706. Chapter 706

She turns the lights down low and she lights candles on all the surfaces she can.

She bites her lip and stares at herself in the mirror and listens to her heart racing.

This isn’t something she normally does.

Gets all romantic on a woman.

Sure, she never leaves a lady waiting.

And sure, she’s attentive and dedicated in bed.

She’s a spectacular listener – too good, sometimes – and she tries to be giving.

But the whole big romantic gesture thing, wasn’t really her thing.

Until there was Alex.

And she’s sure it’s stupid – she’s sure Alex doesn’t even remember, now that they have more significant anniversaries like proposals and their wedding date – but tonight marks four years since she first met her wife on that tarmac, and Alex deserves romantic gestures, now and for the rest of her life.

So she waits in the dim light and the soft jazz until Alex’s key scrapes the lock.

She fidgets with her hands and glances down at her own body, making sure her clothes, her hair, are just so.

“Welcome home,” she tilts her head, but tears flood her eyes when she’s not greeted by Alex’s face, but by the bouquet of red roses she’s holding.

“Danvers, what – “ the softness in her voice evaporates as an overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly loved – something that, even after all these years, she doesn’t think she’ll ever quite get used to – threatens to drown her.

“I’m sorry,” Alex huffs as she crosses the threshold, trying at once to take her keys out of the door and balance the bouquet. “I know roses are such a cliche, but I also have tiramisu in that bag, and I know it’s silly, you probably don’t even remember, but – “

She stops as Maggie rushes to help her with everything she’s carrying, setting the roses tenderly on the entryway table and watching Alex look around the apartment in soft awe.

“Maggie,” she whispers. “You remembered, too.”

“Meeting you, Alex Danvers? How could I ever forget?”

Neither of them will be sure, later, how Alex’s clothes come off, but both will vividly remember the way Maggie’s lips trace her bare skin before they even reach the bed.

Neither of them will be sure, later, who gently pressed who against the kitchen counter first, but both will vividly remember the way Maggie tosses her neck back as Alex’s tongue tastes every bit of her day – from workout to field work to shower and nervous sweat – all along her throat.

Neither of them will be sure, later, who started repeating it, over and over like a prayer, first, but both will vividly remember the way neither of them can stop whispering I love you, I love you, I love you.

Alex’s hands trace Maggie’s every stretch mark, and Maggie’s tongue worships the insides of Alex’s thighs.

Maggie screams, but softly, softly, when Alex slips gentle fingers over her clit, circling and circling, pressure building in rhythm with their kiss, in rhythm with Maggie’s legs around Alex’s hips.

Alex chuckles affectionately until her chuckle turns into a low moan of pleasure as Maggie takes one of her nipples into her mouth, her lips, her teeth, her tongue, exploring Alex’s body like it’s their first time merging their souls through slow hands and slightly swollen lips.

They don’t count how many tiny, almost-not-quite-orgasmic orgasms they both have throughout the night, but they know the candles burn all the way down low by the time Alex finally slips her fingers out of her wife’s body, licking them clean while keeping Maggie’s eyes in her own, both of them moaning in satisfaction, in ecstasy, in love.

“I’m so in love with you,” Maggie tells her as she tries not to weep with joy.

She fails when Alex returns her words, and it’s the sweetest failure she’s ever had.