191. Chapter 191

It starts with vegan ice cream.

The way that Alex gasps and shudders and freezes momentarily with her eyes closed in that way that she always does when she’s just discovering something she loves, something she’s never experienced before, something she needs more of, more of, more of, when she feels how cold Maggie’s lips are from the vegan ice cream, when she feels that cold on her own lips, on her neck, on her stomach, on every part of her skin.

“Ally,” Maggie rasps, deep in the back of her throat, and the sound makes Alex moan. “Alex, you uh… you like?”

“Yeah. Maggie, I… fuck. Yeah.”

Maggie grins and rests her forehead on Alex’s bare stomach to catch her breath, to remember how to use words.

“You like the… the cold?”

Alex blushes, hard, and turns her face away, and Maggie’s heart sinks and she crawls up Alex’s body so she’s kissing her face, so she’s cooing into her ear, so she’s reassuring her with her body, with her mouth, with her hands, with her heart.

“Alex, no, babe, you don’t… there’s no reason to be embarrassed, babe, I’m so sorry… I was asking… I was asking because… I think it’s hot.”

Alex sneaks a glance up at her, her body more relaxed now, her face somewhat less red.

Maggie grins. “No… pun intended, there.”

Alex laughs, and it’s the best sound Maggie’s ever heard.

“You think it’s hot, Sawyer?”

“I think you’re hot, Danvers.”

“Oh yeah?”

Maggie moans into Alex’s mouth as Alex pulls her down into a searing kiss.

“Why were you asking? Did you uh… did you wanna… do something more?” Alex asks, and her voice is ragged, because she’s hopeful.

“Do you uh… do you think you’d like…” Maggie takes a breath and stares down into Alex’s eyes, pupils dilating, chest heaving slowly. “Do you think you’d like it if I uh… got some ice?”

Alex hisses and writhes under Maggie immediately, and Maggie barely suppresses a groan.

“That a yes, Danvers?”

“Why aren’t you heading to the freezer right now?” Alex practically growls, and Maggie is pressing a kiss to her lips and hopping out of bed faster than Alex had ever seen her move.

“Don’t go anywhere, beautiful,” she calls over her shoulder, and Alex smiles, and leans up on her elbows, and licks her lips, and waits, waits, because god, god, god.

Maggie pads back into the room with two soft hand towels, a bowl of ice cubes, wide eyes, and slightly parted lips.

She kneels on the bed in front of Alex, tucks the towels under either side of Alex’s torso, and runs her tongue slow, slow, slow, over Alex’s stomach. Alex whines and arches her hips and Maggie doesn’t break eye contact with her, not once.

“You good, babe?” she asks, and Alex begs.

Maggie growls and groans and takes an ice cube between her fingers and asks Alex with her eyes again, and Alex begs again, and she traces the ice along the same path her tongue just painted.

Alex screams and slams her palms into the bed and grabs the sheets with her fingers and tosses her head back and bites her lip and begs again, again, again.

“Maggie please, don’t stop, please, please.”

“No, I shouldn’t stop, Danvers?” Maggie’s voice is teasing, but her eyes are warm, because she’s looking up at Alex and she knows she’s never seen anything as beautiful as Alex Danvers with her guard down, Alex Danvers trusting her, Alex Danvers giving her this incredible gift.

“Please, Mags, please,” Alex manages, and Maggie complies.

She spells her name in ice, slow, slow, letter by letter, on Alex’s writhing torso, and she licks the streams of melting water as they drip down Alex’s sides.

She traces patterns up to Alex’s chest, and Alex asks for more, more, more, so Maggie slowly, deliberately, carefully, swirls the ice around both of Alex’s nipples in turn, never touching, not yet, watching her nipples get hard with teasing, with cold, with need, until Alex is whimpering so beautifully that Maggie complies, finally bringing the ice directly onto her nipples before warming them with her lips, with her mouth, with her tongue.

She paints pictures of snow falling and of sunsets and of hearts and of stars and of all the things she wants to do to Alex, all over her inner thighs, all over her stomach, asking Alex and receiving only begging, only yes, yes, please, yes, before she lets the melting ice drip onto her clit, and Alex screams and begs for more and Maggie bites her lip and barely contains a groan and obeys the perfect desires of the perfect woman she loves.

She stops only when there’s only melted water in the bowl she’d brought, when Alex is panting and Alex is spent and Alex is resting with a dazed, contented, safe smile on her relaxed face.

Maggie meticulously kisses the same patterns onto her bare skin that she traced with the ice, and she follows her tongue with soft towels, and whispers – promises, really – of respect, of reverence, of beauty. Of love.