471. Chapter 471

She’s safe.

She’s safe and her sister is safe, but barely.

Barely, and she didn’t kill Lillian Luthor.

Didn’t kill her because her sister’s in love with the genocidal woman’s daughter, and Alex knows better than most how complicated love for people’s mothers could be.

She didn’t kill Lillian even though every fiber of her body wanted to.

She failed.

She failed, but she did right by her sister, but she failed.

Lillian massacred all those people in their bar – their safe place, their home, their communal space – all Maggie’s friends, all M’gann’s friends.

She tried to deport all those people across the galaxy.

Jeremiah.

Jeremiah.

But she still let her live.

She let her live, and she is livid.

She’s livid, and her blood is boiling, and Maggie?

Maggie’s blood is boiling, too.

Because she was a different piece of the same mission, and two of her men had died.

Although men is a loose use of the term.

Because really, they were boys.

Fresh out of the academy, and Maggie couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t save them, and she had to watch their sisters, their fathers, sob when she went to their door in full uniform, hat in her hands.

She’s livid, and her blood is boiling.

Both of them are livid. Both of them are alive, and on fire.

Maggie’s mouth meets Alex’s hard, fast.

Rough.

Both of their lips are swollen in seconds.

Alex’s lip nearly bleeds, and Maggie will have to wear a scarf or something tomorrow, because that mark on her neck will refuse to be covered by makeup.

“Color?” Alex rages, and Maggie shoves her hand down Alex’s jeans.

“What do you think, Danvers?” she practically growls, and Alex pulls back rough, pulls back hard, pulls back angry.

“Answer me, Sawyer.”

“Green, Agent Danvers. Fucking green, okay?”

Alex nearly snarls.

“Excellent.”

She steps back into Maggie’s space.

“I love you,” she tells her rough, she tells her painful, she tells her genuine.

“I love you back,” Maggie whispers as she asks with her eyes if she can strip Alex down.

“Please,” Alex rasps, and Maggie tugs at her clothes hard, desperate, needy.

“Bed. Now,” Maggie begs, and Alex leads the way.

“Can I?” Alex demands, naked and already sweating and already soaked between her legs, grabbing her handcuffs from their bedside table drawer.

“I wanna be able to use one of my hands,” Maggie tells her, and Alex grins lopsidedly as she locks Maggie’s left wrist above her head, to the bed.

“Good?”

Maggie nods and drags the fingernails of her free hand down Alex’s back.

“Good?” Maggie asks as an answer, and Alex moans and grinds down into Maggie’s still-clothed body.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t breathe, Alex. And then I’m gonna do the same to you, understand?”

Alex bites her lip before clamping her teeth onto Maggie’s throat.

“Understood,” Alex husks, and Maggie tugs at her cuff futilely.

“Okay?” Alex demands, and Maggie nods absently.

“You’re not fucking me yet.”

“You’re not begging me yet.”

Maggie grits her teeth and grinds her hips up into Alex’s.

“I’m not gonna beg you, Danvers.”

“We’ll see,” Alex grins wickedly against Maggie’s skin.

Maggie does beg.

She begs and she pleads and she whimpers and she screams her throat raw, when Alex unzips her jeans and palms her clit and fucks her with every finger she can, with all the force she can muster, with all the roughness Maggie is desperate for.

Alex’s back is a patchwork of scratches from Maggie’s fingernails by the time Maggie comes undone underneath her, by the time she cums herself just from watching, just from listening, just from feeling Maggie pulse all around her.

“Your turn,” Maggie rasps, voice hoarse from screaming Alex’s name, from screaming filthy strings of curses that have Alex dripping down her thighs for her.

“Uncuff me,” she demands, and Alex obeys.

“On your stomach. Put your glasses on,” Maggie requests, and Alex whines, wrecked and eager and raw.

“Yes, Detective,” she whispers, because she knows what Maggie needs to hear.

Knows how Maggie needs to heal from the day.

Knows how Maggie needs to shed the lack of control, regain some semblance of self. Some semblance of hope.

Alex offers her body, her heart – like Maggie just did for her – and Maggie sobs into Alex’s shoulder blades as she fucks her from behind, as she kisses the nape of her neck and slams harder and harder into her the harder and harder she cries.

“I love you, Maggie,” Alex moans as she feels herself start to cum.

“You’re perfect, Alex,” Maggie prays as she feels Alex start to convulse around her hand, around her body, around her need.

And, for the first time since she failed her mission in the name of love, she feels like so-called failure might just be worth it.