Page 66 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
“It’s just showbiz,” she adds, quieter now. But there’s steel behind the tremor. “It’s politics.”
I lean close, my mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “We’ve got this,” I say, keeping my tone even. But my eye—both the real one and the red-glowing one—doesn’t leave Aelphus.
Because my instincts are humming. And not from the camera drones.
We finish plating. The timer sounds. Applause bursts like static behind us. Lights blaze. Everything goes white.
But I can’t hear a damn thing—not with Ruby breathing beside me like that. Not with her scent curled into my chest: heat and vanilla and something uniquely her.
Later—when the crowd has thinned, when we’ve slipped past reporters and sponsors—I find her in the auxiliary pantry, hands braced on the prep counter, chest heaving like she’s just sprinted three miles.
“Rekkgar,” she says, not turning. “He wants me to smile more. Be softer.”
The growl that builds in my chest is low and immediate.
She finally faces me.
Her blouse is rumpled, the top buttons undone, exposing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Her hair’s messy, strands falling from their twist. She’s flushed, furious, radiant.
“He thinks he owns the narrative,” she says, biting the words.
I take a step forward.
“No one owns you,” I say. “Not him. Not this show.”
She looks up at me—eyes blazing. “What about you?”
I don’t answer with words.
I close the distance between us in two steps, caging her against the counter with my body. My hands flatten on the cold steel on either side of her hips. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shy away.
She lifts her chin.
“Kiss me,” she says, voice shaking.
I do.
Gods, I do.
It’s not gentle.
My mouth claims hers with a hunger that’s been festering under my skin since the first time she handed me a muffin and smiled like she didn’t see the monster I am. Her fingers fist in the front of my tunic, dragging me closer, pressing her soft body to my scaled chest. I growl against her lips, catching her bottom one between my teeth and tugging just enough to make her gasp.
She tastes like sugar and fire.
My hands slide down, palms dragging along the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass. I lift her onto the counter, spreading her thighs with my hips. Her skirt rides up as she straddles me, and I can feel the heat of her pussy through the thin lace of her underwear.
“Fuck, Ruby,” I breathe, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
She grabs my hand, guides it under her skirt, and presses my fingers to the wet silk between her legs.
“Then show me,” she says. “Make me forget everything but you.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I rip her panties down in one fluid motion, dragging my fingers through her soaked slit. She’s so wet my fingers slide easily, parting her folds and circling her clit. She moans, hips grinding down, desperate for more.
I push two fingers inside her.
