She doesn’t know I’d go to war for her muffin tops. That every morning I step into her bakery, its not for espresso—its to watch her fingers knead dough I want to ruin. Shes soft, sweet, and utterly unprepared for what I am under the apron.
But when someone tries to touch what’s mine?
I show her exactly what a seven-foot scarred ex-warrior does with a body built for conquest—and a mouth trained to worship.
Now she bakes for me. Fights for me.
Sighs for me in the kitchen I bled to protect.
I’m not just her...
I come for the chocolate.
I stay for her scent.
She doesn’t know I’d go to war for her muffin tops. That every morning I step into her bakery, its not for espresso—its to watch her fingers knead dough I want to ruin. Shes soft, sweet, and utterly unprepared for what I am under the apron.
But when someone tries to touch what’s mine?
I show her exactly what a seven-foot scarred ex-warrior does with a body built for conquest—and a mouth trained to worship.
Now she bakes for me. Fights for me.
Sighs for me in the kitchen I bled to protect.
I’m not just her sous-chef anymore. I’m her bonded mate. And I’ll pipe frosting with one hand while snapping necks with the other.
She wanted benefits. She got a war.
And if the Emperor thinks he can steal her?
He better be ready to die sticky.
Read on for grumpy sunshine, frosting-fueled mating claims, intergalactic pastry battles, and a scarred alien warlord who kneels only to his baker. HEA Guaranteed!
