Page 90 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Guests drift away in glittering clusters, the final bursts of laughter echoing like stardust between lantern-lit archways. The scent of burnt sugar and gardenia still clings to the garden air, mixing with the cool breeze from the riverbanks below—where moonlight ripples like scattered diamonds across obsidian water. We’ve done it. The vows, the kiss, the cake, the chaos. And now, we slip into silence together.
Hand in hand.
His grip is warm and enormous around mine—rough fingers that could crush and protect in equal measure. Rekkgar walksbeside me like he’s afraid the stars might reach down and steal me if he lets go.
At the garden’s edge, beneath a canopy of silver-glowing fire-fruits, I stop and turn. I press my forehead to his broad chest. I can hear his heart there, thundering steady and sure beneath black scales and old scar tissue. A cathedral of devotion, built in bone and blood and something more fragile—hope.
My arms loop around his back, anchoring me to him.
“Let’s never stop building this life,” I whisper, feeling the words vibrate against his chest. “Not just the bakery. But everything else, too.”
He tilts my chin up, the pads of his fingers brushing over my cheek like he’s memorizing its texture. His eyes—one ice-blue, one glowing red—lock on mine.
“We won’t,” he says, voice a growl tempered with reverence. “We’ll build and bake and love—through every star and war and greatness in our path.”
Then he kisses me.
It starts soft—tender and slow, the kind of kiss that seals vows in starlight. But it deepens fast, hunger catching like wildfire between us. His lips are warm and demanding, his body pressed flush to mine, and I can feel how hard he’s already getting against my stomach.
Rekkgar groans, low and rough, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead to mine. “You’re my wife,” he rasps, like he’s still trying to believe it. “Mine.”
“All yours,” I breathe.
He lifts me effortlessly, arms under my thighs, my dress spilling over his forearms like molten silk. I wrap myself around him, giggling into his neck as he carries me toward the guest quarters. We don’t make it.
The private lounge we passed earlier—stone walls, plush seating, ambient lighting—calls to us. He shoulders the door open, sets me on the low divan, and kisses me again.
“Ruby,” he growls, kneeling between my legs, massive hands bracketing my hips. “I need you.”
“Then take me,” I whisper, pulling the pins from my hair. “I want you to see all of me.”
I tug the dress down, baring my breasts to the cool air. His eyes go wide—hungry and reverent all at once. He leans forward and mouths one nipple, gently, then with more insistence, sucking until I cry out, then switching to the other. His tongue is rougher than human—textured—and it sends electric shocks straight to my pussy.
I arch under him, hands fisting in his thick hair.
“More,” I gasp. “Please—Rekkgar—more.”
He growls, dragging the dress up to my hips, baring my soaked panties.
“These,” he mutters, tugging them down with shaking hands, “these won’t survive.”
He rips them in half.
His nose presses to the juncture of my thighs, inhaling deeply. “You’re dripping for me,” he says, voice shaking. “Gods, Ruby, your pussy?—”
I whimper as he licks me—slow, broad strokes from his tongue that leave me shuddering. His hands press my thighs open wider, his growl vibrating through me as he eats me like he’s starving.
“Fuck—Rekk—yes—” I cry out, hips grinding against his mouth.
He moans into my pussy, sucking my clit between his lips, circling it with that inhuman tongue until I’m sobbing, until my thighs tremble and my fingers claw at the upholstery.
“I’m gonna—oh god—Rekkgar?—”
I come.
It crashes over me like a meteor, hot and wild and impossible to contain. I shake, gasping, and he licks me through it—slow and tender now, reverent again. As if worshipping.
Then he rises, dragging his tunic over his head.
