632. Chapter 632

Their tears turn to kisses and their kisses taste like tears.

But they also taste like something else: something like hope.

Something like the first time they kissed; beer on Maggie’s breath and freshly brushed teeth on Alex’s, because she went to the bar with a goal, with a vision, with a purpose, with determination.

Like she did everything else in her life.

And she puts all that determination, now, into kissing the woman whose body is covering hers, comforting hers, protecting hers. Turning her on, setting her tears on fire when she hadn’t known they could possibly be flammable.

“I love you,” she whispers for the thirtieth time, at least, since they started kissing, since Maggie’s lips started caressing hers. Since her hands started wandering up Maggie’s soft shirt, since Maggie started sighing into her mouth as Alex pulled her even closer by the hips.

“I want more of you,” Alex tells her, and it’s sexual but it’s not, because she wants their bodies closer, but more, she wants their souls closer.

She wants to look into Maggie’s eyes, with her fingers curved all the way inside her, as deep as she can go, so deep that neither of them can tell whose body is whose anymore; so deep that it’s no longer a relevant question, because they’re too close for differences to matter, too close for the impossible to remain impossible; too close for ever, ever, ever separating.

“Take your clothes off?” Maggie responds softly as she shifts off of her, but only just. Only enough for Alex to strip, for Maggie to do the same, for them to immediately toss aside the blankets, the sheets, so their skin, their bodies, are flush against each other, slick with tears and buzzing with need.

“I love you,” Maggie murmurs into her neck, her lips sucking at her pulse point the way she knows Alex needs.

“I love you,” Alex sighs as she shifts so Maggie’s thigh is between her legs, so her own thigh is between Maggie’s.

They both moan at the contact, at the heat and the slick lack of friction, and they shift automatically to gain more. To be closer. Always closer.

“May I?” Maggie asks, indicating with her hips that she wants to bring her clit down to meet Alex’s, and Alex answers by shifting so they’ll fit – perfectly, always perfectly – and they both breathe out a small giggle as Maggie almost overbalances, steadying herself with Alex’s raised knee.

“I love you,” they lock eyes as they lock words, as they both use their fingers to guide their connection, to guide the way Maggie brings the most sensitive parts of their body into contact, wet and hot and wrecked and so damn needy.

They whisper each other’s names and they both have to freeze, have to pause, have to seek out the other’s hand to hold at the intensity of their connection, the intensity of the way Maggie’s bare chest is rising and falling, at the way Alex’s hips are arched up, angled to meet Maggie’s perfectly.

“I want to marry you,” Maggie whispers, and Alex sobs and holds her hand tighter.

“I want to marry you, too,” she affirms, and they start to move.

It’s slow and it’s gentle and it’s everything, and they both know that neither of them can come like this, but orgasm isn’t on either of their minds.

Closeness is.

Connection is.

“I want to kiss you,” they both breathe at the same time, and they sigh out laughter, and they shift their hips and Maggie collapses into a push up position just above Alex’s body, and when her arms quake, Alex encourages her to let her weight rest on her body.

“Kiss me,” she implores, and Maggie does.

She does until they both have a wave of small climaxes, not enough to make their entire bodies rock, but enough to make tears leak out of their eyes and whispered “I love you”s slip into the other’s mouth.

“We’ll figure this out?” Maggie rarely asks for reassurance, and Alex is happy to provide it.

“Yes,” she tells her, because they are two women who do the impossible on the daily.

Impossible means nothing to either of them.

“I love you,” they murmur to each other, and they don’t stop repeating it until the sun comes up and they think that maybe they should get some sleep.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, of course. Always.