Page 22 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
But I don’t let him finish.
“I know.”
We stand there, the air thick with all the things we didn’t say over noodles and ballet and shared silence. My fingers twitchby my side, aching to reach out. My heart beats against my ribs like a drumline. And then—without warning, without fanfare—his hand lifts.
Clawed fingers, so careful, so slow, cup my cheek.
His palm is warm. Hot, even. Rough and calloused with years of war and training and things he’s never told me about. But his touch is reverent, feather-soft. Like I’m something precious.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not tentative. It’s not hesitant. It’s not a brush or a whisper or a maybe.
It’s a claiming.
His lips are fire and gravity and stardust. He leans in with the intensity of a man who’s spent a decade convincing himself this moment could never happen. And I meet him with the desperate ache of a woman who’s waited her whole life to be truly seen.
I rise on tiptoes, fists curling into the fabric of his tunic, yanking him down like I could anchor him there forever. His other arm wraps around my back, hauling me against his chest, and the low growl that rumbles up from his throat sends a jolt straight through every nerve ending I possess.
His mouth is surprisingly gentle. Exploring. Testing. Learning the shape of me like it’s a secret language he’s waited his whole life to decipher.
I answer with hunger. With fire. With all the years I spent swallowing my own wants for the sake of duty and family and fate.
And then?—
Too soon.
He pulls back.
It’s like gravity reverses itself, and I nearly stumble without his arms holding me.
He stares down at me, pupils wide, lips parted, his breath ragged.
“I—shouldn’t have,” he rasps.
I shake my head, but he’s already stepping away.
His hand drops. His shoulders draw up, armor slipping back on like a curtain falling.
“No,” I whisper, reaching out. “Wait?—”
But he’s gone. Just like that. Long strides carrying him down the street, into the shadows, swallowed by the night.
I stand there, stunned. Lips tingling. Heart in absolute freefall. I touch my mouth like I could still catch the echo of him there, pressed into the curve of my lower lip.
“Rekkgar…” I whisper.
No answer. Not even the faint sound of footfalls now.
I turn slowly, muscles trembling, and open the door to my house. Step inside like I’m dreaming.
And then?—
“Ruby.”
The voice slams into me like a bucket of cold water.
I blink hard. The entry lights snap on. My aunt and uncle are sitting in the living room, prim and composed, just as they were when they told me at fifteen that my life wasn’t mine anymore.
