s never felt anything like this before, and if her brain could form coherent thoughts, she might be proud of herself, because if this is what subspace feels like and this is where she helps Alex get to, my god, she has a lot to be proud of because this is what Alex deserves, this feeling, this bliss, this…

“Maggie, babe. Maggie, it’s time to come down now, princess.”

Alex’s soft, trembling voice reaches her as if from a far, far distance, and something in her protests, but something bigger in her trusts, and she starts coming down, down, down, her entire being searching for the points of connection to earth; the places where Alex’s skin touches hers, where Alex’s lips gently kiss her face before slowly, carefully slipping off the gag, before slowly, carefully slipping off the blindfold.

“You’re amazing, Mags. You did an amazing job for me, babe, but it’s time to come down now.”

Maggie hears herself sighing, hears the handcuffs click open above her head. She opens her eyes slowly, groggily, contentedly, to see Alex’s wide eyes and swollen lips gazing down at her with an expression that can’t be described as anything other than pure adoration.

“Ey Danvers,” she croaks, and Alex smiles softly.

“Hey baby. How you feeling?”

Maggie takes a long moment to answer, and Alex panics a bit, hoping she’s done everything right, hoping she recognized Maggie’s subspace and helped her down from it – just as Maggie does for her – the right way, gently enough, lovingly enough, carefully enough.

“Loved. Feeling really loved.”

Alex’s panic dissipates and she presses a small kiss to Maggie’s nose.

“Perfect. Because that’s exactly what you are, Maggie Sawyer.”