Page 22 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits

REKKGAR

I can feel it before I turn—an electric tension in the crowd that tightens the air like a drawn blade.

The golden glow of Aelphus follows us, a silent current pooling around Ruby wherever she stands.

We’ve been in the prep dome for hours, plating sugar-crusted galactic doughnuts, but now we’re bleeding time, corralling nerves for the televised final.

She leans into me, close enough for her warmth to ghost across my skin.

“He's watching again,” she murmurs, voice low, blue eyes flicking to the mezzanine. The shimmer of his ceremonial robes catches even from this distance. He stands too still. Too precise. There’s danger in that polish—something sharp beneath the diplomatic silk.

I don’t answer at first. I don’t need to. I press a hand to her shoulder, grounding her. Her breath hitches at the contact, but she doesn’t flinch.

“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.

She cries out, back arching, legs tightening around my waist.

“Gods,” she pants, “yes, Rekkgar—more—please?—”

I fuck her with my fingers, slow and deep, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes her tremble. My thumb circles her clit, faster now, and her moans get louder, wilder, rawer.

“Look at me,” I growl.

She does—barely. Her eyes glaze, tears brimming at the corners from how hard she’s coming undone.

“I want you to come on my fingers, Ruby,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Let me feel you.”

She shatters.

Her pussy clenches around me, tight and pulsing, as her whole body shakes with release. She grabs my shoulders, gasping my name again and again as I keep moving my fingers through it, drawing every last tremor from her body.

When she finally slumps against me, trembling and slick, I pull my fingers out and lick them clean.

“You taste like fucking heaven.”

She looks up, dazed, breathless, beautiful.

“Fuck me,” she says. “Now.”

I undo my pants with shaking hands, my cock already thick and hard, the tip slick with precum. Her eyes drop, widening at the sight of me.

“Gods, Rekkgar,” she breathes. “You’re… huge.”

I wrap a hand around my shaft, guiding it to her entrance.

“I’ll go slow,” I murmur. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s never too much,” she whispers.

I push in.

Her heat wraps around me, tight and hot and perfect. She’s so wet I slide in easier than I expected, though the stretch has us both gasping. I grit my teeth, holding back—barely.

“Fuck, you feel—so good,” I growl, thrusting deeper.

She moans, her nails digging into my shoulders as she tilts her hips, taking more of me inside. Inch by inch, until I’m buried to the hilt, her pussy gripping me like she was made for it.

“Move,” she begs. “Please—just—fuck me.”

I do.

I set a punishing rhythm, every thrust a statement, a promise, a claim. The prep pantry echoes with the wet slap of skin on skin, her moans, my grunts, the creak of the counter under our combined weight. Her thighs tremble around me, hands clinging to my back like she’s drowning in it.

And maybe she is.

I lower my mouth to hers, kissing her hard as I fuck her deeper, harder, letting everything I’ve held back pour into her—rage, need, devotion. She takes it all. Welcomes it.

Her second orgasm hits fast, sudden, her pussy pulsing around me as she screams my name into my mouth.

I’m not far behind.

I grip her hips and thrust once, twice—then spill inside her with a roar that echoes through the steel walls.

We stay like that for a long moment—connected, breathless, undone.

She rests her forehead to mine, whispering, “Don’t let go.”

“Never,” I swear.

Later, they wheel in a pedestal just for her: Morganite roses sculpted from crystal fruit, petals glowing softly like dawn-star constellations.

Each stem curved perfectly, bathed in holographic moonlight.

Wrapped in celloglass, perched on a silver plinth.

No card on top—but I know what’s coming before it arrives.

Ruby’s hands tremble as she picks one up. She smells it first—honeyed citrus, faint rose, and something metallic underneath. She glances at me, uncertain.

A drone delivers the message: a slim holo-card materializes in her hand. I hover. My senses flare up—respond, Rekkgar. But I force stillness.

Ruby reads it in silence. Eyes widening.

She murmurs, voice wavering, “’Your cosmic allure and chef’s passion light the universe. Yours, A.’” Her voice cracks on that last word. The petals slip from her fingers. Metal clinks on floor.

A hush settles in the dome, even non-related teams pause. All eyes flick toward us. I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat.

“Show them, love,” I whisper, sliding her shield—her rolled-eye grin—and her composure slides back on.

But I note the tremor in her breath. And it kills me that we’re standing in this lighthouse of public adoration—together—while some golden prince offers romance in the same breath he’s preparing to judge her.

I want to snatch the roses, tear them to shards. But I stay silent. Because if I pull her away publicly, it’ll reveal everything. It’ll prove he matters to me. And I won’t give him that victory.

Back in our suite, I sit near the window—shoulders bowed forward, arms folded on the sill—watching the spinning planet drift below through the viewport. Ruby circles in front of me, placing the crystal roses in a vase. She touches each petal with slow reverence, arranging them in halo of moonlight.

Footsteps behind her. She stiffens.

She turns to me, eyes searching. “You’re not mad?”

I glance up, glare softening to apology. “I’m… concerned.”

She thinks. “It’s a peace offering,” she says. “Compliment.”

He wants to be a fan.

Could it be that innocent?

A vein tightens at my temple.

“How do I know that?” I ask. “He’s emperor. He plays games.”

She sets the vase on the table and walks to me. Nervous warmth flickers in her face. “Rekkgar…I can decide if it’s harmless.”

She reaches up and cups my cheek. Her thumb brushes the scar, smooths it. She kisses my fingers when they fall there.

“I won’t let it endanger us,” she says softly. “But he’s not you.”

The recognition in her voice cracks something open inside. And I realize that’s the problem—I’ve let him become us .

I exhale hard. She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine again.

“Ruby…” I start, then carefully: “I should have confronted him already.”

She shakes her head. “Not every challenge needs a fight.”

I close my eyes, tasting iron on my tongue. “But I… I need to know where the line is. If he’s crossing it.”

She tips her head: “He gave you a chance to intervene.”

I lift my hands, searching hers. “I… hesitated.”

She says, eyes bright, “He can send fleets. He can judge. But you… you are my bond. My soul. My collection of moments. He can’t step into that space.”

I pull her into my arms. “Then I’ll show you. That you’re mine. The only one.”

She laughs softly. “I know.”

Outside, the crystal roses catch the starlight and refract them—cold beauty in the room.

And I feel the shift.

We still have to cook the finale.

But now… outside the plates, our bond stands revealed.